Luigi Donato Ventura, a Trilingual Self-translator

Abstract

In 2007, Martino Marazzi's work, Peppino il lustrascarpe, suggested a renewed interest in the Italian American writer Luigi Donato Ventura. Marazzi wrote about finding, in the public library of San Francisco, the original short novel Peppino, written in Italian. This event marked a turning point in the dating of Ventura's previous publications, given that many scholars were still wondering if there was a work prior to the two published versions of the novel: the French text dated 1885, published in William R. Jenkins's Contes Choisis, and the English version, which came to light the following year in Misfits and Remnants, written together with S. E. Shevitch. The importance of the formalization of an original work written in Italian (1882 but published in 1898) not only clarified many doubts but also deepened the analyses concerning the author, his life, and his literary works. Once in America, Ventura started producing many works in English. It is well known how important it is for migrant writers to write in the language of the host country.1 He represented a unique case in the Italian American panorama, because he was the only one to master three languages. It is recalled that Ventura experimented with the languages he knew and employed them in different ways, as every language had a specific meaning. For instance, Italian represented the language of his native land, which he left to find fortune in America (as many other compatriots did during the great migration). English was the language of the host country, whereas French, which Ventura taught, was considered to be a prestigious language. Ventura proposed, through his “trilingualism,” the reproduction of the instable identity of an entire people. These texts, and their author, can be considered a symbol of transition between different nations, languages, cultures, and societies, crossing national borders.2 They reflect the situation of the immigrants themselves, who are positioned at the center of tension between two continents, Italy and America, with language being the only bridge. Their transnational position generated an incessant back and forth between Italian and English, resulting in hybrid or multilingual texts. This particular condition found a perfect expression through the self-translation technique; the work was not a simple translation made by an external translator but was created by the author himself. As the scholar Alexandru Niculescu confirmed, “L'autotraduzione si distingue come un tipo particolare di traduzione. Fatta da una L1, che è la lingua materna, in una L2 che è la lingua straniera ben conosciuta dall'autore, oppure da una L2 nella L1, l'autotraduzione è sempre un problema di doppia appartenenza culturale: l'autore mira a partecipare a due culture, a due letterature.”3 Due to its ability to perfectly express the ambivalent condition of a writer trapped between two languages and two different cultures, self-translation has always been considered as the privileged means of expression for many immigrant authors. Ventura is one of these authors; in fact, there are evident signs of self-translation in his works, especially in the French and English versions of Peppino.For these reasons, I will focus on analyzing a new aspect of Ventura's trilingual work. I will explore his figure not only as an author but above all as a self-translator. The fact that Ventura was the creator of a work written in three languages counts him among that group of multilingual and immigrant writers who have enriched, and continue to feed, the world of literary production, giving life to multicultural works. From these premises, I explore the following questions: Why can Ventura be considered a self-translator? How did he manage the languages he spoke? What can be perceived from the use of those languages in the texts? I will try to answer these questions, starting with the definition of “self-translator,” then clarifying Ventura's life and his artistic production, and finally comparing of some of the main important fragments of the three works.The attention around the figure of the translator is considered valid starting from the 1970s, despite the fact that this role has always existed and has always been fundamental for the circulation of literary works in different countries. The figure of the self-translator, on the other hand, according to the field of Translation Studies, has been more controversial. In 1975, in his Dictionary for the Analysis of Literary Translation, the theorist Anton Popovič defined self-translation as the “translation of an original work into another language by the author himself” (1976, 19). Popovič thus underlined the original vein of self-translating work, which is conducted by the author who is also a translator. In fact, he considered self-translation as a real translation and not as a variant of the original text.The notoriety of self-translation emerged later in