THE GOLDEN CHAMBERPOT: HOFFMANN IN FRENCH AND ENGLISH TRANSLATION
This essay will compare two translations of the first chapter of E.T.A. Hoffmannfs eDer Goldne Topff; one into English, the other into French.1 Both are by no means untypical representations of Hoffmann into the language they represent2, and an examination of the qualities and the faults of each translation will be instructive towards an understanding of why this particular author has received the critical acclaim he merits in one of these target cultures but not in the other - a theme that will be developed in the dissertation to follow. In brief, this is a first step along the long, rocky road to translating Hoffmann; for comparing translations of a text helps one to read that text with the depth of thought that the act of translation demands. Moreover, the discovery of the faults in a translation and the injustice that has been done to the author of the original increases the desire to translate the text oneself. This step is essentially technical; attention to detail is one of the key factors in this authorfs work, and that precision - of which the opening of the chapter discussed here affords a classical example - is essential to produce the desired effect. To let the author speak for himself: gVon allem, was du da herauskombinierstc mag kein Wörtchen wahr sein, aberc [es] ist mir, Dank sei es deiner lebendigen Darstellung, alles so plausibel, daß ich daran glauben muß, ich mag wollen oder nicht.h3 When an author is so meticulous, the translator is duty bound to follow his example.
It is often the case that a literary translation is read with a certain amount of pleasure – a pleasure that is then diminished somewhat by acquaintance with the original text. The fact that the demerits of the translation are thus exposed to view is not of the utmost importance; providing, of course, that this text was intended for those unfamiliar with the language in which the original was written, and that it stimulates interest in the author. However, few excuses can be proffered for a translation that is unsatisfactory when judged purely on its own merits and spared comparison with the text it is introducing to a new culture. The rendering by Kent and Knight fails both tests.
They do, it must be said, gain some plus marks, as with the first contentious issue: the impression created on the eye by sweeping over the pages. Hoffmann has one long initial paragraph, with dashes serving as pauses; this is broken up into several paragraphs in English, at places where common sense would dictate that a break could occur. The chapter summaries contribute to the ironic humour of the work; their omission would entail a loss (as we notice in the translation to be examined later). A Märchen is not exactly a fairy-tale, but the difference is best left to the specialist; for practical purposes, this term suffices. They are also right to stress that the places mentioned in the story are historical; this is an important factor in the creation of a realistic background, against which the seemingly impossible becomes plausible. So the omission of period details such as gSandbüchseh is difficult to justify.
The correspondence of the sentences suggests that they represent the unit of translation. Of course, the pitfall of translating in this manner is the sacrifice of the cumulative effect created by larger units. Whereas the German sentence often moves two steps forward, one step back, occasionally, as it were, pausing for thought, the English sentence is much more direct; thereby obeying one of the major rules for translating German prose: avoid the hanging sentence. However, this is no newspaper report or business communication, where immediate clarity is of the essence; this is literature, and the same rules do not apply. This is especially the case with this particular author; it has been said that gObscurities, roughnesses, inconsistencies, these are the very stuff of which style is madeh4, and with few writers is this observation more apt than with Hoffmann. Bearing in mind that gDie Welt Hoffmanns kann nur in ihrer Dualität verstanden werdenh5 and that this is a mutually antagonistic duality, a smooth, flowing, classical style would be inappropriate. A translation of his work should not be intended to read like a translated text; its principal aim should be to tell a story, for Hoffmann was, above all, a storyteller of the first rank. He employs his idiosyncratic style to create his own world and to tell the story in the most effective manner; a study of the techniques he employs actually makes the translatorfs task easier.
