FRENCH AS SHE IS TRADUCED.--MORE GRUMBLING.--"LA CRITIQUE" IS NOT THE
CRITIC'S WIFE.--BOSSUET'S PROSE AND HOW IT READS IN ENGLISH.--NOTHING
IMPROVES BY TRANSLATION EXCEPT A BISHOP.--A FEW FRENCH "HOWLERS."--
VALUABLE HINTS ON TRANSLATING UNSEEN PASSAGES.
English boys have invented a special kind of English language for
French translation.
It is not the English they use with their classical and other masters;
it is not the English they use at home with their parents, or at school
with their comrades; it is a special article kept for the sole benefit
of their French masters.
The good _genus_ boy will translate _oui_, _mon pere_, by "yes, my
father," as if it were possible for him to forget that he calls his
papa _father_, and not _my father_, when he addresses him.
He very seldom reads over his translation to ascertain that it reads
like English; but when he does, and is not perfectly satisfied with the
result, he lays the blame on the French original. After all, it is not
his fault if there is no sense in the French, and he brings a certain
number of English dictionary words placed one after the other, the
whole entitled FRENCH.
Of course he can not call it ENGLISH, and he dares not call it
NONSENSE.
He calls it French, and relieves his conscience.
* * * * *
It will take boys long to understand that _la trompette_, _la medecine_,
_la marine_, _la statuaire_, are not respectively the wives of _le
trompette_, _le medecin_, _le marin_, _le statuaire_.
An honest little boy once translated "_La critique doit etre bonne
fille_" by "The critic's wife ought to be a good girl."
Poor little fellow! it is most probable that no dictionary within his
reach would have explained to him that the expression _bonne fille_
meant "good-humored."
* * * * *
O Bossuet, veil thy face!
The finest piece of French prose in existence is undoubtedly the
following sentence, taken from Bossuet's funeral oration on the Great
Conde:
"_Restait cette redoutable infanterie de l'armee d'Espagne, dont les
gros bataillons serres, semblables a autant de tours, mais a des tours
qui sauraient reparer leurs breches, demeuraient inebranlables au
milieu de tout le reste en deroute, et lancaient des feux de toutes
parts._"
This reads like a chant of Homer, does it not? It reads quite
differently in boys' translations, I assure you, when you come to
"towers that would be able to mend their breaches."
This confirms you in your belief that nothing improves by
translation--except a bishop.
* * * * *
From my little collection of what is called in the scholastic
profession "Howlers," I extract the following, with my apologies to
their perpetrators.
* * * * *
_La fille de feu ma bonne et estimee cousine est toujours la bienvenue_,
"My good and esteemed cousin, the daughter of fire, is always welcome."
* * * * *
_Mon frere a tort et ma soeur a raison_, "My brother has some tart and
my sister has some raisins."
* * * * *
_Elle partit dans la matinee du lendemain_, "She took part in the
morning performance of legerdemain."
This is a specimen of German _geist_ perpetrated by a candidate to
our scholarships, and a young subject of his Venerable Majesty Emperor
William.
Honor to whom honor is due.
* * * * *
When I said that boys do not look at the notes given at the end of
their text-books, it was nothing short of a libel, as two cases
following will prove.
* * * * *
_Diable! c'est qu'il est capricieux, le bonhomme!_
A boy looked at a note on this phrase, and found: "_capricieux_, akin
to Latin _capra_ (a goat)." Next day, he brought his translation, which
ran thus:
"The good man is devilishly like a goat."
* * * * *
The next two "howlers" were indulged in by my boys, as we were reading
Jules Sandeau's _Mademoiselle de la Seigliere_.
The Baroness de Vaubert says to the Marquis de la Seigliere:
"_Calmez-vous_."
A boy having translated this by "Calm yourself," I observed to him:
"Couldn't you give me something more colloquial?"
Boy, after a moment's reflection:
"Keep your hair on, old man."
* * * * *
_Je laisse Renaud dans les jardins d'Armida_, "I leave this fox in the
gardens of Armida," and, between brackets, the following explanatory
statement:
("Jerusalem delivered Tasso in the hands of an enchantress named
Armida.")[7]
[7] I reproduce the note which had "helped" the boy:
["_Renaud dans les jardins d'Armida_," _the enchanted gardens
of Armida_ ("_Jerusalem Delivered_," _Tasso_), _figuratively,
in the hands of an enchantress._]
* * * * *
_Chaque age a ses plaisirs_ was translated by a nice little boy, "Every
one grows old for his preserves."
(Evidently written after a surfeit of jam.)
* * * * *
The vagaries of my young friends are thrown into the shade by some
achievements of professional translators which I have come across in
America. A French master may occasionally enjoy the drolleries that a
magnificent disdain for dictionary trammels and a violent yearning
towards the playground will betray his pupil into; but I imagine that a
publisher, who pays in hard cash for the faithful translation of a
French book, can scarcely be pleased to find that the work has been
interlarded with mirth-provoking blunders thrown in gratis.
I extract the two following examples of "French as she is traduced"
from the translation of one of my books that the American pirates did
me the honor to publish:
_Les exploits d'Hercule sont de la Saint Jean aupres de_..., "The
exploits of Hercules are but of the St. John order compared to...."
_Monsieur, ne vous retournez pas_, "Sir, do not return yourself."
* * * * *
But to return to John Bull, junior.
I pass young worthies who translate "_I have never read any thing by
Moliere_" by "_Je n'ai pas jamais lit quelque chose par Moliere_," on
the ground that "it is so in English." This "French" sentence was,
by-the-bye, the first essay on Moliere I received at the hands of the
English boys.
Some little fellows, trusting their sense of sight, have the
objectionable habit of writing the translation of a text before looking
at it, at all events before seeing it.
Result: "_Il raccommodait les vieux souliers_"--"_He recommended the
old soldiers._"
A clever boy, whilst reading a comedy at first sight, translated
"EGLANTINE (_baissant les yeux_)" by "EGLANTINE (_kissing his eyes_)."
You naughty boy!
* * * * *
I once read the following sound advice given in the preface of a French
Translation book:
"HINTS ON TRANSLATING UNSEEN PASSAGES."
"1. Read the passage carefully through, at least twice."
"2. Keep as closely as possible to the original in sense, but use
English idiom boldly."
"3. Never write down nonsense."
Now, and whilst I think of it, why _unseen_?
It may be that I do not perceive the niceties of the English language,
but this commonly used word, "unseen," never conveyed any meaning to my
mind. Would not "unforeseen" be a better word? I would timidly suggest.
If the book in question succeeded in making boys carry out the
foregoing suggestions, it would be worth its weight in gold.
As far as my experience goes, the only hint which I have known them
follow is the one that tells them to use English idiom boldly.
A drawback to these hints is that they are given in the preface. Now,
dear colleagues and _confreres_, which of you has ever known a
school-boy read the preface of his book?