So much for the reading selections--now for the way in which they
ought to be used in the classroom. I have a very vivid recollection
of how most of the language lessons were conducted when I went to
school, and I have a suspicion that this method of procedure has not
yet quite died out, even if in many places it has more or less felt the
influence of the law of change. First the “old lesson” is gone through,
and that must take as little time as possible, therefore the pupil is
required to be able to translate it fluently without reading it aloud
first. Then we come to the “new lesson.” A boy stands up and reads a
little piece out of the reader--stuttering; the words are separated
from each other by pauses and various unaesthetic hm- and er- sounds,
and sometimes by the teacher’s corrections, or “now hurry,” “what a
terrible pronunciation!” “how do you pronounce g before e? well, you
know that just as well as I do, you blockhead,” etc. All that the boy
thinks about, whenever he gets an opportunity, is, what in the world
can be the meaning of that word I am coming to. Then he translates,
interrupted by the teacher’s corrections, or “look out,” “where is
the verb,” “but what case is it,” etc. Then there are, perhaps, some
grammatical questions; he is to give the principal parts of a verb
or two, explain the use of a subjunctive, etc.; the questions are
not asked in the foreign language and are not to be answered in that
tongue. The next boy is called upon to recite in the same way, and so
on until the lesson has been gone through; if there is time enough,
perhaps we go through it once more, but that must be in a hurry, so we
do not stop to read it first this time. The last five or six minutes
are devoted to looking through the lesson for next time; the teacher
translates it while the pupils follow it in their books, and perhaps
exert themselves to write down the meaning of some difficult word in
the margin of the reader or in a note-book.
The most prominent feature of the teaching is haste; there is much
to be done, especially as examination draws on. It seems to be an
established custom that the examination marks are determined by the
quality of the translation, and it is in order to get practice in
translating that the reading selections are gone through as many
times as possible. There is not much time for reading aloud; why,
when one has only learned the main principles of pronunciation, one
can generally infer the pronunciation of any word from the spelling,
especially in German, but also in French. I suppose it is more or less
in this confidence that the teachers let a piece be translated three or
four times for every time it is read aloud in the original.
How much of the foreign language does the pupil hear in the course of
such a lesson? The teacher says a word now and then--for instance, when
a pupil translates incorrectly; but then the attention is not directed
to the pronunciation; besides, it is generally only one word that he
says, and that word occurs most likely in a sentence in the pupils’ own
language. Now, it is a matter of fact that even one who pronounces very
well cannot get the proper French swing of a French word when it occurs
in company with words of another language. The basis of articulation
is different in the two languages, and it is not easy to shift from
the one to the other in a moment. So it is but little that the pupil
hears from his teacher. From his classmates he hears a little more, no
doubt; but theirs is not exactly exemplary pronunciation, and besides,
it does not interest him to pay attention to it. If he only can manage
to keep the place in the book where the others are for the moment, he
can very well think about other things while the others are reciting;
he can, for instance, review the difficult words in the next piece, if
he does not prefer to dream about his stamp collection or his bicycle.
Finally, on rare occasions, he is permitted to read a couple of lines
aloud in class, but it is considered merely as a sort of introduction
to the main business in hand, translation. He never gets an opportunity
to say anything himself in the foreign language outside of what stands
in the book, and he very seldom hears others say anything that he is
not following in print.
So it is no wonder that such instruction scarcely cultivates at all the
pupil’s ability to understand a foreign language as it is rapidly and
naturally spoken by a native. If he should hear the simplest every-day
sentence in a foreign language, correctly and naturally pronounced,
and he should be asked merely to repeat it, he would in nine cases out
of ten betray the strangest perplexity, although he would have had no
trouble whatever with a far more difficult piece which he happened to
meet with in print.