Literary Studies, around 1990, hand in hand with the nascent sensitivity toward some new topics regarding Cultural Studies. In the new postmodern panorama of the second half of the twentieth century, marginality and cultural hybridization became part of academic studies. This period was marked by some crucial historical events that guaranteed the spread of self-translation. After several countries gained independence, such as former colonies, and after the migrations of several populations, new multilingual and multivocal texts were born. As I explained previously, language played a fundamental role for many immigrant or exiled writers. Self-translation, together with code-switching or code-mixing techniques, was revealed to be the only possible way to describe these new linguistic encounters. As highlighted by Aurelia Klimkiewicz, the boundaries outlined by previous literary theories were superseded by a “binary conceptualization of translation, inviting hybrid categories, such as authorial translation and texte croisé, or hybrid text” (2013, 190). Indeed, not only were the geographic boundaries changing and adapting to the new needs but also the literary concept of translation itself. Elizabeth Klosty Beaujour argued that self-translation was “the cornerstone of a trajectory shared by almost bilingual writers” (1989, 51), while Anastasjia Gjurčinova pointed out that “Gli autori bilingui e migranti sono autori che [ . . . ] scrivono in almeno due lingue e hanno un'identità ibrida e meticcia” (Cartago and Ferrari 2018, 97–8).4 Self-translation was again confirmed to be the main expression for bilingual writers. This search for identity was scientifically proven by Aneta Pavlenko who demonstrated how multilingual people can reflect a specific identity in a language. Even the authors could organize the languages spoken in a precise order; this distinction is called “diglossia.” The choice to write a text in one language instead of another is not accidental but reveals a personal linguistic hierarchy.The focus on the figure of the author-translator as a connoisseur of multiple languages and cultures, who can give life to two texts produced in different languages (so, for this reason, addressed to different audiences), was at the center of another debate: Can the texts produced be considered products of authorial originality? Or should they be considered a simple translation? Moreover, does the figure of the author prevail over that of the translator? Or vice versa? The same questions can be addressed to Ventura's case. If we accept that the Italian text is the original one, are the other two (in English and French) translations of the Italian text or original texts in and of themselves? Some scholars, such as Michaël Oustinoff (2001), have tried to answer these questions, affirming the existence of the traduction (re) créatrice.5 The new text originated by the author in another language can therefore be considered a new form of translation, very close to the creation of a new text, because it has that writer's authorship, which classic translations are lacking. Indeed, the figure of the traditional translator is called to be completely ontologically faithful to the text while, at the same time, he is a cultural mediator. Instead, the self-translator is yet a cultural mediator but should be partly ontologically faithful to the text as he is both an author and a translator.As Ventura demonstrated in the English version, substantial changes have been made to the text, so much as to make it different in some passages. In this case, as explained in the previous paragraph, we cannot refer to a classic translation but rather to a recreating translation, because it is made by the author himself, who can afford creative freedoms not granted to a traditional translator. Another term could be used to define this final product, namely “privileged translation,” in order to recognize its considerable creative potential.Passing to the second part of this study, and after having retraced the importance of self-translation in Literary, Cultural, and Translation Studies, I will turn to the background of Ventura's history and production to provide the important context of his work. Having been recognized as an Italian American literary contributor, Ventura, like many other writers, was an essential witness in helping to reconstruct the Italian diaspora at the beginning of the twentieth century. Fortunately, with the emergence of Cultural Studies, the interest in Italian American culture has grown, and many works have been recovered. As Marazzi affirmed in his study, it is not easy to put together the different steps of Ventura's life. He was born in 1845 in Bari, Puglia. When he arrived in New York around 1867–68, he became part of upper-class society, thanks to the privileged condition of his family who guaranteed him an education. He worked as an editor for different newspapers such as Il Progresso Italo-Americano and the New York Herald. In