Linguistics has, fortunately, 'gone beyond the study of individual languages' to

the study of the human use and acquisition of language. The breadth of linguistics
is an important source for those of us who are concerned with the explanation of
what French, in its variety, is. This is not unlike the support which my literary
colleagues derive from the theory of literature.
Noreiko need have no worry about the multiplicity beyond dichotomy. The
study of language, like the transmission of French language skills is nothing other
than the data-based partner of linguistic theory as applied to a language. Noreiko's
point about the correct production of plurals without a formal account of such
teasers as -auxl-als is just. But 'knowing why' there is such a discrepancy in French
must call on the resources of phonology-phonetics (to explain the vocalization of
IV), of morphology (to explain the separation of -s), of psychology and of sociology
(to explain why some speakers, and who they were, maintained the morphemic
division).
I would like at some time to pursue the paradox implicit in Flaubert's definition
of betise. To do so I would have to turn to linguistic philosophy, and the distinction
made there between utterance-truth and propositional truth/falsity. I wish some
structuralists of French literature would occasionally give attention to the non-
language-specific findings of linguistic research. I cannot help thinking that there
would be more stability in French studies if we were supported by a tripod.

TRANSLATION ETHICS C. N. SMITH, East Anglia

What is translation? A linguistic game, like a crossword, with fallacious clues
ordered alphabetically in dictionaries? Or a Byzantine academic exercise designed
to afford a gratifying sense of superiority to the elders of the tribe who, knowing
the source language well and arrogating sovereign rights to decree what is or is not
acceptable in the vernacular, assess the doubtless well-intentioned but inevitably
somewhat fumbling versions proffered by neophytes who often are obliged to work
faster and with less adequate reference guides than their judges? Goethe, for one,
would not hear of such nonsense. For him, translation had a vital role: it was to
facilitate intellectual free-trade worldwide.' After a century and a half the validity
of that opinion remains unshaken. So the translator has a responsible task. He
must, so far as is ever possible, transport what he finds in the source to readers
unable to consult it in the original. Further, to avoid loss or falsification, he needs
to use language which while remaining acceptable to those readers stands in a
relationship to autochthonous norms similar to that between the original and those
other works in comparison with which its stylistic individuality was sensed in the
first instance. To do all this is by no means easy, and the task must not be
complicated by needless scruples. The proper ethical considerations of a translator
are his duty to his source and to his readers.
In 'Translation and literary ethics' (FSB, i (Winter 1981-82), n - 1 2 ) , R. C.
Knight remarks on certain excellencies in John Masefield's versions of Berenice
and Esther. In style and diction he finds much which 'a new translator could hardly
improve on, and would be very likely tempted to imitate and borrow'. But ought
he to do so? Leaving aside copyright — a matter for the law reports rather than
French Studies Bulletin — can we seriously doubt for a moment that he should?
Finding words, phrases or sentence forms that will convey the original satisfac-
torily is difficult enough, in all conscience, and it is not to be imagined that the

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 resources of the target language will be so abundant as to afford in every instance
more than one adequate formulation. The first translator of a text cannot, simply
on the strength of priority, impose an embargo on le mot juste. Besides, in reality a
second translator will quite frequently discover that he has, without reference to
his precursor, lighted on an identical solution. In such circumstances, as McFar-
lane observes, there can be no obligation to alter a phrase simply because it turns
out to have been used previously.2
It is, moreover, possible to go further still without transgression. There are no
doubt some who undertake translation as a means of enriching their personal
acquaintance with a work. But as a general rule the motive for translating a text
again is dissatisfaction with previous attempts. This in itself implies some exam-
ination and consideration of earlier versions. That nothing valuable, in either a
positive or a negative sense, would be learned in the process is hardly conceivable,
and it would be simply arrogance on the part of the later translator if he did not seek
to profit as much as possible. It is along these lines, of course, that Bible translators
have always worked.3 Special factors apply, it is true, to the translation of
Scripture since churches have reason to value tradition and continuity and since
congregations often rate familiarity higher than accuracy in Holy Writ. Yet in their
appreciation that a great translation may be the product of revision even over
generations, Bible translators teach an important lesson. Two heads are indeed
often better than one.
Rather than fabricating a virtue of relying on his own abilities, unassisted, that
is, except by such lexical aids as are available, a translator is entitled to make a
systematic and critical recension of earlier versions, accepting what he judges good
with the same liberty as he rejects what he considers bad. This is no different from
the method of the textual editor who reviews the emendations proposed by his
predecessors, or of the critic who is expected to take proper account of previously
expressed opinion. Acknowledgement of debts incurred needs, of course, to be
made, as in otherfieldsof scholarship. Likewise a point may be reached where the
ratio between old and new is such that the second translation will be deemed not to
achieve the status of an original contribution and be rated a mere revision of the
earlier work (or even a marring of it). A later translator's response to earlier
versions will, in other words, be assessed by criteria not dissimilar to those
applicable to a critic's dialogue with previous interpretations. Evidence of
enhancement is apt rebuttal of charges of plagiarism. There is perhaps a risk that a
translation produced at the end of such a recension will lack unity or individuality.
That would, however, indicate that the method had been badly applied, not that
the method is itself incorrect. At times, too, it will be appropriate to make a fresh
start, but that does not affect the present argument either. The opinion put
forward here applies mainly to translation for serious purposes, that is, for
communicating the full meaning of a text to those unacquainted with the source
language. There are, however, certain implications for the teaching of under-
graduates: as well as being required to produce their own versions they should be
encouraged, by comparative exercises, to acquire the habit of learning all they can
from translations made by others.
1
Goethe's letter to Carlyle, 20 July 1827. (J. W. Goethe, Briefe, edited by K. R. Mandelkow
(Hamburg,
2
1967), iv, pp. 235-38.)
3
The Oxford Ibsen, vi, translated and edited by James Walter McFarlane (Oxford, i960), p. vii.
See, e.g., F. F. Bruce, History of the Bible in English, 3rd ed. (Guildford, 1979).

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