Curculio – Michael Hendry

It seems best to divide the text (I.2.230-34) into convenient pieces, number them for easy reference (and speaking), and interleave text and translation, with all the notes below:

1. Sint míhi déi Acheróntis propítii!

May the gods of Acheron be favorable to me!

2. Váleat númen tríplex Jehóvae!

Goodbye, threefold power of Jehovah!

3. Ígnei, aérii, aquátici, terréni spíritus, salvéte!

Fiery, airy, watery, earthy spirits, all hail!

4. Oriéntis prínceps Lúcifer,

Lucifer, Prince of the East,

5. Beélzebub, inférni ardéntis monárcha,

Beelzebub, monarch of burning Hell,

6. et Demogórgon, pròpitiámus vos,

and Demogorgon, we ask your favor,

7. ut appáreat et súrgat Mephistóphilés! Quid tu moráris?

that Mephistophiles may appear and rise up! Why do you delay?

8. Per Jehóvam, Gehénnam, et consecrátam áquam quam nunc spárgo,

By Jehovah, Gehenna, and the consecrated water which I now sprinkle,

9. signúmque crúcis quod nunc fácio,

and the sign of the cross which I now make,

10. et per vóta nóstra,

and by our vows,

11. ípse nunc súrgat nóbis dicátus Mephistóphilés!

May Mephistophiles himself now rise up, dedicated to us!

My voice-recording (such as it is) is in three parts: 1-3, 4-7, 8-11. I need to find out how to link them from the page so readers can read and hear simultaneously. But that will have to wait a few hours, since it’s almost time for The Devil’s Charter, another Jacobethan play about selling one’s soul for power (in this case, the Papacy), performed by the same troupe that is doing Doctor Faustus in two weeks, and asked me for advice on the Latin.

Notes:

1. Acheron is one of the rivers of the Underworld, so ‘the gods of Acheron’ are either Pagan underworld gods or Christian devils or (most likely) a bit of each. I believe some Christian theologians identified the two.
2. Rather like ‘fare well’ in English, Valeat means both ‘be strong’ and ‘goodbye’, and it’s hard to decide between the two here. It can hardly mean both, since ‘be strong’ is a compliment, ‘goodbye’ a mild insult – almost ‘go away’. I prefer ‘goodbye’ because he says ‘hello’ (salvete) to the spirits of the Four Elements in the very next line. God’s ‘threefold’ power obviously refers to the Trinity.
3. The early editions have garbled a lot of the Latin. Aquatani is not good Latin for ‘watery’. Tucker Booke changed it to aquatici and Greg added terreni ‘earthy’ so all four elements would be present. It looks to me like Aquatani merged the beginning of aquatici with the end of terreni.
4. Lucifer was inserted by Greg, since he is called ‘Prince of the East’ in the Bible, and Lucifer and Beelzebub are different characters later on in this play, at least in the stage direction in II.iii, though I don’t think Beelzebub actually speaks there.
5. Without Lucifer in the previous line, it would be very difficult to tell whether this is all in apposition or not.
6. I assume Demogorgon is a third devil, to make a mocking Satanic anti-Trinity. I don’t think Demogorgon is another name for Mephistophiles, who seems to be of lower rank, a mere captain or colonel in the Army of Darkness. ‘Your’ is plural, but I didn’t think anyone would want ‘y’all’s’ even in the subtitles of an Elizabethan play
7. The reading of the early editions is nonsense, and quid tu moraris? is Bullen’s plausible conjecture for quod tumeraris. Here the ‘you’ is singular, so he’s speaking to Mephistophiles alone. There should be a pause before the question, as he waits for Mephistophiles to appear. More colloquially: ‘What are you waiting for?’
8. This is an odd mixture of holy (Jehovah, holy water) and unholy (Gehenna is more or less Hell). I suppose Faustus is as confused about magic as he is about philosophy.
9. I suspect this is some kind of backwards or twisted Sign of the Anti-Cross: a normal one would hardly be appropriate here. Then again, see previous note: maybe Faustus makes a normal Sign of the Cross unthinkingly, from habit.
10. Here and in the next line ‘our’ and ‘us’ mean ‘my’ and ‘me’: Latin uses the ‘royal We’ all the time, without any royal or pretentious implications. The vota are vows, promises, wishes, all wrapped up in one word.
11. ‘Himself’ (ipse) means ‘in person’: Faustus wants Mephistophiles, not some go-between messenger devil with no power to deal – not that Mephistophiles has that power, as it turns out. The meaning of dicatus is difficult: ‘dedicated to us (=me)’ must mean something like ‘at my command’ plus ‘to serve me’.