But that is not all; this method has other disadvantages. The foreign
words gallop past the pupil’s eye; his main object is to be able to
recognize them in a vague sort of way so that they may give him the
clue to the translation. Oftentimes one word thus vaguely remembered
even gives him the clue to the translation of a whole sentence which he
knows by heart because there was something special about it. What he
gets hold of is the translation, and the whole translation often comes
to his mind when he has only looked at the beginning of the sentence
in the original--sometimes, however, only on condition that it stands
in the same place on the page (at the top to the left, etc.), where
he is used to seeing it. There is not the same inducement to remember
the forms of the foreign expressions exactly. If you take a clever boy
who has been taught according to the usual method and, after he has
translated a little piece of his lesson, close his book and ask him
to give the original of the last sentence which he has translated,
it will in many cases be impossible for him to do it. I reported an
example of this at the congress in Stockholm in 1886; a clever pupil
was translating a piece of Mérimée’s _Colomba_ at sight, and was doing
it very well, when I made the experiment. He apparently remembered the
sentence well enough in the translation, but it was slowly and with
difficulty that he ventured the French: _Et il pleurait comme le fils
de Pietri pleurait._ But in the book there stood: _Et il pleura comme
pleurait le fils de Pietri._ It is clear that it is impossible for a
pupil to get a correct conception of the radical difference between
passé défini and imparfait, or of the effect of the order of words,
when he pays so little attention to the French forms that he meets
with. One can never get any real appreciation of the idiosyncrasies of
a foreign language as long as the translation is the main object.
Let us consider for a moment the workings of a boy’s mind when it is
his turn to recite and he has to translate such a sentence as, for
instance: _cet homme, dont elle ne voyait jamais les enfants_. _Cet_,
this, _homme_, man, _dont_, whose--now he discovers that it will not be
English if he continues to take one word after the other in the French
order, so he looks ahead, tries every word hurriedly; finally he finds
_les enfants_, the children; no, I forgot, we must not have the article
there in English, so merely children; back to _elle_, she; now he sees
that _ne jamais_ must be taken first: never; _voyait_, saw. So instead
of taking the French words in the natural order, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,
8, 9, he has to skip backwards and forwards in order to get them in the
order 1, 2, 3, (8), 9, 4, 5, 7, 6. In an English text-book for German
schools the following sentence[5] is given for translation with numbers
indicating the order in which the words are to be taken in English:
^1Würden ^2Sie ^3nicht ^6viel ^7zeit ^5gehabt ^4haben ^8wenn ^9Sie
^{11}nicht ^{15}jenen ^{16}brief ^{13}zu ^{14}schreiben ^{12}gehabt
^{10}hätten. In other cases, it is the pupils themselves who by means
of numbers and letters (“paving letters”) smooth the difficulty of
translation. Anyone who is accustomed to translate German at sight
knows how when he has translated the subject of a dependent clause he
silently runs through what follows, often several lines, in order to
find the verb, which according to English usage must not be too far
separated from its subject, and how in hastily trying each single word
his attention is drawn to a number of subordinate thoughts while the
main thought stands and waits, as it were. This mental process is made
even more complicated by the fact that only in a minority of cases does
every word in a sentence (like the simple sentence given above) in any
way correspond to an English word; as a rule the translator also has to
think about such questions as, does _sich_ here mean him, or her, or
himself, or herself, or itself, or oneself; does _si_ mean so, or as,
or if; is _il fait_ to be taken as he does, he makes, he has (something
done), or it does, or it is, or in still another way, etc., etc. This
mental process, which is much more complicated than would generally be
supposed, is far beyond the ability of the children. Therefore they
often remain contented with the text-book’s, the teacher’s or the
parent’s translation, which is learned partly or entirely by heart;
otherwise the translation is apt to swarm with the well-known offences
against the mother-tongue, word-formations, phrases, expressions,
order of words, etc., which are not English. Since the teacher of
course cannot put up with this murdering of the King’s English, a large
part of every lesson in the foreign language has to be spent in the
troublesome task of rooting out these barbarisms.