There are, however, occasions on which the sentences do not correspond; hence that beginning with gDie Tränench [gTears were aboutch (41)] is divided into three sentences in the English. The original reflects Anselmusf emotionally upset state; the italicised gerh conjures up the impression of a child who has not got what he wanted; and the gjah (often translated as gindeedh or here giving the sense of g - why, he hadch) serves as a quick, short link between the initial statement (wanting to enjoy the felicities) and the development of that statement (the manner in which he would have enjoyedc). We have an outburst, a stream of intentions and hopes, brought crashing to earth by the following terse sentence. In the translation the long sentence is broken up, and the short sentence is slowed down, so that the effect is completely lost.
This section is an excellent example of the inappropriate use of vocabulary. The colloquial ges bis zu einerc treiben wollenh and gum so recht schlampampen,h which convey the correct tone for Anselmusf present emotional state (indeed, they are typical of his character – he is noticeable chiefly for his clumsiness, and an Orwellian lucidity or Ciceronian eloquence would sit somewhat incongruously), become: ghe had even intended to go so far as to indulge inch and gTo assure proper dissipationc.h This is very cold and formal; especially for an immature character on the verge of bursting into tears. Hoffmann may vary his register – alongside the above-mentioned colloquialisms we find literary, poetical or gehobene terms such as gFittichh, gGluth and gsichc nicht fügenh – but the register employed is generally relevant to the situation at that time. The formal style of gsich... nicht fügenh is the appropriate medium for a detached, ironic humour (Fielding and Dickens spring to mind), and translating this by gwas at odds withh (30) completely spoils the tone. Anselmusf lament: gIch wollte den lieben Himmelfahrtstag recht in der Gemütlichkeit feiernh becomes a rather stilted: gIt was my intention to celebrate a happy Ascension Day with appropriate cheerh (90-1) [my italics]. To compound the error, the translators immediately change register with gI was prepared to stretch a pointh.
Hoffmannfs style is not only far from classical, it is also far from perfect; but that does not excuse transgressions on the part of the translator. The sentence beginning gOf coffee, of beer...h (48) is a German construction; more importantly, it is a German construction that cannot be carried over into English. Likewise, geHas notcfh (77) is extremely clumsy; the theme of human beings as puppets does appear in Hoffmannfs work, but this is really taking things a little too far. gBut isnft it a frightening fate...h (63) is another literalism – moreover in a sentence stripped of its emotion, of its right to appeal, by the omission of the concluding question mark. gThere was something frightful about the shrill, creaking voicech (12-3) places the effect before the cause, whereas the German has the cause followed by the effect; and in this instance, the German order can comfortably be reproduced. Changing the order can change the meaning; at the very end of the passage, gglowingh is separated from gvaporizedh (not a particularly felicitous choice) in space, and so in time. The fact that German can use a noun such as gUnbemerktenh creates a problem the translators do not solve; geven though he had before remained unnoticedh (24-5) has an uncomfortable, slightly parenthetical feel.
There are some simple misunderstandings. gKnasterh does not mean gcanisterh (53), but eweed, tobaccof; gReflexh simply means ereflectionf and is certainly not greflex reaction toh (37); and I do not understand how gkrächzendeh has become gcreakingh (13), unless this be a typographical error, for the correct term is ecroakingf - with the obvious associations. And some phrases are, quite simply, bad English (even bad American-English): ga face whose handsomeness and expressivenessh (25-26); ggrew increasinglyh (41); gimbued with intense longingh (138-9).
Some renderings are too weak, too tepid: gPeculiarly enoughch (22) does not nearly convey the import of gAuf ganz sonderbare Weisech; Anselmus did not garticulate his miseryh (60), for the context sees him egiving vent to his irritationf. Some are lazy – the image of Anselmus running around carrying his purse in his hand (47) is certainly a novel one -; and some are extremely clumsy in their context. To say that Anselmus gslippedc past the bathsh (50), following his gTritt in den Äpfelkorbh, is an especially unfortunate turn of phrase.
