musicians of old

Chapter 806 Study Room
"Creak" sound.

Fanning pushed open the oak study door located at the top of the mansion's tower.

A warm breeze carrying the scent of honey wafted by, and the copper pot beside the fireplace was simmering dried apricots, the amber syrup bubbling in the earthenware pot.

Dusk had long since soaked the entire Po Plain, but the gilded study was brightly lit by candlelight. Two maids hurried forward and knelt down to clean Fanning's monk's robes. Just now, as he walked through the garden, the hem of his robes was covered with primrose pollen.

"Come in," a voice came from the inner room.

The layout here is no different from when I came last year. As the eldest sister's private study, the environment is different from the hall used for family meetings.

The six Venetian-style floor-to-ceiling windows leading to the viewing platform are fully open, allowing the moonlight to flow across the lapis lazuli tiles. On the swing outside, there is an object that vaguely resembles a mask.

To the left of the desk, the entire wall of oak shelves is shrouded in darkness, and the few obscure ornaments are the same as before: a brass star chart in a Moroccan leather box, hydrological scrolls classified by watershed, and some women's trinkets and bottles.

"Sister." Fan Ning stopped and bowed.

"sit."

Joan, seated at the head of the table, wore a soft madder satin robe for nighttime warmth, over which was a purple-dyed linen petticoat. Her black hair was held back by an Ascofien headband, with a few stray locks falling to her neck. Fanning's gaze lingered only on her chin for a moment before quickly sweeping over the rest of her body.

"Sit on this side and read some poetry with me for a while."

"Yes, sister."

The maid dragged the movable birchwood stand in front of the two of them and adjusted its position so that it was completely immersed in the candlelight.

The parchment scrolls, unfurled like fresh snow, contain the poetry collection "The Flute of the East"—a product brought here by Sogdian merchants through a circuitous route via Sarmahan, Baghdad, and Constantinople.

Those merchants may not have cared about the original meaning of the poem, but only whether the exotic patterns could fetch a high price and whether those mysterious Chinese seals could be used to exorcise demons. But the result was that it formed a bond with some people destined to be connected with it on the other side of mountains and seas.

“Look at my translation of ‘Elegy for the Vanity of the World’.” Joan held a silver syllable ruler and ran it over the words she had written before her.

"Planctus de Vanitate Mundi," Fanning read the Italian title, then continued reading the text, "Dolore, oh dolore! Padron, il vino attenda."

The original title of this poem should be read as "A Lament," and the author is the poet "Li-Tai-Po" from a distant Eastern country.

Fan Ning carefully read Qiong's translation, and from time to time compared it with the original text, "Alas, alas! Master, do not pour the wine, but listen to my lament."

"How is it? This is what I translated last week under the guidance of Brother Squiabben," Joan asked.

“Father Squiabben has been a missionary for many years and has a deep understanding of Eastern culture,” Fan Ning immediately stated.

The old priest's full name is F. Nikolaevich Squiaben, and he was the former abbot of the Guido Dalezo Monastery. However, he resigned from his post more than ten years ago, retaining only his rank, and devoted all his energy to missionary work among the lost sheep.

He only returns to Mertram for a short stay around Easter each year, and the faithful still flock to him for confession.

"So what?" Joan asked.

"very good."

"Give me your feedback."

“Hmm,” Fanning said after a moment’s thought, “The opening ‘Dolore, oh dolore’ is in iambic pentameter, but the original poem ‘Sorrow comes!’ has two heavy blows, so perhaps ‘DOLORE! OH DOLORE!’ in full iambic pentameter would be more appropriate.” Joan nodded: “Anything else?”

Fan Ning continued reading—"Brothers, do you not see? Heaven and earth endure forever, but the glittering treasures of halls vanish like morning dew! A hundred years of wealth is but smoke over an abyss. Death turns all beings to bones, like a sickle cutting through the grass!"

The original text for this passage should be: "Have you not seen that though heaven is long and earth is enduring, even a house full of gold and jade cannot be kept? How long can wealth and honor last? Everyone faces death once."

