Possess it merely.”
The chevalier, less successful with the English than with the modern American poet, thus renders them into French:—
“Fi donc! fi donc! Ces jours qu’on nous montrons superbes
Sont un vilain jardin rempli de folles herbes,
Qui donnent de l’ivraie, et certes rien de plus
Si ce n’est les engines du cholera-morbus.”
Some of the funniest mistranslations on record have been bequeathed by Victor Hugo. Most readers will remember his rendering of a peajacket as paletot a la purée de pois, and of the Frith of Forth as le cinquième de le quatrième.
The French translator of one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels, knowing nothing of that familiar name for toasted cheese, “a Welsh rabbit,” rendered it literally by “un lapin du pays de Galles,” or a rabbit of Wales, and then informed his readers in a foot-note that the lapins or rabbits of Wales have a very superior flavor, and are very tender, which cause them to be in great request in England and Scotland. A writer in the Neapolitan paper, Il Giornale della due Sicilie, was more ingenuous. He was translating from an English paper the account of a man who killed his wife by striking her with a poker; and at the end of his story the honest journalist, with a modesty unusual in his craft, said, “Non sappiamo per certo se questo pokero Inglese sia uno strumento domestico o bensi chirurgico”—“We are not quite certain whether this English poker [pokero] be a domestic or surgical instrument.”
In the course of the famous Tichborne trial, the claimant, when asked the meaning of laus Deo semper, said it meant “the laws of God forever, or permanently.” An answer not less ludicrous was given by a French Sir Roger, who, on being asked to translate numero Deus impare gaudet, unhesitatingly replied, “Le numéro deux se réjouit d’être impair.”
Some of the translations of the Italian operas in the librettos, which are sold to the audience, are ludicrous enough. Take, for instance, the lines in Roberto il diavolo,—