BLUNDERS OF TRANSLATORS.
THE blunders of translators are so
common that they have been
made to point a moral in popular
proverbs. According to an Italian saying
_translators are traitors_ (``I traduttori sono
traditori''); and books are said to be _done_
into English, _traduced_ in French, and _overset_
in Dutch. Colton, the author of _Lacon_,
mentions a half-starved German at Cambridge
named Render, who had been long
enough in England to forget German, but
not long enough to learn English. This
worthy, in spite of his deficiencies, was a
voluminous translator of his native
literature, and it became a proverbial saying
among his intimates respecting a bad
translation that it was _Rendered_ into
English.
The Comte de Tressan translated the
<p 48>words ``capo basso'' (low headland) in a
passage from Ariosto by ``Cap de Capo
Basso,'' on account of which translation
the wits insisted upon calling him ``Comte
de Capo Basso.''
Robert Hall mentions a comical stumble
made by one of the translators of Plato,
who construed through the Latin and not
direct from the Greek. In the Latin
version _hirundo_ stood as _hir<u?>do_, and the
translator, overlooking the mark of
contraction, declared to the astonished world
on the authority of Plato that the _horse-
leech_ instead of the swallow was the harbinger
of spring. Hoole, the translator of
Tasso and Ariosto, was as confused in his
natural history when he rendered ``I
colubri Viscontei'' or _Viscontian snakes_,
the crest of the Visconti family, as ``the
Calabrian Viscounts.''
As strange as this is the Frenchman's
notion of the presence of guns in the
canons' seats: ``L'Archev<e^>que de Cantorbery
avait fait placer des _canons_ dans
les stalles de la cath<e'>drale.'' He quite
overlooked the word _chanoines_, which he
should have used. This use of a word
<p 49>similarly spelt is a constant source of
trouble to the translator: for instance,
a French translator of Scott's _Bride of
Lammermuir_ left the first word of the
title untranslated, with the result that he
made it the Bridle of Lammermuir, ``La
Bride de Lammermuir.''
Thevenot in his travels refers to the
fables of _Damn<e'> et Calilve_, meaning the
_Hitopodesa_, or Pilpay's Fables. His
translator calls them the fables of the damned
Calilve. This is on a par with De
Quincey's specimen of a French Abb<e'>'s
Greek. Having to paraphrase the Greek
words ``<gr 'Hrodotos kai iaxwn>'' (Herodotus
even while Ionicizing), the Frenchman
rendered them ``Herodote et aussi Jazon,''
thus creating a new author, one Jazon.
In the _Present State of Peru_, a compilation
from the _Mercurio Peruano_, P. Geronymo
Roman de la Higuera is transformed into
``Father Geronymo, a Romance of La
Higuera.''
In Robertson's _History of Scotland_ the
following passage is quoted from Melville's
_Account of John Knox_: ``He was so active
and vigorous a preacher that he was like
<p 50>to ding the pulpit into blads and fly out
of it.'' M. Campenon, the translator of
Robertson into French, turns this into the
startling statement that he broke his pulpit
and leaped into the midst of his auditors.
A good companion to this curious ``fact''
may be found in the extraordinary trope
used by a translator of Busbequius, who
says ``his misfortunes had reduced him to
the top of all miseries.''
We all know how Victor Hugo transformed
the Firth of Forth into the First of
the Fourth, and then insisted that he was
right; but this great novelist was in the
habit of soaring far above the realm of
fact, and in a work he brought out as an
offering to the memory of Shakespeare he
showed that his imagination carried him
far away from historical facts. The author
complains in this book that the muse of
history cares more for the rulers than for
the ruled, and, telling only what is pleasant,
ignores the truth when it is unpalatable
to kings. After an outburst of bombast
he says that no history of England tells us
that Charles II. murdered his brother the
Duke of Gloucester. We should be sur<p 51>prised
if any did do so, as that young man
died of small-pox. Hugo, being totally
ignorant of English history, seems to have
confused the son of Charles I. with an
earlier Duke of Gloucester (Richard III.),
and turned the assassin into the victim.
After these blunders Dr. Baly's mention
of the cannibals of _Nova Scotia_ instead
of _New Caledonia_ in his translation of
M<u:>ller's _Elements of Physiology_ seems
tame.
One snare that translators are constantly
falling into is the use of English words
which are like the foreign ones, but
nevertheless are not equivalent terms, and
translations that have taken their place
in literature often suffer from this cause;
thus Cicero's _Offices_ should have been
translated _Duties_, and Marmontel never
intended to write what we understand by
_Moral Tales_, but rather tales of manners
or of fashionable life. The translators of
Calmet's _Dictionary of the Bible_ render the
French ancien, ancient, and write of ``Mr.
Huet, the ancient Bishop of Avranch.''
Theodore Parker, in translating a work by
De Wette, makes the blunder of con<p 52>verting
the German word _W<a:>lsch_, a
foreigner (in the book an equivalent for
Italian), into _Welsh_.
