Two views of the Emperor...
When it comes to literature, there is a school of thought that says works (including translations) over some number of years of age ought to be "rewritten" to make them more accessible to contemporary audiences.
There is, I am sure, more than enough material in the previous sentence to fuel at least three furious debates. Me, I like to keep an open mind, but not so open that things might have a tendency to fall out rather than join what's already inside. (Think of it as an application of the "доверяй, но проверяй" principle, i.e., trust the dealer, but always cut the cards.)
As a boy, I fell in love—for all the wrong reasons—with a leather-bound edition of The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, translated by George Long and published in the 1930s by Collins's Clear Type Press (London & Glasgow). I say "for all the wrong reasons" because, while I could not make much sense of the text, I loved the physical texture of the binding and the compactness of the book. And don't ask me why, but I was fascinated by the fact that a previous owner of the book had underlined certain passages. It was almost as if that distant stranger was sending me a secret message from the past.
Just recently, I bought a dead-tree copy of the same work, titled The Emperor's Handbook and translated by C. Scot Hicks and David Hicks, with the perhaps-adolescent notion of marking my copy up the same way as I go through it, so that some potential future reader might experience that same little thrill. (And even if that does not happen, there is still something about holding a book in one's hands that trumps the lack of mass and volume offered by electronic versions.)
And yet, during a free moment, I was curious, and decided to compare the old and new translations of the following short item, No. 33 from Book XII:
Cheers...
There is, I am sure, more than enough material in the previous sentence to fuel at least three furious debates. Me, I like to keep an open mind, but not so open that things might have a tendency to fall out rather than join what's already inside. (Think of it as an application of the "доверяй, но проверяй" principle, i.e., trust the dealer, but always cut the cards.)
As a boy, I fell in love—for all the wrong reasons—with a leather-bound edition of The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, translated by George Long and published in the 1930s by Collins's Clear Type Press (London & Glasgow). I say "for all the wrong reasons" because, while I could not make much sense of the text, I loved the physical texture of the binding and the compactness of the book. And don't ask me why, but I was fascinated by the fact that a previous owner of the book had underlined certain passages. It was almost as if that distant stranger was sending me a secret message from the past.
Just recently, I bought a dead-tree copy of the same work, titled The Emperor's Handbook and translated by C. Scot Hicks and David Hicks, with the perhaps-adolescent notion of marking my copy up the same way as I go through it, so that some potential future reader might experience that same little thrill. (And even if that does not happen, there is still something about holding a book in one's hands that trumps the lack of mass and volume offered by electronic versions.)
And yet, during a free moment, I was curious, and decided to compare the old and new translations of the following short item, No. 33 from Book XII:
How does the ruling faculty make use of itself? for all lies in this. But everything else, whether it is in the power of thy will or not, is only lifeless ashes and smoke.As a child of the 20th century, I must say I prefer the latter version.(George Long translation, 1862)
Are my guiding principles healthy and robust? On this hangs everything. The rest, whether I can control it or not, is but smoke and the gray ashes of the dead.(C. Scot and David Hicks translation, 2002)
Cheers...