the middle of 1880, he moved to Boston, Massachusetts, where he taught Italian language and literature at the New England Conservatory of Music. It was thanks to the encouragement of his colleague, Lambert Saveur, that in 1885 he published the first French version of Peppino in the educational book series Contes Choisis edited by William R. Jenkins. The following year, he published the English version of the novel, edited in the collection Misfits and Remnants by Ventura and the Russian critic S. E. Shevitch. His passion for teaching language is manifest in his founding of a philological club in Bangor, Maine, where he taught the three languages he knew: Italian, English, and French. In 1888, a prolific year for Ventura, he collaborated with the popular Italian writer Edmondo De Amicis and with Arcangelo Ghisleri. With this last collaboration, he recounted the Italian experience in the United States for his compatriots at home. In a letter written to Ghisleri, Ventura confessed a profound depression due to economic difficulties. In 1912, he was found dead in San Francisco.Before Marazzi's rediscovery, many theories about Peppino's various publications had circulated among scholars. Olga Peragallo was the first, in 1949, to produce one of these theories; for Peragallo, the first version published was the English one. Today, we know that the first version was published in French. The French version was taken into consideration, for the first time, by Rosa Basile Green in 1974, although she held that it was not published in 1885 but in 1913. This theory was refuted by Frank Lentricchia who stated: “The claim that Luigi Donato Ventura was among the first Italian American authors of fiction is beyond question. But the further claim that he first published Peppino in 1913 is a serious error” (1975, 189). In Werner Sollors's collection, Mario Maffi (1998) shared a similar declaration made by Lentricchia but added that the story had been written before in 1882, as confirmed by the date reported in Martino Marazzi's book: “Le 20 mai 1882” (2007, 97).6 However, Maffi did not address the existence of an earlier Italian version of the work, which was uncovered seven years later thanks to Marazzi's research.The order of publication of the novels is essential to understanding their reception by readers, and it is likewise important to underscore how the choice of languages made by Ventura could have influenced the choice of the reading public. Marazzi affirmed: “La scelta delle diverse lingue prevede con chiarezza un pubblico di lettori diversi non solo quanto a competenza linguistica, ma anche quanto a inclinazioni politico-ideologiche; inoltre, quello anglofono sarà un pubblico, almeno nelle intenzioni, ‘di mercato’, numericamente rilevante, mentre gli altri due rimarranno ristretti rispetto all'ambito di una fruizione scolastica [ . . . ] e delle prime enclaves di italiani alfabetizzati negli Stati Uniti. In un certo senso, è come se la lingua, le lingue si trovino ognuna un suo pubblico” (2007, 36).7 Thus, it is possible to affirm that behind the choice of a language, there is the precise purpose of the author to address his novel to a more specific audience. The English text is addressed to a more broad-based English-speaking public, with an eye toward maximizing sales; the French text is used for a didactic purpose; and the Italian text is addressed to the literate Italians residing in America. Marazzi was not the only one to make declarations about Ventura's choice of languages. In 2014, Francesco Durante in Italoamericana stated that Ventura used French mainly for an ostentation of elegance together with a didactic purpose, seeing that it appeared in an anthology.The story written by Ventura is even more complex and deeper than what the author stated about it. The novel is divided into three parts and follows the events of Mr. Fortuna, who arrived in America with few francs in his pocket. When he first met the young shoeshine Peppino, he was moved to compassion and offered him a job: Peppino would go to his house, every morning, to shine his boots. During these morning encounters, the friendship between the two Italian characters grew, even if Peppino always showed a particular devotion toward the “Signore” Fortuna. Peppino told his story about how he arrived in America with his brothers. After the relationship between Fortuna and Peppino is established, Fortuna is called to repay a number of debts he has accumulated. He had sufficient savings, but he was unable to personally withdraw his earnings because of a sudden fever, so he entrusted the task to Peppino. After a few hours, Peppino did not return. Fortuna searched for him but found no trace. Days later, Fortuna saw Peppino outside a hospital, and the boy recounted a series of misadventures that had beset him. After having lost faith in the boy, Fortuna discovered that the money Peppino withdrew for him had been safely delivered to Fortuna's house. The story ends with