Some men translate works in order to
learn a language during the process, and
they necessarily make blunders. It must
have been one of these ignoramuses who
translated _tellurische magnetismus_
(terrestrial magnetism) as the magnetical qualities
of Tellurium, and by his blunder caused
an eminent chemist to test tellurium in
order to find these magnetical qualities.
There was more excuse for the French
translator of one of Sir Walter Scott's
novels who rendered a welsh rabbit (or
rarebit, as it is sometimes spelt) into _un
lapin du pays de Galles_. Walpole states
that the Duchess of Bolton used to divert
George I. by affecting to make blunders,
and once when she had been to see Cibber's
play of _Love's Last Shift_ she called it _La
derni<e!>re chemise de l'amour_. A like
translation of Congreve's _Mourning Bride_ is
given in good faith in the first edition of
Peignot's _Manuel du Bibliophile_, 1800,
where it is described as _L'<E'>pouse de
Matin_; and the translation which Walpole
<p 53>attributes to the Duchess of Bolton the
French say was made by a Frenchman
named La Place.
The title of the old farce _Hit or Miss_
was turned into _Frapp<e'> ou Mademoiselle_,
and the _Independent Whig_ into _La
Perruque Ind<e'>pendante_.
In a late number of the _Literary
World_ the editor, after alluding to the
French translator of Sir Walter Scott
who turned ``a sticket minister'' into
``le ministre assassin<e'>,'' gives from the
_Biblioth<e!>que Universelle_ the extraordinary
translation of the title of Mr. Barrie's
comedy, _Walker, London_, as _Londres qui
se prom<e!>ne_.
Old translators have played such tricks
with proper names as to make them often
unintelligible; thus we find La Rochefoucauld
figuring as Ruchfucove; and in an
old treatise on the mystery of Freemasonry
by John Leland, Pythagoras is described
as Peter Gower the Grecian. This of
course is an Anglicisation of the French
Pythagore (pronounced like Peter Gore).
Our versions of Eastern names are so
different from the originals that when the
<p 54>two are placed together there appears
to be no likeness between them, and the
different positions which they take up in
the alphabet cause the bibliographer an
infinity of trouble. Thus the original of
Xerxes is Khshayarsha (the revered king),
and Averrhoes is Ibn Roshd (son of
Roshd). The latter's full name is Abul
Walid Mohammed ben Ahmed ben Mohammed.
Artaxerxes is in old Persian
Artakhshatra, or the Fire Protector, and
Darius means the Possessor. Although
all these names--Xerxes, Artaxerxes, and
Darius--have a royal significance, they
were personal names, and not titles like
Pharaoh.
It is often difficult to believe that
translators can have taken the trouble to read
their own work, or they surely would not
let pass some of the blunders we meet
with. In a translation of Lamartine's
_Girondins_ some courtly people are
described as figuring ``under the vaults'' of
the Tuileries instead of beneath the arched
galleries (_sous ses voutes_). This, however,
is nothing to a blunder to be found
in the _Secret Memoirs of the Court of
<p 55>Louis XIV. and of the Regency_ (1824).
The following passage from the original
work, ``Deux en sont morts et on dit
publiquement qu'ils ont <e'>t<e'> empoisonn<e'>s,'' is
rendered in the English translation to the
confusion of common sense as ``Two of
them died with her, and said publicly that
they had been poisoned.''
This is not unlike the bull of the young
soldier who, writing home in praise of the
Indian climate, said, ``But a lot of young
fellows come out here, and they drink
and they eat, and they eat and they drink,
and they die; and then they write home
to their friends saying it was the climate
that did it.''
Some authors have found that there is
peril in too free a translation, thus Dotet
was condemned on Feb. 14th, 1543, for
translating a passage in Plato's Dialogues
as ``After death you will be nothing _at
all_.'' Surely he who translated _Dieu d<e'>fend
l'adult<e!>re_ as _God defends adultery_ more
justly deserved punishment! Guthrie,
the geographical writer, who translated
a French book of travels, unfortunately
mistook _neuvi<e!>me_ (ninth) for _neuvelle_ or
<p 56>_neuve_, and therefore made an allusion to
the twenty-sixth day of the new moon.
Moore quotes in his _Diary_ (Dec.
30th, 1818) a most amusing blunder of
a translator who knew nothing of the
technical name for a breakwater. He
translated the line in Goldsmith's _Deserted
Village_,
``As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away,
into
``Comme la mer d<e'>truit les travaux de la taupe.''
D'Israeli records two comical translations
from English into French. ``Ainsi
douleur, va-t'en ``for _woe begone_ is almost
too good; and the man who mistook the
expression ``the officer was broke'' as
meaning broke on a wheel and translated
it by _rou<e'>_ made a very serious matter of
what was possibly but a small fault.
In the translation of _The Conscript_ by
Erckmann-Chatrian, the old botcher is
turned into the old butcher.
Sometimes in attempting to correct a
supposed blunder of another we fall into
<p 57>a very real one of our own. Thus a few
years ago, before we knew so much about
folk-lore as we do now, we should very
probably have pointed out that Cinderella's
glass slipper owed its existence to a
misprint. Fur was formerly so rare and so
highly prized that its use was restricted
by sumptuary laws to kings, princes, and
persons holding honourable offices. In
these laws sable is called vair, and it has
been asserted that Perrault marked the
dignity conferred upon Cinderella by the
fairy's gift of a slipper of vair, a privilege
confined to the highest rank of princesses.