Anything else?

I will get to Faustus’ oath soon, but in the mean time here are three bits I missed. At some point, I hope to put these all together on one page, in order, with line references to the various editions, since those are highly variable (these numbers are from Bevington & Rasmussen’s Revels edition):

I.1.12:

On kai me on

This is not Latin, but Classical (and Philosophical) Greek. It would be spelled like this in Greek script: ὂν καὶ μὴ όν, but that’s more than you need to know to pronounce it. (Several early editions have ‘economy’ but that is just a wrong guess by a confused typesetter.) The pronunciation is easy: On Kye May On.

The words mean ‘being and not being’, the subject of some of the more abstruse parts of metaphysics (on, ‘being’ is related to ‘ontology’, kai means ‘and’, and me means ‘not’). Probably all the words except the ‘and’ (kai) should be accented. It should sound something like this.

II.1.29:

Véni véni Mephistóphile.

This is not the same veni as in Caesar’s famous Veni, vidi, vici. That veni has a long E and means ‘I came’. Faustus’ veni has a short E and is imperative singular, a command addressed to one person: ‘come’. (One verb having two forms that are spelled the same but pronounced differently is not unheard of in English, where ‘read’ as in ‘I read books’ rhymes with ‘reed’ when it’s present tense, with ‘red’ when it’s past tense.) He’s just telling Mephistophilis to come to him, repeating the verb to show urgency or impatience: “Come, come, Mephistophilis”. The dropped S on the name is not classical Latin, but is the sort of thing Greek and Latin do with vocatives. The whole thing should sound like this.

II.3.57:

Intelligéntia.

The meaning is easy: ‘intelligence’, meaning presumably that an angel is in charge of turning each sphere, they don’t just turn by themselves. For pronunciations, it’s hard to say whether Marlowe would have said ‘intelligént-ee-yuh’ like modern Latinists or ‘intelligénts-ee-yuh’. More likely the latter, I think, and it might be more intelligible to the audience, too. Here’s my version.

Most of the Latin in Doctor Faustus is spoken by Faustus himself, and some he glosses himself:

I.1.35:

Béne dissérere est fínis lógices.

In the next line, Faustus asks “Is to dispute well logic’s chiefest end?” which just rephrases this as a question. Literally, it means “To dispute well is logic’s end” (‘end’ meaning ‘aim, goal, purpose’ – there’s no ‘chiefest’ in the Latin). I believe Marlowe would have used soft G and soft C in the last word, like this. The Romans would have used hard G (not = J) and hard C (= K), but Marlowe didn’t know that. Of course English ‘logic’ has soft G and hard C, so logices is going to sound awkward however it’s pronounced.

I.1.41:

Úbi désinit philósophus, íbi íncipit médicus.

This means “Where the philosopher stops, the doctor begins”, which has always puzzled me: does it mean that the philosopher only theorizes, while the doctor acts on his understanding of human nature? (Rather like Marx’s “philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways, the point is to change it”, but applied to single human beings rather than the whole world?) It should sound like this.

I.1.44:

Súmmum bónum medicínae sánitas.

This means “The highest good of medicine is health”, and Faustus paraphrases it in the next line (“The end of physic is our body’s health”). It sounds like this.

I.1.56:

Si úna eadémque res legátur duóbus,
álter rem, álter valórem réi, et cétera.

