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 ent.i.tled 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 a.s.sure 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 part.i.t 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 Ta.s.so 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_," _Ta.s.so_), _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...."