It is further stated that by an error of the
printer _vair_ was changed into _verre_. Now,
however, we find in the various versions
which have been collected of this favourite
tale that, however much the incidents may
differ, the slipper is almost invariably made
of some rigid material, and in the earliest
forms the unkind sisters cut their feet to
make them fit the slipper. This unpleasant
incident was omitted by Perrault, but he
kept the rigid material and made the glass
slipper famous.
The Revisers of the Old Testament
<p 58>translation have shown us that the famous
verse in Job, ``Oh that mine adversary
had written a book,'' is wrong; but it
will never drop out of our language
and literature. The Revised Version is
certainly much more in accordance with
our ideas of the time when the book was
written, a period when authors could not
have been very common:--
``Oh that I had one to hear me!
(Lo, here is my signature, let the Almighty answer me;)
And that I had the indictment which mine adversary hath written!
Surely I would carry it upon my shoulder;
I would bind it unto me as a crown.''
Silk Buckingham drew attention to the
fact that some translations of the Bible
had been undertaken by persons ignorant
of the idioms of the language into which
they were translating, and he gave an
instance from an Arabic translation where
the text ``Judge not, that ye be not
judged'' was rendered ``Be not just to
others, lest others should be just to
you.''
The French have tried ingeniously to
<p 59>explain the difficulty contained in _St.
Matthew_ xix. 24, ``It is easier for a camel
to go through the eye of a needle than
for a rich man to enter into the kingdom
of God,'' by affirming that the translators
mistook the supposed word <gr k<a'>milos>, a rope,
for <gr k<a'>mhlos>, a camel.
The humours of translation are numerous,
but perhaps the most eccentric
example is to be found in Stanyhurst's
rendering of _Virgil_, published in 1583.
It is full of cant words, and reads like
the work of a madman. This is a fair
specimen of the work:--
``Theese thre were upbotching, not shapte, but partlye wel onward,
A clapping fierbolt (such as oft, with rownce robel-hobble,
Jove to the ground clattreth) but yeet not finished holye.''
M. Guyot, translating some Latin epigrams
under the title of _Fleurs, Morales, et
<E'>pigrammatiques_, uses the singular forms
Monsieur Zo<i:>le and Mademoiselle Lycoris.
The same author, when translating the
letters of Cicero (1666), turns Pomponius
into M. de Pomponne.
<p 60>
Pitt's friend, Pepper Arden, Master of
the Rolls, Lord Chief Justice of the
Common Pleas and Lord Alvanley, was
rather hot-tempered, and his name was
considered somewhat appropriate, but to
make it still more so his friends translated
it into ``Mons. Poivre Ardent.''
This reminds one of the Frenchman who
toasted Dr. Johnson, not as Mr. Rambler,
but as Mr. Vagabond.
Tom Moore notices some amusing mis-
translations in his _Diary_. Major
Cartwright, who was called the Father of
Reform (although a wit suggested that
Mother of Reform would have been a
more appropriate title), supposed that
the _Brevia Parliamentaria_ of Prynne
stood for ``short parliaments.'' Lord
Lansdowne told Moore that he was with
Lord Holland when the letter containing
this precious bit of erudition arrived.
Another story of Lord Lansdowne's is
equally good. His French servant
announced Dr. Mansell, the Master of
Trinity, when he called, as ``Ma<i^>tre des
C<e'>r<e'>monies de la Trinit<e'>.''
Moore also relates that an account
<p 61>having appeared in the London papers
of a row at the Stock Exchange, where
some strangers were hustled, it appeared
in the Paris papers in this form: ``Mons.
Stock Exchange <e'>tait <e'>chauff<e'>,'' etc.
There is something to be said in favour
of the humorous translation of _Magna est
veritas et prevalabit_--``Great is truth,
it will prevail a bit,'' for it is probably
truer than the original. He who construed
C<ae>sar's mode of passing into Gaul
_summa diligentia_, ``on the top of the
diligence,'' must have been of an imaginative
turn of mind. Probably the time will
soon come when this will need explanation,
for a public will arise which knows
not the dilatory ``diligence.''
The translator of _Inter Calicem
supremaque labra_ as Betwixt Dover and
Calais gave as his reason that Dover was
_Angli<ae> suprema labra_.
Although not a blunder nor apparently
a joke, we may conclude this chapter with
a reference to Shakespeare's remarkable
translation of _Finis Coronat opus_. Helena
remarks in _All's well that Ends well_ (act
iv., sc. 4):--
<p 62>
``All's well that ends well: still _the fine's the crown_.''
In the _Second Part of King Henry VI_.
(act v., sc. 2) old Lord Clifford, just before
he dies, is made to use the French translation
of the proverb:--
``La fin couronne les <oe>uvres.''
In the first Folio we read:--
``La fin corrone les eumenes.''