Some, in their turn, are rather overblown: gurchins in the streeth (4), gespawn of the Devilfh (11), gimportant public documenth (for gRelationh) and gaura of the tragich (23). This use of gof theh instead of a simple Anglo-Saxon genitive (especially in prose) is one of the trademarks of translated English; it rears its ugly, stilted, melodramatic head again in gthe soliloquy of the studenth (108) and yet, where an gofh would be appropriate, we have gsmoky cloudsh (59-60). In this etranslationesef category may also be placed a reluctance to use the continuous present: gIt is only the evening wind which tonight whispersch (123-4). Another peculiar construction is, ga voice which was hoarse and deeph (158), to which the phrase gseemed to reach Anselmush is added for no particular reason. On occasions, the translators move along the dangerous road towards explanation, by not only exaggerating but actually adding whatever their fancy prompts them to: thus the gSinne verwirrender Redeh become ghypnotich (123); the Sanitätsknaster has suddenly grecentlyh (54) been given to Anselmus; gunmindful of all of thish (59) makes explicit what is implicit in the German and does not need to be stated; and the gswish!h (73) that Anselmus utters in his new life does not even convey the correct sound. This tendency to expand is a sign of a translatorfs stylistic uneasiness in his own language; on occasions, it leads to purposeless repetition: gfrom all sidesh (20) is totally unnecessary, as, indeed, is gon all sidesh (22); so too gin the distanceh (57) which sits awkwardly before the relevant gin the dim distanceh (58). It may also attempt to atone for an earlier error; gSo war erch becomes gIt was in this frame of mind that hech (38) because gseemed to beh (37) does not stress the ihm of the German – perception being an important theme with Hoffmann. Perhaps the best example of this propensity to padding is the old womanfs speech, much more staccato and suggestive than the translators would have us believe: gins Kristall bald dein Fallh becomes ten words in English. Hoffmann can create a character with a few bold strokes; a fact which could not be gleaned from reading this translation.
The sound of this text is extremely important. Some passages are very poetic, a fact of which Kent and Knight are obviously aware from their introductory note; so it is not clear why they have made no attempt to produce a poetic effect in English on occasions when this demands relatively little effort. For example: gum ihn her flackernd und spielend mit schimmernden Goldfadenh loses its sound and its life when rendered as gencircling him in a thousand glittering flames like golden threadsh (140-1); the long, slow, dreamlike gleisen halbverwehten Wortenh is cut down to ghalf-heard wordsh (115); grolledh and gtossedh (55) are weak substitutes for gplätschertenh and grauschten.h Moreover, this is one of the aspects of German that is easiest to translate, for most onomatopoeic German words have an onomatopoeic English equivalent. One of the most important sounds is the gschh, which is especially noticeable in the serpentsf speech; it is occasionally reproduced, as in gswing in the shimmerh (118) where sense is sacrificed for sound (perhaps justifiably so; the music of the words is the important feature of this passage), but often is not: hence gGliding, slidingh (169) for grischelnd und raschelndh; gsounds of dewh (119) for graschelt der Tauh is particularly hard to accept, replacing as it does a verb with a noun. Likewise, grays of sunseth (119) freezes gAbendsonne schießt Strahlenh.
This failure to capture the action of the original is often evident: the image of rows of citizens entering the Linke Baths is stilled by the surprising use of gusuallyh (39); the silencing of spreading laughter is not conveyed (15); Anselmus does not gwear a coath (65) but rather puts it on; twilight throwing her veil over the area becomes gand the twilightfs veil coveredh (158). Moreover, when the motion is maintained, it occasionally changes its nature; so a simple plunge, a straightforward plummet, becomes grushed intoh (169).
There are inconsistencies; gzu flüstern und lispelnh are translated first as ga whispering and a lispingh (112-3) and then as gthe whispering and the twitteringh (128), despite the repetition in the original being deliberate; gschwingen, schlängeln, schlingenh, which is soon repeated in a different order to suggest the winding motion of the snakes, does not keep the same three verbs on both occasions in the translation (116-21); gStromh is translated as gmisth (163) then as griverh (168). Authors may occasionally use the same word in different senses throughout a work, but a reading of this passage makes that it clear that that rule is irrelevant here.