a direct appeal to the readers: the narrator reflects on how his name can be synonymous with the luck he has in having met such a loyal friend, and he invites the American readers to free themselves from prejudices about immigrants.8Although the similarity between the name of the author and that of the narrator, Mr. Fortuna (from the original Signor Fortuna in Italian and translated as Monsieur Fortuna in French), has been widely debated,9 this character is nonetheless essential to the novel, not only as the author's voice but also as the means to bring home the moral of the story. During the development of the story, Ventura shows two different social worlds. On one hand, there is the narrator, Fortuna, who breaks the stereotype of the classic criminal immigrant because he is literate and belongs to the middle bourgeoisie (indeed, he is shown as perfectly settled in the American society); on the other hand, there is Peppino who, together with the rest of the illiterate Italian immigrants, was a manual laborer. Fortuna plays a mimetic game by not being identified at all with the poor mass of immigrants who lived in Little Italy. For example, in his description of Crosby Street, Fortuna defines his compatriots as dirty, savage, and noisy. In this occasion, he embodies the popular perception of the urban immigrant masses held by the majority of Americans. But, we can ask, why did he detach from his people? For Luca Lanzilotta, the narrator “vuole far vedere che non ha niente dello stereotipo dell'immigrato italiano. In questo modo, il signor Fortuna spera che i lettori si fidino di lui e credano alla sua storia, ossia che tra la massa di immigrati italiani ce n’è almeno uno che merita fiducia e rispetto per la sua integrità” (2015, 12).10 Fortuna's real purpose seems to be to endorse common American thoughts and beliefs and, by doing this, to lead American readers to trust him. They then are surprised when the same narrator shows them that there are Italian immigrants, such as Peppino, with good intentions. The stereotypes are overturned, and the American audience is persuaded to reconsider its opinion about immigrants. The main goal for Ventura was not to engage in propaganda but to persuade his readers to reflect on their prejudices toward Italian Americans.Having focused on the theoretical basis, I now come to the main point of this analysis, which is to compare the self-translation texts of Peppino: the Italian text (1898), the French text (1885), and the English text (1886). Even if the Italian text was published after the other two, I put it first to highlight its original production. Marazzi's essay played a central role for the comparison. I drew the citations directly from his text. Marazzi has faithfully reproduced Ventura's writings, so even the errors present in the original editions were kept. As it is possible to notice, the strong influence of the Italian grammar and syntactic structure emerges in the English version. The French text is a literal translation of the Italian text. In his texts, Ventura embodies all those characteristics described in the second part of the essay: extreme freedom as a writer and translator of his own works (authorial translation) and a consequent “infidelity” in self-translations.From the first lines of Ventura's works, his tone changes. In the Italian text as in the French one, the tone is harsher and more critical toward American society. In the English version, Ventura tones down his critique: ItalianSe mai vi recaste a New York e che, in una bella giornata di Maggio, vi venisse il desiderio di fare una gita verso la Posta, un po’ per affari, un po’ per svago, seguite il mio consiglio,—non prendete il “tram” che mena per Union Square a Barclay St.: restereste soffocato fra due matrone, o asfissiato fra due negri; seguite il mio consiglio, ripeto, accendete un buon sigaro, e andatevene placidamente a piedi per il marciapiede di dritta. (Marazzi 2007, 9)FrenchSi jamais vous allez à New-York, et que par une belle journée de mai vous entrepreniez un petit voyage, moitié affaires, moitié plaisir, dans la direction du bureau de poste, suivez mon conseil, ne prenez pas le tramway qui va per Union Square à la rue Barclay, vous étoufferiez entre deux matrones, ou vous seriez asphyxié entre deux nègres; suivez mon conseil, vous dis-je, allumez un bon cigare, et allez-vous[-]en tranquillement à pied par le trottoir de droite. (Marazzi 2007, 49)EnglishIf you should ever go to New York, and on some fine day in month of May should saunter, half on business, half for pleasure, in the direction of the Post-Office, take my advice,—do not get into the horse-car which goes through Union Square to Barclay Street, for you will surely be crushed to suffocation in the mass of stout women who seem to frequent those vehicles. Neither should you take an omnibus,—that relic barbarism, that unblushing exhibitor of pretty ankles; but take my advice, I repeat, light a good ci-gar, and quietly pursue