HARRY POTTER AND THE BAD IDEA
Peter Jones on why he would much rather J.K. Rowling were not translated into Latin and ancient Greek
MEDIAEVAL alchemists thought that there should be a substance which would turn any metal into gold. They provisionally called it 'the philosopher's stone' — which, in legend, Noah was said to have hung up in his ark to bring light to the menagerie inside — and in their search for it stumbled across all sorts of useful things, such as Dresden porcelain and gunpowder, but never discovered it.
Where mediaeval alchemists failed, J.K. Rowling has succeeded. Her Hany Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, now a film, and her subsequent Potter books have certainly turned her words into gold, and she is now as rich as Croesus (last king of Lydia before the Persians under Cyrus took over in 546 BC).
Not surprisingly her publishers, Bloomsbury, smell gold too, and are keen to cash in as much as they can on this philosopher's stone. As a result, they have been commissioning translations of Potter into every spoken language they can think of, and very successful it has all been. But now even spoken languages are not enough for the Potter phenomenon, and Bloomsbury have decided that unspoken languages are the next step: Latin and ancient Greek. Peter Needham, an extremely clever retired classics teacher from Eton, is doing the Latin version, and the search is on for someone to do the Greek.
Miss Rowling is said to be keen on the idea. She studied classics for a time at Exeter University, and her books are full of nods at the ancient world. Hogwarts School has a Latin motto Draco dotmiens numquam titillandus ('Never tickle a sleeping dragon'). A three-headed dog called Fluffy, which guards the philosopher's stone and can be won over only by music, reminds us of the underworld guard-dog Cerberus and the irresistible singer Orpheus.
Not that Bloomsbury imagine the Latin and Greek versions will add substantially to their pile of gold. After all, only 10,000 children sat GCSE Latin last year, and just over 1,000 ancient Greek. But they do think `it will mean much more fun lessons for anyone studying Latin and Greek'.
This is very altruistic of them, and if it is
J.K. Rowling's desire that Potter should be used to promote classics, good for her. More and more parents and children would agree that this is a desirable aim (witness the success of the primary-school Latin course Minimus). But is a Latin Potter the way to achieve it?
There is no doubt that there will be people to whom a Latin Potter will give intense pleasure. Translating English into Latin is an art, and those who enjoyed such exercises at school (as I did, a great deal) will surely find much to admire in the dexterity which Peter Needham will bring to the task. The problem is, I suspect, that such people will be relatively few. They will mostly be those whose Latin is already pretty well honed — dons, schoolmasters and those who have kept up their classics after leaving school and university. But fun for schoolchildren? Fac mihi favorem, as they (don't) say.
When I was studying Latin at school in the 1950s, we were often given copies of Acta Diuma, `Daily Events', which reported in schoolboy Latin what was going on in the world. I have to say it made me groan. I loved Latin with its ablative absolutes and exciting tales of a strange, distant world where people were always throwing up mounds and attacking Belgians with spears. The last thing I wanted to do was grind through accounts of modern events, written in turgidly correct Latin (subjunc lives and all) which I could read about in English anyway.
There are three points here. The first is one of need. Those who speak only French need a French Potter if they are to read the stuff. But who speaks only Latin? The second is one of cultural appropriateness. It is not difficult to dream up, for example, a Latin word for `email', but using an ancient language to depict a modern world is rather like getting sea-lions to play headtennis. It soon palls because it is not what sea-lions or head-tennis are for, and Kevin Keegan is actually rather better at it. One experiences precisely the same frustrations the other way round, using modern language to represent the ancient world. But at least there is a specific need for such translations, however distorted a mirror they may hold up to the ancient masterpieces. I suspect that even if schools do read the Latin Potter, it will be a few pages at most.
The main point, however, is that there is quite enough Latin lying about the place as it is, much of it unloved and neglected, without adding to the store; and real Latin and the real ancient and mediaeval world that Latin brings to life are in fact infinitely more rewarding and `fun' than any modern pastiche, however clever. Minimus opens up the world of the Vindolanda tablets, with their invitations to birthday parties, requests for beer, socks, sandals and underpants against the freezing weather and references to Britunculi ('silly little Brits'). Only today I was reading a curse-tablet, c. 50 BC, directed at one Plotius (Harrius Plotius?), asking the goddess Proserpina to stitch him up good and proper: 'I give over to you the head . . forehead . . . eyebrows . .. eyelids .. . pupils of Plotius; I give over to you the nostrils, lips, ears, nose, tongue and teeth of Plotius, so that he may not be able to say what is causing him pain; the neck, shoulders, arms and fingers, so that he may not be able to help himself in any way; his breast, liver, heart and lungs, so that he may not be able to discover the source of his pain; his intestines, stomach, navel and sides, so that he may not be able to sleep; his.. . ' (yes, and all the rest).
If one had to produce Potter in an unspoken language, I would be tempted to go the whole hog and produce a truly grisly schoolboy Granglat version, with the Greek glossed ('Mister at Mrsa Dursleius, numero quattuor, Via Priveta, swankers craft tau dicebant erant petfecte normalissimi, gratias multas'). Children love linguistic jokes and parodies (one learns a lot of Latin by learning to parody it) and, even better, would be able to read it straight off without the terrifying prospect of suddenly bumping into a particularly nasty gerund. But perhaps Potter is already too sacred a text for such irreverent treatment.
Good luck to Harrius Pottenis. But Latin for the Romans was my view as a schoolboy and (with mediaeval exceptions) still is.
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