The tone of simple expressions such as geDas ist denn doch nurcfh and geWie spät mag es wohl jetzt sein?fh is lost with gIt is onlych and geWhat time is it?fh which are purely functional, rendering the basic meaning but not the implied attitude of the speaker. When Anselmus imagines himself addressing the waiter, then gepleasefh (93) is a rather limp offering, bearing in mind that he means eif you pleasef, eand make it the best!f
More could be said about the shortcomings of this translation; but that would merely be restating what has already been proved. Hoffmann deserves better than this; it is of no use to stress how gcuriously modernh his work is in the themes it treats (this phrase does not come from one particular text; it comes from many, dealing with many different authors) if a modern translation is going to expound on these themes in such an irregular style. Moreover, they are irregularities that have no rhyme or reason; in marked contrast to Hoffmanfs work. By a strange quirk of fate, that master of irony, it is Hoffmann who has now lost his reflection.
As France was much more receptive to Hoffmannfs work, it could be surmised either that French translations were of a superior quality (assuming, of course – and the assumption is not a sure one – that the influence an author has on a foreign land primarily stems through the translations of his works, rather than through the acquaintance of the authors of that country with his work in the original, or in those original compositions of theirs which owe an unmistakable debt to his œuvre), or that it was the content of his tales that they found particularly appealing. Perhaps he did not etranslate into Englishf as he did into French. The results of this examination left little room for ambiguity.
The most immediately noticeable aspect of this translation is its disjointed appearance. There are many short paragraphs – too many; the flow of the work is broken. Moreover, two paragraphs (gIl sféloigna furtivementch  and gOr, les serpenteauxch ) begin in the middle of the German sentence. It is not clear exactly what the unit of translation is; indeed, there is almost the impression that this unit is based upon the target, rather than the source, text. At the very beginning of the chapter, after successfully establishing time and place, the translator breaks up the immediacy of Anselmus running through the gate and into the basket (nor is the American-English translation satisfactory at this point6). The gcmême avant-dernièreh also slows down the pace at which the narrative is moving; it does not have the same sweep as the German. There are too many pauses. Long sentences are divided, then suffer through the division. For example, the paragraph beginning gA ses piedsch (57) represents one sentence in the original; a sentence in which the various elements have a completeness, a unity; whereas the French scene is much more static. The sentence describing the visit to the Privy Councillor has a continuity and a certain inevitability, whereas the French account is much more prolix – indeed, much more like an account, before an audience, rather than a thoughtful young student pouring out a jeremiad. The tone of his lamentations is further altered by reducing the questioning, gHatte ich nichtc?h and gBin ich dennc?h to mere statements of fact; like many of the translatorfs alterations, this cannot be justified as a concession to a different culture; indeed, I would have expected this process to apply in the opposite direction, if at all.
This continuity is also reflected in certain verbs of movement in the German; the employment of gfut projeté sur le solh (4) for ghinausgeschleuderth and gchoir, bondir et roulerh (36) for gtanzenh makes the translator guilty of the sin of completion. Again, there are nouns replacing verbs – gDu cliquetis dech (127) for grühren.h The movement into the crystal, demanded by the accusative ins, is not even implicit. Throughout, the French is less active than the German; for example, gil se trouvait dépouillé de tout son avoirh (48-9) when the accident ghatte ihn um alles gebracht.h Even sound seems to exist, rather than live: gOn percevaitc lféclat des cuivres de lforchestreh (42), when gMusik von Blasinstrumenten ertönte von innen.h
There is a tendency to avoid repetition, whether or not it has a purpose – and it generally does. A prominent phrase in the opening is gso daßh, which acts somewhat in the manner of a backbone, but is translated as gqueh (9), gaussih (16) and gdonth (25). Likewise, gvieilleh (3), gmégèreh (15) and grevendeuseh (20) translate gWeibh; and gSatanh proves himself to be a master of disguise, developing from gBélialh (12) to gMalinh (68) to gonh (78 – which does not have quite the same ringc) before finally revealing himself in line 110. The adjective ggeputzterh appears quite frequently, generally before gMenschenh or gMädchenh, and it becomes a comic tag to describe the ordinary Bürger. This does come across in the humorous term gatoursh (50) but it is not sustained; initially, gla fouleh (22) is left unqualified by this adjective, and later, gbien habilléesh (102) is employed. The cumulative effect of the original is lost. In a similar manner, we are left in no doubt by Hoffmann that Anselmus is a student; this word appears no less than eight times in this chapter. In the translation, it occurs three times; and Anselmus turning up late for a lecture becomes Anselmus arriving late gà aucun rendez-vous, quel qufil fûth (75-6). Yet this is an author in whose work gthere are very few figuresc who are not created in terms of some kind of rank or statush7. This is an important factor in the creation of irony, which tends to have a social target.