your way on foot, following the right-hand sidewalk. (Marazzi 2007, 49)Peppino's incipit was conceived in an original way and with a direct message to the reader. The external and omniscient narrator addresses the audience with a courteous “voi,” which is maintained in the other versions as “vous” and “you.” He reveals a good knowledge of New York City, even though it is not his homeland. Mr. Fortuna even provides directions and advice to his readers, almost as if he were a tour guide or a real New Yorker. Taking into account his true origins, this attitude denotes an almost complete integration into American society. These lines could be read as an attempt to disguise his Italian roots to curry favor with the American public. From a linguistic and content point of view, reference is made in both the Italian and French texts to the presence of African American women through the use of the terms “negre” and “nègres,” but this is not noted in the English text. This confirms that the French version is a literal translation of the Italian text and that Ventura, in the English text, allowed himself to make some omissions.In another excerpt, the author refers to the work of shoe shining done by many poor Italian boys in that period: ItalianConoscete Peppino? No. Ebbene, son io che ve lo farò conoscere; vi conduco all'angolo di Prince St. dirimpetto al “Metropolitan”. Proprio sul canto se ne sta un monello sui dodici anni, dal colorito scuro, abbronzato dal sole, l'occhio nero, la testa coperta di capelli abbondanti, ricciuti, il naso volto all'insù, e un certo non so che in tutta la sua persona che stranamente contrasta con la scatola da lustrascarpe, che gli pende da una correggia sulle spalle. Peppino non è sudicio: indossa una giacca “bleu” scuro, dal goletto basso, un paio di calzoni non lunghi ma decenti, e, cosa rarissima per un frequentatore di Crosby St., i suoi piedi sono calzati di pantofole di cuoio giallo. (Marazzi 2007, 10)FrenchConnaissez-vous Peppino? Non. Eh bien, je vais vous le faire connaître: je vous mène au coin de Prince street à l'angle opposé au “Metropolitan”. Juste au coin stationne un gamin d'environ douze ans, au teint brun, hâlé par le soleil, l’œil noir, la tête couverte de cheveux frisés et abondants, le nez retroussé, et un je ne sais qui contraste drôlement avec la boîte à cirer, qu’à l'aide d'une courroie il porte en bandoulière. Peppino n'est pas sale: il porte une vareuse bleu marin à col court, mais propre, et, chose rare pour un habitant de la rue Crosby, ses pieds sont chaussés de pantoufles de cuir jaune. (Marazzi 2007, 50–51)EnglishDo you know Peppino? No? Then I will introduce you to him. Come with me to the corner of Prince Street, opposite to the Metropolitan Hotel. On that corner stands a boy about twelve years old, with a brown skin made yet browner by the sun, a head covered with thick, curly hair, a pug-nose, and a je ne sais quoi in his appearance which makes him look very droll as he stands there, with his blacking-box strapped across his chest. Peppino is not dirty. He wears a blue jacket with a sailor-collar, trousers rather short, indeed, but clean, and on his feet are slippers of yellow leather. (Marazzi 2007, 50–51)Once again, Fortuna addresses the reader directly with a question: “Conoscete Peppino?” / Connaissez-vous Peppino?” / “Do you know Peppino?” In the texts, the answer is no, but it is expressed in different ways. If the Italian and the French versions offer a sharp “No” / “Non,” in English the question mark almost implies amazement or uncertainty, “No?” Either way, it is the writer who presents the figure of the shoeshine boy. He is perfectly located in New York City, on a corner of Prince Street. Ventura also describes the physical aspect of a young Italian boy, from which the reader intuits the boy's poorness. Moreover, the “je ne sais quoi” that disappears in the Italian version is kept in the English version to give a more elegant touch to the narration. This is not the only French term that appears in the English novel. Instead, the English words that appear in the French and Italian novels serve to demonstrate the Italian characters’ efforts to adapt and communicate in their adopted land. The difference in Peppino's and Fortuna's knowledge of English and their respective social classes causes two different results that turn out to be clumsy in Peppino's speech: ItalianQuando Peppino vi squarcia le orecchie col suo “shine” [ . . . ] (Marazzi 2007, 10)FrenchQuand Peppino vous crie shine [ . . . ] (Marazzi 2007, 51)EnglishWhen Peppino cries out to you “Shine”? [ . . . ] (Marazzi 2007, 51)The first word heard from Peppino is a strong “shine,” simple and effective, that serves to attract customers. The verb kept in English, in the Italian and in the French text, gives a realistic effect. Peppino's language is hybrid and interrupted by different code-mixing between Italian and English. In the English version, the addition of that question mark makes the tone milder and more courteous.In the following passage, a dialogue of the first meeting between Fortuna and Peppino is reported: ItalianGuardai il fanciullo: egli sbarrò gli occhi; i clienti passavano e gli facevan segno, e il ragazzo duro.