| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Battle of the Books by Jonathan Swift: have made this litter here; could not you look before you, and be
d-d? Do you think I have nothing else to do (in the devil's name)
but to mend and repair after you?" "Good words, friend," said the
bee, having now pruned himself, and being disposed to droll; "I'll
give you my hand and word to come near your kennel no more; I was
never in such a confounded pickle since I was born." "Sirrah,"
replied the spider, "if it were not for breaking an old custom in
our family, never to stir abroad against an enemy, I should come
and teach you better manners." "I pray have patience," said the
bee, "or you'll spend your substance, and, for aught I see, you may
stand in need of it all, towards the repair of your house."
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Art of War by Sun Tzu: undertaken out of any inflated estimate of my own powers; but I
could not help feeling that Sun Tzu deserved a better fate than
had befallen him, and I knew that, at any rate, I could hardly
fail to improve on the work of my predecessors."
Clearly, Dr. Giles' work established much of the groundwork
for the work of later translators who published their own
editions. Of the later editions of the ART OF WAR I have
examined; two feature Giles' edited translation and notes, the
other two present the same basic information from the ancient
Chinese commentators found in the Giles edition. Of these four,
Giles' 1910 edition is the most scholarly and presents the reader
The Art of War |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini: between the fluttering of her lids.
Andre-Louis, however, still went on eating stolidly, without so
much as a look in her direction. Gradually the company came to
realize that just as surely as a scene was brooding, just so
surely would there be no scene as long as they remained. It was
Polichinelle, at last, who gave the signal by rising and withdrawing,
and within two minutes none remained in the room but M. Binet, his
daughter, and Andre-Louis. And then, at last, Andre-Louis set down
knife and fork, washed his throat with a draught of Burgundy, and
sat back in his chair to consider Climene.
"I trust," said he, "that you had a pleasant ride, mademoiselle."
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