Towards the end of the passage, three voices say gDer Duft ist meine Sprache,h gder Hauch ist meine Spracheh and gGlut ist meine Spracheh – gwenn sie [ihn] die Liebe entzündet.h In this case, the repetition not only represents a common device found in the Märchen, but it has the effect of stressing the unity of the three elements; yet the translation, by replacing entzündet with gexaspère,h ganimeh and gattiseh (156-60), dissolves this unity. It is reminiscent of Latin oratory and Johnsonese. Finally, the repetition of gfKristalfh by the old woman is not only typical of the irritating habit, peculiar to common speech, of repeating a statement, but is extremely emphatic and effective; the French aims for a shock effect, when the desired effect is one of uneasiness.
One of the most striking differences is the use in French of exclamation marks. This is not a requisite of a literary work in this language; French literature can be as cold and as restrained as any, and French authors are capable of sang froid. The first of these marks occurs after we learn that the old womanfs words had given a tragic turn to a trivial event – hardly appropriate. They tend to detract from the objectivity of the narrator, and it is precisely this objectivity, this distance, that enables his irony to function properly; this applies to the French and English languages as well as German. Because no attempt is made to translate gder ihnen der hastige Herr zugeworfenh (relating to the apples and cakes that Anselmus had ethrownf to the gurchinsh[sic]), the irony is lost; as also occurs when g(niemand anders war der junge Mensch)h is rendered as g – car cfétait luic –h (19 – my italics).
Yet the translator does create a kind of distance – by making the reader conscious that this is a tale being told, a story to be enjoyed; he does not seem to make any effort to make us believe it. Persuasion may or may not be the gfirst virtue of proseh8; but if we do not believe in the reality that Hoffmann depicts with such assiduity, with such precision – and it must be stressed that he was fully aware that he was bringing the fantastic into daily life (gkeck ins gewöhnliche alltägliche Leben tretendh)9 for the first time in German literature – then his worth as an artist is greatly diminished. Reality is the foundation of his tales; if this is removed, then his work has no purpose beyond that of ephemeral literature, read, enjoyed, forgotten. Through fantasy he is able to plumb previously unexplored depths of reality; the two states are mutually dependent. This reality is depicted by time, place, and consequence, and is reflected in the tone and speed of the narrative and in the syntax; there is an immediacy, to which the use of the past tense is no obstacle (it is, indeed, generally more convincing as a narrative medium than the present); for example, we are aware of the laughter of the crowd spreading, then dying; but in this translation, the order is reversed – gtandis que sféteignit le rire que les avait gagnés tout dfabordh (16-7).
