7 February 2011. Warm and sunny day, go figure... T-shirts and flip flops... Tiny whirling creatures in late afternoon light...
A question of the precise choice of words. Tolstoy, for instance. His description of Pierre, in the Russian--tolstoj molodoj chelovek--which Garnett takes as "a stout young man," as do the Maudes. But Pevear and Volokhonsky say "fat." S. imagines their conversation: "Now Richard (voice rising), in Russian it says fat! (However, S. has also told us that she also describes Tolstoy himself--his writing, that as--as the sound of an elephant approaching. So let's consider the attitude here. I understand her adamance--and the need for the freedom of the translator (in an absolute sense). Nonetheless, we're dealing with Tolstoy--and his Pierre-- one of the great and transcendent creations of character in the history of the writing of the world (Babel's phrase)--so the adjective matters. And who is Pierre? (Everyone, in the end, must revere him--or is it just me?) The price of the word fat (with it's connatations in English of roundedness, deracination and even an absense of sex--no doubt lost on the Russian ear (no matter how perfect one's acquired English)--where stout implies layers--coverings--in the Russian meant quite literally (layers of skin, or another material)--and a certain stiffness. Read masculinity. The price--the months wandering in the Russian winter, a prisoner of Napoleon's army in retreat, his feet exposed, body covered with lice (Tolstoy notes that their profusion keeps Pierre warm)--the presence of Platon Karataev, and a kind of impossible awakening--to himself and to the world. But of course, all this is too easy to say--for one would really have to suffer--live through--such an experience--to write these words.
To grow...
(for Princess N.)
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