Fanning thought for a moment, then placed the quill pen on the line “thesauri in aula fulgent quasi ros mane fugit” (The glitter of treasures vanishes like morning dew), and continued to carefully choose his words:
The boisterousness of "a house full of gold and jade" and the resolute determination of "should not be kept" in this sentence feel somewhat diluted by the beautiful metaphor of "like morning dew".

“Revise.” Qiong looked at his hand holding the pen.

Fan Ning was immediately ordered to write it down.

He recalled the passage in the Old Testament Book of Ecclesiastes and Psalms that read, "They do not regard the works of the Lord, nor pay attention to the work of his hands. May their banquets become a snare before them, and a trap in their peace." So he replaced it with the words "sanguis mensis fugit" (the blood of the banquet is fleeting).

After he finished writing, he looked at Joan's face. Joan pondered for a while, then said, "Continue."

“mors aequat omnes ossa Death turns all beings into skeletons, like a sickle cutting down weeds.” Fan Ning pointed, “This translation is quite concise, but ‘all men are born and die once’ is a magnanimous sentiment in the original poem. In this way, it becomes a threat of the Last Judgment.”

He then made further revisions.

"Hmm, is this sentence untranslated?" Fan Ning asked, glancing at a blank line.

“Father Squiaben said he couldn’t find a good idea, and I don’t know where to start either,” Joan said. “Please give it a try.”

The original text is: "A lone ape sits and cries under the moon above the grave; let us drink our fill of wine."

The imagery is truly extraordinary; no wonder Squier didn't even bother to write it.

Being watched by his elder sister, who was known for her strictness in the family, Fan Ning couldn't help but feel pressured. He thought quickly for a minute, and then picked up his pen and wrote:
"Daemon sub luna ululat, super tumulos damnatorum (The devil howls in the Moonlight Graveyard, all are cursed sinners).
BIBITE VINUM SANCTUM! dum judex noster venit! (Drink the holy wine while our judges are still here!)

Joan read it three times, her eyes gleaming with admiration, and she couldn't help but praise, "This 'BIBITE VINUM SANCTUM' (Drink the Holy Wine) is absolutely brilliant, but does the poet Li-Tai-Po's 'wine in the cup' really refer to the Holy Blood?"

“Those Genoese sailors even said he was a sorcerer worshipped by the Persians,” Fanning said with a smile and a shake of his head. “Actually, I took a shortcut and modified the Persian merchant’s oral translation. Translating ‘A lone ape sits and cries under the moonlit grave’ as ‘The devil howls in the moonlit graveyard’ might not be appropriate. In the Eastern context, apes do not symbolize depravity. Li-Tai-Po may have seen the ape’s cry as a resonant soundbox of universal sorrow.”

“Your knowledge has improved again,” Joan said, expressing her approval.

Fan Ning then accompanied and translated Li Bai's "Spring Day Drunk and Expressing My Aspirations" and "Lotus Picking Song".

At this point, Joan turned to the back of the poetry collection: "Early this morning, Bishop Tucville sent someone to ask you to answer questions about the translation of the poem 'Long Autumn Nights in Imitation of the Ancients.' You must think carefully and have something to say about it."

“His Excellency the Bishop of Tukville asked a question?” Fan Ning was startled.

This head of the Mertram parish is a very important asset to the family and someone they have served for many years.

He indeed attached great importance to missionary work, and therefore valued the translation and exchange of poetry and scriptures from different continents, paying particular attention to Eastern culture. It was for this reason that Father Squiaben became a missionary he highly regarded.

But why suddenly examine one's own artistic and metrical skills in such a solitary way?

“Since it is Bishop Tucville who asked me to translate ‘Long Autumn Nights,’ I will take the translation seriously.” Fan Ning picked up his pen and unfolded a new roll of parchment.

“There’s an additional condition this time. His Excellency the bishop said that if he wants to interrogate you about your faith, it must be translated into Latin.” After saying this, Joan closed her eyes to rest.