There are certain strange constructions that make the reader only too aware that this is a translation – the reader knowing this, but not thinking about it while reading, is one of the signs of a good translation – such as the extremely awkward, gil avait projeté de prendre, lui aussi, sa part, en ce jourch (45), and gMon conseiller de hurlerch (92-3). Moreover, gDfoù vient que le vent du soirch (133) and gPuis, comme fendant le groupech (11) are not only unusual grammatically, but the former questions when the original confirms, and the latter is simply inaccurate; the circle opens, Anselmus does not push his way through it. With gAnselme écoutait, retenant son souffleh (119) we have not only another avoidance of repetition, but a gerund which, in French, must follow the preposition en. It is difficult to see what the translator is attempting to do, because he is inconsistent; sometimes he adheres closely to the text, carrying over a German construction such as gIl sfétait muni, en prévision dfune telle ripaille, dfune boursech (when one would expect the sentence to begin with the en); sometimes he makes concessions to French – ggellende, krächzendeh becomes gà la foix stridente et érailléeh (15 – my italics), as if he cannot expect his readers to accept this contrast without modification –; and on other occasions, he seems to ignore the German and just write whatever seizes his fancy.
Most of his additions are difficult to comprehend: get
loin de tirer vanité de certains regards féminins recueillis au hasard des
rencontresh (36-37) is not only long-winded, but draws attention away from
Anselmus towards the narrator. gsfy
écroula de tous son poidsh (3) detracts from the suddenness of the impact. And as far as the serpentfs speech is
concerned, it can only be assumed that the translator had previously been
downing copious draughts of a rich, buttery
There are also several mysterious omissions. Thinking of the various delights he is going to have to live without, Anselmus is no longer dreaming gan Musikh; the metaphor of the lemming, so appropriate to Anselmus, is neither maintained nor replaced; gIch weiß es schon, der Mut wär mir gekommen, ich wäre ein ganz anderer Mensch gewordenh and gSo ging es fort im Sinne verwirrender Redeh sink without trace. Perhaps the translator felt he had to leave out some sections of the original; they may have come into conflict with what he wanted to write.
There are many circumlocutions – gdes parolesc devinées plutôt qufentendues, évanouies sitôt prononcéesh (120-1) for gleisen halbverwehten Wortenh, gUne guigne persistante et acharnéeh (83) for gmein Unsternh and gmonta le long des branches, se propagea aux feuilles du sureauh (114-5) for gin die Zweige und Blätter des Holunderbaumes hinaufglitth – which prompt questions such as: are French adjectives really so lonely that one requires constant accompaniment? As in the English translations, there are exaggerations tending towards explanation: gfprisonfh (13) is added to crystal, nullifying these words of some of their eerily suggestive force; gfit disparaîtreh (10-11) has magical overtones, which are as relevant as the magical overtones of the verb gagrippa,h for all she does is pocket his purse. The timing is wrong; a little patience is required. The translator cannot just say epigtailf for gZopfh, but has to treat us to gcatoganh (89), which is as obscure as the English gCadogan.h This is at the other extreme from the previous translation, in which gschwarzatlasneh became gblack satinh (30), not eblack atlas.f On both occasions, the author has been ignored.
The tone of the original is recreated on a basis of individual words – such as gcommèresh (7) for gGevatterinnenh – but the general impression is one of very formal language, even when Anselmus thinks – gSon programme comportait jusqufàch (46) is a different register from ger hatte es bis zuc treiben wollenh – and when he speaks: gpoint ne mfétendrai-je surch (66-7) is like saying, eI will not elaborate on,f when the German has, quite simply, gvonc will ich gar nicht reden.h There is just no attention to detail, and it is so important; let us take, for example, the word nach. The old woman cried gnachh Anselmus; the crowd gnachsahh him: this creates the picture of the student in the background with these figures receding into the distance – an illustration that it is easy to visualise. And, of course, it is not reproduced in this translation.
There is a shift from the past tense into the present towards the end – gIl éprouvec Son cœurc défaillech (148-150). This is a particularly artificial passage, with gSon cœur, sous lfexcès de son émotion, tour à tour défaille et bat à se rompreh thrown in by a somewhat over-excitable translator, who also offers the disagreeable sound of: gses yeux se rivent à ces yeux de rêveh (151). Moreover, when the original contains the present tense – in the serpentfs speech – this becomes the future gfondrah and gtairah (126). Once again, an alteration has been made which adds nothing at all. It is not the freedom of this translator that is objectionable, but rather the manner in which he has abused this freedom.
