Scholars
commonly translate
Greek and Latin texts in a way that favours their own interpretation
of the author—and
criticize
corresponding
maneuvers
by rival interpreters. These
tendentious translations are not incorrect, but they do evade equally
possible alternative versions. This
practise
can foster
fruitful discussion
among scholars who know the original languages. Essays
addressed to a wider public should
perhaps
elicit
greater
responsibility. For
example, if
tendentious
translations are
proposed,
one should also disclose the
linguistic issues involved.
Today,
with the growing importance of popularizing Classics, there should be
some concern for what I would propose
to call standards
of
‘translational
ethics’.
What
better source of examples could
we
desire than
a work by the leading British popularizer Mary Beard? Her
book Confronting
the Classics: Traditions, Adventures, and Innovations
(Liveright
2013)
is itself a brilliant innovation. Each
chapter is
based on reviews of one or more books on a particular topic, with
background information for general readers and further discussion of
Beard’s assessment of the topic as well as of the book(s). The
result is engaging reading for classicists and
general readers alike.
(The
only caveat that I shall add is that even this “first American
edition” is rather
anglocentric. German scholars draw Beard’s attention especially as
they relate to English academe.
Americans receive a nod when they have committed errors. And
Canadians do not seem to exist.)
Beard’s
criticism of others’ translations is proficient and sometimes
amusing.
Her chapter on Thucydides deconstructs famous bons
mots
of political philosophy ascribed to him,
arguing that they actually arose from creative
translations and that Thucydides’ intended point was more mundane.
Creative
translation is necessary
for poetry or texts like Asterix,
which, as
Beard
argues, became popular outside of France only thanks to translators’
revisions. But historical writing is another matter. Beard
does
explain some
of the
underlying ambiguities of the Greek. Yet I had an uneasy feeling
about this procedure: Specialists comparing different translations
can verify and evaluate the argument by referring to the Greek.
General readers are totally dependent on Beard as their guide. The
only benefit for them as independent thinkers is a
hint of
the difficulties
of translation and the rewards
of learning Greek.
Overall,
Beard’s
guidance
is reliable; but she too can be surprisingly tendentious. Beard
believes that Tacitus wrote his
Annals
with
an implicit message which has been missed, although it is suggested
by the very first sentence—viz.,
Rome was actually prone to monarchy throughout her history. That
first sentence reads: Urbem
Romam a principio reges habuere.
Beard
translates: “The
city of Rome has been the possession of kings from the beginning (p.
115).” There are three tendentious maneuvers
here. One exploits
the ambiguity
of a principio,
which can mean ‘in the beginning’ or ‘from the beginning’.
Beard admits this later in the book (p. 164); she believes that
Tacitus’ ambivalence is intentional. But there are two further
maneuvers
which she does not disclose:
(1) Latin does not differentiate the perfect tense from the aorist;
‘has been the possession’ could simply
mean ‘was the possession’. And (2) the context suggests
the aorist. The second sentence
is libertatem
et consulatum L. Brutus instituit.
‘Freedom
and the consulship were introduced by L. Brutus.’ Libertas
may relate only to the senatorial class, but however we take it, it
is opposed to ‘kings’, especially
in its emphatic position at the beginning of the clause.
And the one-year tenure of dual consular governors functioned
precisely to exclude absolutism. However one evaluates Beard’s
overall interpretation of the Annals,
the point of the opening sentence
is more mundane.
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