That is why it is so often said that instruction in foreign languages
always is, or ought to be, at the same time instruction in one’s
native language, or, as the matter is sometimes more pointedly put,
that the main object in learning other languages is to get a correct
knowledge of one’s own. Of course there is much truth in this last
statement, if it is the theoretical understanding of languages
that we are thinking about; for it is only natural that we cannot
appreciate the richness of our mother-tongue, or have any opinion
about its structural advantages or disadvantages, or even give a
correct description of its structure or understand its historical
development, when we have no other languages to compare it with.[6]
Yet all this ought not to close our eyes to the fact that as soon as
it is a question of the practical command of the mother-tongue, the
assertion is utterly false. In this respect instruction in foreign
languages does not help us, and it is not the people who are most
accomplished in other languages who are the best stylists in their
own. On the contrary! Only compare the language used by the same pupil
in his English essays and in his translations from the Latin; in the
latter, you will find a number of offences against good English usage
which could not possibly have occurred in the former. So the errors are
in reality not due to a deficient command of the mother-tongue, but
solely and alone to the restraining and confusing influence brought
to bear upon the pupil’s thoughts by the foreign forms of expression;
the strange language lures him in upon linguistic paths where he
would never set his foot otherwise, and which only lead him into a
mire. It is the school with its translation-method that has sown the
dragon’s teeth, and it must now reap the consequences. Instruction in
foreign languages, according to the prevailing method, is so far from
being a help to the pupils in their treatment of English, that, on
the contrary, in spite of all the energy which is put in on combating
Germanisms, Latinisms, etc., in the translations, it often makes them
uncertain and vacillating in their feeling for what is good English.[7]
The acquirement of a certain intuition for good usage in a _foreign_
language had best be left out of the discussion here; a really thorough
knowledge of French or German habits of expression is, of course,
not to be obtained as long as we are unable to see anything in these
languages without straightway turning all our attention to something
quite different, namely, the English rendering.[8] We get no further
than to a “nodding acquaintance” with the component parts of the
foreign language, so that we know them pretty well by sight and can
repeat their names, but we do not become quite intimate with them, we
do not live together with them, they do not become flesh of our flesh
and blood of our blood. If something difficult is to be learned, the
very first essential is to be much occupied with it; therefore the
first condition for good instruction in foreign languages would seem to
be to give the pupil as much as possible to do with and in the foreign
language; he must be steeped in it, not only get a sprinkling of it
now and then; he must be ducked down in it and get to feel as if he
were in his own element, so that he may at last disport himself in it
as an able swimmer. But what is most characteristic for the prevailing
methods is that the translation with its accessories swallows up so
much time, that there is none left for this free disporting in the
foreign element.
Then why does translation play such an important part? We must first
find an answer to this question before we proceed to ask if it can and
ought to be thrust into the background, and by what means. Now the
ability to translate may either be considered the end of instruction in
foreign languages, or translation may be regarded merely as a means of
instruction (one of several means or perhaps the only means).
Now is it right to say that the _purpose_ of instruction in a foreign
language is that the pupils may learn to _translate_ fluently and
exactly (from and into the language)? The answer must be an emphatic
No. The popular opinion among those who have not thought the matter
over, or who have not given sufficiently careful attention to their
own mental processes, is that a foreign language can be understood
only by transposing it into one’s mother-tongue; but this is not so.