– Cinque soldi, feci come in un sospiro.– Non ho un maledetto soldo, risposi io, d'un fiato.– Non fa niente, la Madonna t'accompagni. Ecco, —se mi fosse stato detto che un'ora dopo sarei divenuto un miliardario, la mia felicità non avrebbe potuto essere tanto completa: presi il monello pel braccio e stetti lì per lì per ringraziarlo in ginocchio. I clienti continuavano a fargli cenno, ma Peppino non si moveva.– Come ti chiami?– Peppino a servirti.– Grazie, Peppino, ti rivedrò domani.– La Madonna t'accompagni. (Marazzi 2007, 12)FrenchJe regardais l'enfant; il ouvrait de grands yeux; les pratiques passaient, et lui faisaient signe, lui ne bougeait pas.– Cinq sous, soupira-t-il enfin.– Je n'ai pas un seul sou, criai-je tout d'une haleine.– Non fa niente, la Madonna t'accompagni. (N'importe, que la Madone soit avec vous) répondit le garçon. Eh bien non—si l'on m'avait dit que j'allais héritier de là à une heure, je n'aurais pas été si heureux; je pris le gamin par le bras et je fus sur le point de remercier à genoux. Les pratiques l'appelaient toujours, mais il demeurait impassible.– Comment t'appelles-tu?– Peppino a servirti (Peppino, pour vous servir.)– Merci, Peppino, je viendrai te voir demain.– La Madonna t'accompagni. (Que la Madone soit avec vous.) (Marazzi 2007, 56)EnglishI looked at the boy; he stared at me. Several of his customers went by, making a sign to him to black their boots; but he did not stir.“Five cents!” he sighed at last.“I haven't a single one!” I ejaculated with some difficulty.“It is no matter at all; non ja minti; the Madonna be with you!” was in his reply.I took hold of his arm with a friendly grasp.“What is your name?” I said.“Peppino,” touching his cap.“Thank you, my Peppino; I shall come and see you again to-morrow.”“The Madonna be with you!” he said again. (Marazzi 2007, 56)This dialogue is one of the most significant when analyzed linguistically. The narrator has just had his boots polished by the young shoeshine, when he realizes that he does not have a penny to pay for his work. On a narrative level, it is possible to notice how a relationship of dependence is created not between an Italian and an American character but between two Italians of different social backgrounds. Their respective social classes with origins in Italy thus continue to determine their roles in America. It is also true that Fortuna tries to help Peppino as best as he can, showing a sense of community and goodness typical of compatriots in a foreign land.From a linguistic point of view, the informal Italian expression “La Madonna t'accompagni” (used to make a good wish) has been rendered in French with a transcription followed by the relative translation, “Que la Madone soit avec vous,” put in round brackets; in English, however, the expression in Lucanian dialect “non ja minti” was added to the translation “The Madonna be with you.” Contrary to the French rendering of Peppino's speech, the English translation alternates with formulas typical of the Lucanian dialect, giving a more local and realistic nuance to the text itself. They area further testimony of the freedom in translation adopted by Ventura with the English text.The description made by Fortuna, once he arrives on Crosby Street, is also striking because it illustrates Ventura's depiction of two different social worlds as noted previously: ItalianDopo aver salito i quattro mal fermi gradini per cui si giunge alla porta del caseggiato, sentii come se proprio mi trovassi nel centro dell'Italia meridionale. Seduti sul lastrico, monelli di due anni, sudici e quasi nudi, strilavano a più non posso, altri marmocchi ruzzolavano in pozze d'acqua, donne accovacciate a mo’ di cagne si pettinavano a vicenda i neri capelli che incorniciavano i volti olivastri. Altre donne giovani, dai tipi caratteristici indossavano sottane dai vividi colori, ma sgualcite, sormontate da corpetti di color rosso e nero, alla moda abbruzzese: collane d'oro dalle croci pendenti scendevan loro sul petto, e gli orecchini lunghi, larghi, gli “scioccagli” venivan giù fin sulle spalle: vecchie comari pescavano un po’ di tutto dalle paniere, mentre i loro uomini, distesi lungo la scalinata si lasciavano andare al “dolce far niente”, fumando mozziconi di sigari, e sorbendo una miscela che pretendeva esser birra. Non appena giungemmo le donne raccolsero i figliuoli, gli uomini fecero largo e tutti all'unisono si misero a gridare.– È u signore che vene. (Marazzi 2007, 17)FrenchAprès avoir franchi les quatre marches peu fermes de l'escalier par lequel on arrive à la porte de la maison, je me trouvais en pleine Italie Méridionale.—Assis par terre, des gamins de deux ans, sales et mal couverts, criaient à fendre l'air, d'autres se roulaient dans des flaques d'eau: des