This is the kind of obvious, common-sense law that anyone could figure out without going to law school or even reading a law book: “If one and the same thing is left/willed/bequeathed to two [heirs], one [should receive] the thing, the other the value of the thing, etcetera” – it’s not actually a complete sentence, because Faustus is too bored to finish it. (Verbs usually go last in Latin, and this one is omitted, so “one the thing, the other the value of the thing . . . – duh! ‘should receive’, but I can’t be bothered to finish the thought!” It should sound something like this, but maybe more bored and perfunctory.

I.1.58:

Èxhaerèditáre fílium non pótest páter, nísi, et cétera.

This is not boring obvious law, like the previous example, but tedious technical law: “A father cannot disinherit a son unless” – presumably, unless he makes the statement in just the right technical form, with the proper number of witnesses, to avoid legal challenges. Faustus interrupts himself because the details are boring, though not obvious to non-lawyers. It should sound something like this, but again more bored and impatient.

I.1.66:

Stipéndium peccáti mors est.

As Faustus says, this means “The reward of sin is death” (or “the payment” – stipendium is related to ‘stipend’.) Good Biblical Latin, from Romans 6:23, but taken out of context. It sounds like this.

I.1.68:

Si peccásse negámus, fállimur,
et núlla est in nóbis véritas.

Again, Faustus paraphrases: “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us”. Again, a direct Biblical quotation, from John 1:8. Fallimur could also be translated “we are deceived” (by someone else – not hard to guess who that would be) or just “we are mistaken”.) This should sound something like this.

I.2.230-34:

(Faustus’ long complex oath will be analyzed in my next post.)

I.3.246:

Quin rédis, Mèphistópheles, frátris imágine?

“Why don’t you return, Mephisopheles, in the image of a friar?” (Literally, “of a brother”, but he means the religious kind.) It sounds something like this.

II.1.461:

Cònsummátum est.

“It is finished.” (The Latin participle is the same word as “consummated” in English, but “It is consummated” sounds a little too sexual and marital to me, unless you want to go that way in depicting the relation between Faustus and Mephistopheles.) As commentators note, this is a blasphemous quotation of the last words of Christ on the cross. It should sound like this.

II.1.464:

Hómo fúge.

Homo is not ‘man’ as in ‘male human being’ but ‘man’ as in ‘mankind’ – it means a human of either gender. (‘Human’ and ‘humane’ both comes from the Latin adjective corresponding to homo, while ‘virile’ comes from the adjective for vir, which is the Latin word for male human being. The whole does-man-mean-male-or-include-both-sexes question is entirely a problem of the English language, not Latin.)

The sentence is hard to translate plausibly: “Flee, human”? – sounds like an alien in a bad sci-fi movie. “Flee, person”? – awkward. “Flee, man”? – misleading as to gender and awkwardly hippie-sounding. However translated, it should probably sound something like this.

II.3.623:

Sítu et témpore?

“In place and time?” – the phrase is technical-scientific-philosophical. (Situ is related to English ‘site’ and tempore to ‘temporal’, ‘temporary’, and ‘contemporary’.) It should sound like this.

V.2.1269:

O lénte, lénte cúrrite, nóctis équi!

As with Mephistopheles’ first quotation, this is an entire line of Latin verse, specifically Ovid, Amores 1.13.40, in which Ovid (or his poetic persona) asks the goddess Night (or Dawn? not quite clear) to extend the night so he and his girlfriend will have more time for love-making. Literally, “Run slowly, slowly, o horses of the night” (or “of Night” if that’s the goddess meant) – winged horses pulling a divine chariot – very pagan and not at all Christian.

Following Roman rules for a so-called elegiac pentameter, the rhythm is long-long-long-long-long long-short-short-long-short-short-long, and sounds something like this. If we give the words their proper prose accents, it (fortuitously) makes a decent English-style iambic pentameter, with an extra syllable in the fourth foot and another at the end. (Do they still call that a feminine ending?) It would sound something like this. I prefer the latter for Marlowe, and they don’t sound as different as I would have thought.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As always, questions or remarks may be submitted as comments. The first will be moderated, but once you’ve had one approved, they will go through immediately, unless you do something to make me ban you.