Those who read foreign authors in the original with real advantage
do not actually first translate each word, still less each sentence
or each period, into English before they proceed further. Those who
are listening to a French lecture or seeing a play in Paris have no
time to translate to themselves, but it is not necessary for them to
do it either. And finally, it goes without saying that the Englishman
who really speaks French and German well does not first construct
his sentences in English and then translate them in the same way
as a schoolboy translates his exercises. No; in all these mental
processes, English occupies a place in the background and is just as
superfluous as for instance German is for me while I am reading or
talking French. How often are we not asked the meaning of some foreign
word or expression which we know very well and would neither pay any
special attention to in a book nor hesitate to use in conversation but
yet we cannot give any English equivalent for it without resorting
to some vague uncertain circumlocution; then suddenly, after a good
deal of speculation, we hit upon the correct English expression. Or
the questioner may suggest first one and then another translation of
something French or Latin; we do not feel satisfied, but cannot mention
anything better; then he attempts a new suggestion and instantly it
flashes upon us that this is the best. In all these cases, then, we
have clearly and distinctly understood the foreign expressions without
being able to translate them (or before we could translate them). Of
course the German word _fall_ is only one and the same word for me
whether it be used in such a manner as to be best rendered by English
_case_, _instance_, or by _fall_, _decline_, _descent_, or in still
another way (_unglücksfall_, accident; _schlimmsten falles_, if the
worst come to the worst; _auf keinen fall_, on no account, etc.).
When I come across the word _gegen_, I do not consciously stop to
decide if it “means” _towards_, _to_, _about_ or _against_; nor in
the case of _bleiben_, if it is to be rendered by _remain_, _stay_,
_stop_, _continue_, _keep_, or _survive_. _Il a dû se taire_; _elle
a le cœur serré_; _il traite le sujet avec la compétence qu’on lui
connaît_--should I really have to hunt for the proper translation every
time such an idiom occurs? Should I stop at every perspicuous German
compound until I had found the cumbersome English circumlocution that
is often needed to render it? No; in all of these cases, I directly
and spontaneously connect the idea with the language in which it
is expressed without going any roundabout way through the words of
my native language. Any one who introduces a foreign word into his
English either because there is no exact equivalent in English or, at
least, because he cannot recall it for the moment, also thereby shows
that people really can, and very frequently do, learn words in other
languages without getting at their meaning through their mother-tongue.
“Il trouva la pauvre fille dans un état à faire pitié.” “On a voulu
trouver dans ses œuvres un pessimisme de parti pris.” “Pour lui, il y
allait de la gloire de cette maison qu’il servait depuis sa jeunesse.”
How many a man will understand without difficulty such sentences as
these and a hundred others, and yet hesitate at once when asked to
translate them! We must on the whole make a distinction between the
ability to feel at home in a language and skill in translating from or
into it; even if these two accomplishments may be found in one and the
same person, yet they are not seldom to be seen separated. If I may be
allowed to talk about myself, I may say that my ability to translate
quickly and well is so decidedly inferior to my ability to understand
and to express my thoughts in those languages which I have studied,
that I should scarcely like to have my linguistic attainments judged by
my skill in translation.
The lately deceased art-critic, P. G. Hamerton, the author of that
interesting book _French and English_, says about himself: “As my wife
was a Parisian with a strong taste for the classical literature of
her own country, I became her pupil in French and she became mine in
English. We made it a rule in our private conversation never to allow a
fault in either language to pass uncorrected, and we read aloud to each
other a great deal.... In the use of languages I have one faculty which
seems to be rather uncommon: that of keeping them entirely separated.
When speaking or writing French I am, for the time being, like one
totally ignorant of English, as English words do not occur to me, and
I never translate anything, not even weights and measures, or money,
or the thermometer, from one language to the other, but think in each,
independently.”
When Hamerton here says that this ability is unusual, he no doubt means
that it is unusual in so high a degree as he had it. Perhaps it is not
all people who get so far that _dix-huit degrés_, for instance, awakens
in them just as precise a conception as the corresponding degrees of
heat in terms of Fahrenheit; and yet, no doubt, by habit, this too
will become quite natural for those who care very much to have the
temperature expressed in degrees. It is just like the foreigner in
France who, after a very short time, involuntarily begins to calculate
with French money, so that he does not have to transpose _deux francs
cinquante_ into English shillings and pence before he can judge as to
whether the price of an article is high or low.
