Translations have a way of gathering dust. This isn’t true
of an original text. When we read Chaucer or Shakespeare
we may need a gloss, or in the case of Chaucer a modern
translation, but we only look at these things so that we can
then enjoy the work as it was first written. And we’re struck
by its immediacy and freshness, as if we had been able to
learn a foreign language in a very short space of time with
little effort and maximum reward.
This is not the case with an old translation. If we read
Pope’s translation of Homer today, we read it because we
want to read Pope, not Homer. Linguistically, the transla-
tion draws our attention more to the language and poetry
of our eighteenth century than to Homer or ancient
Greece.
So to attempt a new translation of Machiavelli is not to
dismiss previous translations as poor. We are just acknowl-
edging that these older versions now draw attention to
themselves as moments in the English language. My efforts
of course will some day meet the same fate. Such distrac-
tions are particularly unfortunate with Machiavelli, who
insisted that he was only interested in style in so far as it
could deliver content without frills or distraction. ‘I haven’t