Mephistopheles has three bits of Latin:

II.1.429:

Solámen míseris sócios habuísse dolóris.

Solamen is ‘consolation’ – relative, not interrogative – miseris is ‘to/for the wretched/miserable’, socios (related to ‘social, society, associate’) is ‘companions, associates, allies’ (plural direct object), habuisse is a perfect infinitive ‘to have had’, and doloris is ‘of pain, sorrow, trouble’. Put together, it means ‘(it is) a consolation to the [plural] wretched to have had companions of [=in] sorrow’, pretty much ‘misery loves company’ but more concrete (‘miserable/wretched people’ for ‘misery’) and with a past tense added.

The line is a complete Latin dactylic hexameter, which mixes spondees with the dactyls in the first five feet, and ends with a spondee: in this case we have one spondee, then four dactyls, then a spondee to end the line. It looks like a quotation, but if so the author is unknown: perhaps Marlowe composed it himself. As with Wagner’s Qui mihi discipulus, we can read it according to the Latin rules, like this, or we can give the words their proper prose accents, like this. The second half sounds pretty much the same either way.

II.3.639:

Per inaequálem mótum respéctu tótius.

This is a tedious bit of scholastic Latin prose, pseudoscientific jargon that doesn’t really answer Faustus’ question. Why do different planets pass each other in their courses around the sun, or even sometimes appear to back up (‘retrograde motion’ as in the All’s Well joke)? ‘Through [= because of] the unequal motion in respect of the whole’. Mephistopheles doesn’t know enough, or care enough, to give a more precise scientific answer. It should sound something like this.

III.1.793:

Súmmum bónum.

SUH-muhm BO-nuhm. This is two trochees, and the Us all sound like the U in English ‘put’ or ‘push’. Summum is ‘highest’ (as in ‘summit’ and ‘sum’ and ‘summary’), and bonum is ‘good’ (= ‘good thing’ – neuter adjective used as a noun, as in English). It’s philosophical Latin: the ‘highest good’ is whatever is most important in life – pleasure for Epicureans, duty for Stoics, God’s will (I think) for Christians, and so on. It should sound something like this.

Should Faustus’ servant’s name be pronounced like Richard Wagner’s last name (VAHG-ner) or like Honus or Robert or Lindsay Wagner’s (WAG-ner)? I’ve heard it both ways in productions. Would Marlowe have known the basic German pronunciation? Presumably: between his mysterious travels on the continent and his use of the German Faustbuch as a source, he would surely have picked up so basic a fact of German as the pronunciation of W. Would he have preferred the German pronunciation in writing for an English audience? That’s a difficult question. I’ve always preferred the Anglicized pronunciation, but have to admit that I can think of no good argument either way.

Wagner has has two bits of Latin, but each raises a mildly tricky question of pronunciation:

I.4.338:

Qui míhi discípulus.

Kwee MEE-hee diss-KIP-uh-luss. Qui is ‘who’ – relative, not interrogative – mihi is ‘to/for me’, and discipulus is ‘student, pupil’ (same word as English ‘disciple’, but with no religious implications in Latin). Put together, it means ‘(you) who (are) my student’. Commentators note that this is the opening phrase of a Latin poem by William Lyly (grandfather of John Lyly, the playwright) used to teach elementary Latin grammar.

As for pronunciation, this is Renaissance Latin, but follows the Classical rules, where the rhythm is based on long and short syllables, not stressed and unstressed. The rhythm is dactylic (long-short-short), the commonest classical meter, and this phrase is two and a half dactyls: long-short-short-long-short-short-long. If we ignore the word-accents and emphasize the dactylic rhythm, it would sound something like this. Romans probably didn’t do that, any more than English-speakers read every line of Shakespeare duh-DUM-duh-DUM-duh-DUM-duh-DUM-duh-DUM. Then again, Marlowe and his contemporaries probably did read it that way. If we stress the word accents, making the lengths of the syllables secondary, it will sound something like this – not as different as I would have expected. Given Wagner’s pretentious ignorance of Latin, you probably don’t want to recite it too competently.