Though I may admit, however, that this ability to feel at home in a
strange language is not altogether common in so high a degree, yet I
think it may be said that the same ability only in a less degree is
not unusual. I mean that it is rather the exception than the rule for
people who read foreign books to any extent at all to have to translate
to themselves in order to understand what they are reading, with the
exception, perhaps, of some difficult lines here and there. And even in
the difficult places, where they have to resort to their mother-tongue
in order to understand the meaning, it is generally only one or two
words which have to be looked up, so they generally do not even pause
to translate the whole clause in which those words have occurred; still
less frequently do they stop merely to untangle some involved sentence
construction. When a whole population has to make constant use of two
languages, the circumstances are no doubt always the same as among
the Wends in Lusatia: “They speak both Wendish and German with equal
fluency; yet the common people generally refuse when they are asked to
translate something from one language to another: ‘he cannot do it,’
or, as one of my informants expressed himself, ‘he is afraid to.’ He
can, however, without difficulty repeat in German a tale which he has
heard in Wendish, and _vice versâ_, and likewise he can give the exact
translation of single words.”[9]
While there are countless persons who have use for the ability to
understand a foreign language directly, and while there is at all
events a constantly increasing number of people who need to express
their thoughts in a foreign language, there are really very few who
will ever have any occasion to exercise skill in translation. There
are many who write private letters in German, etc., but they do not
compose an English text first which they then proceed to translate
with exactness. Even those who have foreign business letters to write
for someone else are not generally given every word that is to stand
in them, but merely a rough draft of the contents, which they are to
clothe in a foreign language as best they can. There remain, then,
the few translators connected with the law-courts, the providers of
translated novels, and finally the very small number of choice spirits
who have the courage to grapple with the valuable and charming art of
transplanting poetry in a poetical rendering. But they may all find
comfort in the fact that skill in translation at the very bottom rests
on that same direct command of language that we all need,[10] so there
is no need for them to feel dissatisfied if we refuse to recognize
skill in translation as the end and aim of all instruction in languages.
Our ideal must rather be the nearest possible approach to the native’s
command of the language, so that the words and sentences may awaken the
same ideas in us as in the native--and these ideas, as we well know,
are not the same as those called forth by the corresponding words in
our own language. The relations between languages are not like the
relations between mathematical equivalents; _cœur_, _herz_, _heart_
do not all cover the same ground, to say nothing of the difference
between _sens_, _sinn_, _sense_, etc. Even when the literal meaning
may be said to be the same, the suggestions associated with the words
vary in the different languages, suggestions arising from related
words, from words that are similar in sound or similar in some other
way, from frequent combinations in which the words occur, etc. The
same animal is in English called _bat_, in French _chauvesouris_, in
German _fledermaus_, in Latin _vespertilio_, in Danish _flagermus_, but
what a difference in the suggestions! The French, the German and the
Danish words call attention to the animal’s resemblance to a mouse,
the Danish word besides to its flapping movement (a suggestion which
must be lost for the Germans since _flattern_ has taken the place of
_fledern_), but the French word to its bald appearance; the Latin
word makes us think of the time of day when the animal is abroad, but
the English word _bat_ is rather an abstract expression without any
suggestiveness, and we can understand why Tennyson declared that the
provincial word _flittermouse_ was far more suitable for poetical use
than _bat_. These “undertones” of the words sound more distinctly in
puns, rhymes, etc., but still they always lie lurking in the background
of our conscience. It is all such things as these, together with the
fact that some languages carefully distinguish between certain shades
of grammar or meaning which are of no consequence in other languages,
where the finesses seem to be extended to totally different points, and
furthermore together with different habits as to order of words, etc.,
etc., which, taken all in all, make it impossible for any translation
ever to be a perfect reproduction of the original: _traduttore
traditore!_
For all these reasons, it is not translation (or skill in translation)
that we are aiming at in teaching foreign languages.