A literary text is so much more than words, it is true; but this applies to a lesser degree to prose than to poetry; and there is a reason why an author chooses one word in preference to another. One language gives a name to objects, actions, descriptions, which in turn are associated with that name and taken for granted; the encounter with another language, the discovery of another mode of expression, leads to reflection on the nature of the object - the great value of metaphors lies in the emphasis they place on the relationship between objects, connecting as they do the individual item to another item, and so to the world. This new word adds something to the word in the mother tongue – an addition that cannot be carried over into translation, because a concept in its entirety is of necessity the sum of several parts. In the Beginning was the Word; this is the first unit of translation. It is only a beginning, but it represents a foundation that must be laid and that is conspicuous by its absence in these two translations. They are inaccurate, inconsistent, and ineffective; and they contain many alterations, deliberate or not, which, as this essay has purposed to prove, repeatedly detract from the artistic merit of this text.
In the world of E.T.A. Hoffmann, there is more than
one reality; the portrayal of such a world demands great artistic skill. These translations, however, do not even
create one reality. The American translators attempt to
reproduce his voice, but are not up to the task; the French translator does not
even try to, but would rather narrate the tale in his own manner. They do not seem to realise the
closeness of the relationship between studying a text and translating it; if
they had read eDer Goldne Topff with the same meticulousness and
conscientiousness with which Hoffmann wrote the tale, they would have realised
that his style, and his register, have a time, and a place, and a reason; he
may not have been conscious of the reasons why a particular structure was
appropriate for the achievement of the desired effect, but he must have at
least been aware, during the creative process, that what he was writing had the
correct feel. He knew that eDer Goldne Topff was his
best tale; that it was not merely a story, but a work of art. It seems that
<![endif]>The American-English translation is from Tales of E.T.A. Hoffmann, Transl. by
Leonard J. Kent and Elizabeth C. Knight (
<![if !supportLists]>2. <![endif]>There are few modern English translations of this tale to compare this version with; nor is it fair to compare with something so obviously antiquated as Carlylefs version. Nor is one overwhelmed with new French translations. For the purpose of general assessment, a greater number of translations would of course have to be examined; but from an introductory reading, these two were selected as a representative sample to serve as a starting-point.
<![if !supportLists]>3. <![endif]>From the tale eDes Vetters Eckfensterf in Hoffmanns Werke, Vol. 2 (Berlin/Weimar, 1979), p.307.
<![endif]>L.W. Tancock, gSome problems of style in translation
from Frenchh, in Aspects of Translation
<![if !supportLists]>5. <![endif]>Hans Mayer, Von Lessing bis Thomas Mann (Metzingen/Württemberg, 1959), p.201.
<![if !supportLists]>6. <![endif]>Comparison of this translation with the original illustrated yet more questionable choices in the preceding translation; yet an elaboration is unnecessary.
<![endif]>J. Reddick in German
Men of Letters, Vol. V (
<![endif]>Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of English Prose (
<![if !supportLists]>9. <![endif]>In a letter to Kunz of 19 August 1813, quoted in: Hoffmanns Werke (Berlin/Weimar, 1979), Vol.1, p.264.
Hoffmanns Werke (Berlin/Weimar, 1979), Vols. 1 & 2.
Intro. M ANCHELOT, Contes DfHoffmann (Abridged; Lagny-sur-Marne – undated).
Transl. JEAN DUREN, La Vase Dfor (Lagny-sur-Marne, 1942).
J. KENT and ELIZABETH C. KNIGHT, Tales Of
E.T.A. Hoffmann (
Transl. GÉRARD DE
NERVAL, Aventures de La Nuit De Saint
German Men of Letters, Vol V. (
MAYER, HANS Von Lessing bis Thomas Mann (Metzingen/Württemberg, 1959)