I.4.385:

Quási vestígiis nóstris insístere.

KWAH-see Vest-I-jee-eese NOSS-treese in-SIS-teh-reh. Quasi is ‘as if’ – still used in English compounds – vestigiis is ‘footsteps, footprints’ (related to English ‘vestiges’ and ‘investigate’), nostris is ‘our’, and insistere is an infinitive, ‘to tread on, step on, stand on’ (related to ‘insist’, but with a purely physical meaning). The whole phrase (prose this time) means ‘as if to follow in our footsteps’ – ‘our’ probably means ‘my’ (as often in Latin), and ‘as if’ probably implies ‘if I were making literal footsteps in soft dirt, you should be putting your feet in the actual tracks I make’ – like a good servant. It should sound something like this.

Note: I would not use the restored classical pronunciation, with V sounding like W and G always hard (as in ‘get’ and ‘give’). Two reasons: (a) Marlowe would not have used it, and (b) contemporary audiences are more likely to recognize vestigiis as being related to ‘vestiges’ if it has hard V and soft G like the English word.

When Faustus and Mephistophilis disrupt the Pope’s dinner in Act III, the monks who curse them have two bits of Latin, the first repeated half a dozen times:

III.1.831:

Màledícat Dóminus.

This is basically three and a half trochees: Mah-leh-DEE-caht DOM-i-Nuss. Dominus is ‘Lord’ or ‘the Lord’ – there’s no definite or indefinite article in Latin, so it can be either. Maledicat is 3rd person singular present subjunctive active of male-dicere, ‘to speak badly (of someone), to curse’, so the whole phrase means ‘May the Lord curse (object unspecified)’. It’s an inversion of the usual prayer Benedicat Dominus, ‘(May) God bless (x)’. The phrase should sound something like this. I would be very tempted to make it sound like a Gregorian chant, something like this. I think I’ve heard it done that way in other productions.

III.1.838:

Et Ómnes Sáncti.

This is basically two and a half iambs: et OM-nayce SAHNK-tee. Et is ‘and’, omnes ‘all’, sancti ‘saints’ (of both sexes), so ‘And all the saints’. It’s not a complete sentence, but the previous curse is implied: ‘(May the Lord curse him) and (may) all the saints (curse him, too)’. Here’s the plain prose reading. And here’s the Gregorian chant reading. I trust trained actors can make that sound a lot better.

A few months ago, I promised some grad students putting on a production of Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus that I would help them with the Latin. Now that I’m back from Germany – more on that later – it’s time I kept that promise.

How to pronounce the Latin in an Elizabethan play is not an easy question to answer. For one thing, Marlowe and his contemporaries knew at least three different kinds of Latin, and Marlowe uses all three, though they’re not always clearly distinguished:

1. Classical quotations: most famously, the line of Ovid’s Amores Faustus speaks just before he is damned.
2. Ecclesiastical (‘Church’) Latin: most obviously, the bits spoken by the monks who curse Faustus after he disrupts the Pope’s meal.
3. Scholastic Latin: more generic, used by educated contemporaries for scholarly, scientific, or philosophical communication.

In upcoming posts, I will mark primary stress with an acute accent, secondary with grave, and underline the long vowels, since HTML handles that a lot better than trying to put a long mark and an accent above the same vowel. I will also include links to .wav file recordings in which I recite the lines and phrases to illustrate my recommended pronunciations. Warning: I am just beginning to experiment with recording software and hardware (Audacity and a Snowball microphone) – not to mention dramatic recitation – so these are likely to be more informative than entertaining. Comments and suggestions are of course welcome.