Read all previous posts in Asymptote’s “Mimes” translation project here.
Mime XII. The Samian wine
The tyrant Polycrates gave orders to bring three sealed flasks, each containing a different delicious wine. The conscientious slave took one flask made of black stone, one flask of yellow gold, and one flask of clear glass, but the careless steward poured one Samian wine into all three flasks.
Polycrates looked at the black stone flask and raised his eyebrows. He broke the plaster seal and sniffed the wine. “This flask,” he said “is made of base stuff and the odour of its contents does not entice me much.” Picking up the golden flask, he admired it. Then, having unsealed it, “This wine,” he said, “is doubtless inferior to its beautiful container with its wealth of vermilion grapes and lustrous vines.” Grasping the third flask, that of clear glass, however, he held it up to the sunlight. The sanguinolent wine glinted. Polycrates popped the seal, emptied the flask into his cup, and drank it in one. “That,” he said with a satisfied sigh, “is the finest wine I have ever tasted.” Then, setting his cup on the table, he knocked the flask, which smashed into smithereens.
Mime XIII. The Three Chases
The fig trees have shed their figs and the olive trees their olives, for a strange thing has come to pass on the island of Skyra. A young girl was fleeing, pursued by a young man. She had hitched up her tunic and the edge of her delicate underwear was showing. As she ran, she dropped a little silver mirror. The young man picked it up and looked at his reflection; he gazed on his eyes full of wisdom and, gratified to see how sweetly reasonable they were, ceased his pursuit and sat down on the sand. Then the young girl sped off again, pursued by a man in the prime of life. She had turned up the edge of her tunic and her thighs looked like ripe fruit. As she ran, a golden apple rolled from her garment. Her pursuer picked up the golden apple and, hiding it beneath his tunic, began to worship it; he ceased his chase and sat down on the sand. And the young girl ran off once more, but her steps were slower, as she was being pursued by a doddering old man. She had let down her tunic and her ankles were swathed in iridescent cloth. While she was running, though, the strange thing happened: one after the other her breasts came loose and dropped to the ground like ripe medlars. The old man drank in their scent; and the young girl, before throwing herself into the river that crosses the island of Skyra, gave two cries of horror and regret.
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Melanie Florence: Form and content correspond in Mime XII, whose simple third-person narrative—a rarity in this collection—may be read as a parable about the need to match style to subject matter. The story of the three flasks seems to suggest that the container, i.e., the words/style, should be worthy of its contents, the material, but not so elaborate and costly that it overshadows it; the limpid glass shows off its contents to their best advantage. This alludes to the antique ideal of crystalline clarity in style. I was thus concerned to preserve the original’s form as far as possible, keeping the ternary repetition redolent of a folk tale with “one flask of….”, for example, although I did add made in the first instance, to avoid all ambiguity. The plain backcloth allows sound and rhythm to stand out, so these were important: le vin sanglant scintilla was a challenge, but I eventually found a phrase with a different alliteration sanguinolent glinted. I rendered the balanced contrast of diligent / oublieux by conscientious / forgetful, while the final cadence tomba en poussière I imitated by smashed into smithereens. It was initially tempting to create a play on words by translating le même vin de Samos by same Samian wine but I soon rejected this as “tricksy” and ugly to the ear. In translating Polycrates’s speech, I tried to make the tyrant sound slightly pompous and suitably antique. At the level of individual words, vermilion and lustrous describing the golden flask seemed appropriately redolent of art; although it was suggested by two separate classics scholars that the flask of pierre noire might be onyx, I chose to translate the French literally, as onyx arguably suggests something paler and perhaps finer nowadays. I did, however, intervene on occasion, substituting steward for the usual sense of échanson, cupbearer, as this seemed more logical in the context, and qualifying the original’s sigh as satisfied, principally to clarify the sense but also because its sibilance was pleasing.
I chose to translate the title of Mime XIII as chases—rather than races—in a deliberate allusion to the old chestnut of chaste and chased, in keeping with its subject matter: the piece seems a twist on the tale of Atalanta, who, having sworn to defend her virginity, has to outrun her suitor; he throws a golden apple which distracts and slows her down. Like XII, the narrative is beautifully limpid, and its simplicity is a perfect foil for the bizarre event it relates. “A strange thing has come to pass” seemed a suitably archaic and detached translation of “il est arrivé….” Apparently straightforward, the phrase aima leur raison gave me cause for thought: liked was too weak, loved possibly too strong, and I was delighted when was gratified came to mind, with its psychoanalytic associations, arguably appropriate for the context. Qualifying reasonable by sweetly removed any ambiguity. The most obvious instance of sound patterning—the repeated “cessa sa poursuite et s’assit sur le sable”—was readily replicated in English but I sacrificed the possible repetition in “le miroir…s’y mira” to literal sense. I felt justified in increasing the sensuality of the original’s comparison of the girl’s thighs to la chair d’un fruit by making it “ripe fruit,” while at the same time I rendered diaprée as iridescent for its very fin de siècle ethereality.
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After studying French and German language and literature at the University of Oxford (Somerville College) Melanie Florence developed a portfolio career with books as its common thread. She currently combines occasional university teaching with a job in the Bodleian Library and, increasingly, literary translation from French. She is translator of The A26 by Pascal Garnier and The Poisoning Angel by Jean Teulé, both published by Gallic Books, London.