Chapter II: Preface (2)

(_B_) Every day he used to have dinner laid for twelve guests besides
himself; but no one was ever invited to the house. Who were the
twelve covers laid for then, do you think? For twelve dogs. Each dog
had a velvet chair to sit up in, and a napkin round his neck, and
a footman behind his chair to wait on him. The older dogs always
behaved in the most gentlemanly manner, but it sometimes happened
that one of the younger dogs forgot his manners, and snatched a chop
or a piece of pudding off the plate of the dog that was sitting next
to him.

Finally the difficulties may be grammatical. These are the difficulties that teachers have been most afraid of according to the old methods, so that they have even preferred to give up almost all sense and connection in the subject-matter rather than make a break in the systematical progress in grammar. Such a form as _pu_ was not allowed to occur before the pupils had learned the whole conjugation of _pouvoir_ _pouvant_ _pu_ _je peux_, etc.; these forms must be learned connectedly, it was said. But the irony of it all is that this “connectedly” means that they are learned out of all connection--and therefore to little profit. When the pupil is required to “understand” the forms which occur in his reader, it will be found on closer examination that this means merely that, for instance, _il a_ is understood by the one who knows that it is 3 pers. sing. pres. of _avoir_, or who at least knows the formula _j’ai_, _tu as_, etc.; that _yeux_ is “understood” by the one who has learned that it is an irregular plural belonging to the singular _œil_, etc.; in short, to “understand” means here to know where the form in question belongs in the grammatical system; and the forms must be given in exactly the same order in which they are arranged in the grammar, the present before the past tense, etc. But what has the beginner got to do with all this system? The idea is not carried out consistently either, for when all the exercises on accidence have been gone through, it is generally the rule to pass over to connected (unrevised) texts, where such a form as _puisse_ may occur, but the only thing that the pupils get to know about it is that it is subjunctive, for it may easily take a year or two before they learn why the subjunctive is used. Why is syntax less important than accidence? To be quite consistent, it ought no more to be permissible for a syntactical phenomenon than for a form in accidence to occur before the corresponding grammatical section has been learned. But since it seems to be inevitable that we must be inconsistent on some point or other, it is no use beating about the bush; in other words, we must not be afraid of using irregular forms in the very first selection.

Grammatical irregularities, viewed from a pedagogical point of view, fall into two entirely different classes, which are too apt to be treated as if they were co-ordinate. In the first place, all languages contain a number of irregularities which play a most insignificant part both in life and in literature, because they occur so seldom. When the users of the language produce them at long intervals, it is generally with the utmost caution, because they merely have a hazy conception of what the proper form of the expressions ought to be. But they are taken up in the grammars, and as soon as one grammarian has caught sight of one of them, it is carefully copied in all succeeding grammars for the sake of completeness. Foreign grammarians are even more inclined than the natives to pay attention to everything of that kind because they have no instinctive feeling of what is rare and what is common. In some English grammars which are used on the Continent, there may still be found _I catched_, _I digged_, _I shined_, _I writ_, as the preterite forms of _I catch_, _I dig_, _I shine_, _I write_; in one, I find given as two different verbs _I weet_, _wit_ or _wot_, past tense _wot_, and _I wis_, past tense _I wist_. What a big mistake it is to include such musty and impracticable forms, we can best judge from our own language--but in those French and German grammars which we ourselves write there are things which are just as bad as the above offences in English. When I went to school, I learned the following rule about the plural of _travail_, “_Travail_ has _travails_ in the plural when it means a report from a minister to the king or from a subordinate official to the minister; likewise when it means a machine to hold unruly horses, while they are being shoed.” This rule is thus criticized by Storm: “Now I must say I have read many hundreds of French books in my day, but so far as I remember, I have never come across _travails_ in modern literature! In the sense of report, it occurs in Mme. de Sévigné. An educated Frenchman, when asked if the word was used with that meaning, answered me that he thought it was no longer used. So one would expect that the word had long ago ceased to have any show in modern grammars, but it seems to be continually creeping in again.”

However, it is easy enough to take a position with respect to this first kind of irregularities; they ought to be removed from the instruction as radically as possible; they ought to be weeded out root and all to a far greater extent than has yet been done in most text-books, even if it must be admitted that something has been done in this direction of late years. It is quite another matter when we come to the other kind of irregularities, which are found in the very commonest words, in words like German _ist_ _war_, _kann_ _konnte_, _geht_ _ging_, _ich_ _mein_, _mann_ _männer_. Those irregularities the pupil must learn, and learn thoroughly--there is no doubt about that. The only question is, at what stage? before or after the regular inflections? Most teachers will answer, after. That a systematic grammar first gives what is normal, that which can be expressed in general, comprehensive rules, and then afterwards mentions the exceptions, the isolated phenomena, that of course is all right. But it does not necessarily follow that the pupils ought to familiarize themselves with the forms in the same order. What is won thereby? Perhaps some advantage for the theoretical knowledge about the language. But the loss incurred by this method of procedure is undoubtedly far greater. For it will be found to be absolutely impossible to arrange texts which are the least bit suitable without using irregularly inflected words, so indispensable are they. The dread of being unsystematic by taking up exceptions immediately is one of the causes of the prevalence of the disheartening series of detached sentences without any sensible meaning. It is only by freeing ourselves from this principle which requires rules first and exceptions later that we shall be able to get good texts for the teaching of beginners. Furthermore, by beginning with the regular forms, we perhaps run the risk that the pupils will analogically apply the rule even to the exceptional words, whereas the irregular forms generally deviate so much that they preclude the possibility of such mistakes. Those who have learned that the plural in English is formed by adding _s_, may perhaps construct such improper forms as _mans_, _childs_, but the plural forms _men_ and _children_ are not apt to tempt the pupils to inflect other words after the same pattern. But the moral of this is not that we are to turn the customary method of procedure upside down, and systematically learn the exceptions first. Here, too, nature must be our guide; just as persons talking within a child’s hearing never stop to consider if the words they are using are regular or not, so we ought not to be too painfully careful in selecting or arranging the first reading-exercises in a foreign language; we ought to choose what is otherwise good and take the forms as they come, wasting no words at this stage to explain their place in the system. In other words, the deviating forms must be learned as if they were merely matters of vocabulary. If in one of the first pieces there stands _Il y avait une fois un roi et une reine_, it is enough for the time being if the pupil is told that _il y avait_ = there was; the forms for “there is” and “there has been” he can learn another time when he has use for them, and then the teacher can refer back to this early piece and remind the pupil about the related form which he learned before. For beginners in French, _peux_--“can” is just as difficult (or easy) as _peu_--“little,” and _faire_--“make, do,” as _fer_--“iron,” and it makes no difference if the one is regular and the other irregular. Indeed, an irregular plural like _geese_ is even easier for Danes than the regular _bees_ (on account of the z-sound); likewise, it is easier for an Englishman to learn the German irregular forms of comparison _besser_ _best_ than regular forms like _süsser_ _süssest_. Later when the time has come for a more systematic study of the grammar, it will be rather an advantage that a number of the “exceptions” already have occurred at so early a stage that they are not at all felt to be strange and unusual.[4]

On the other hand, the beginner ought to be spared such grammatical difficulties as are due to complicated sentence-structure. All sentences ought from the very beginning to be constructed as evenly, simply and clearly as possible; co-ordinate independent clauses ought to be, if not the only, at least the predominating type of sentence. Not even, for instance, in the second year of Latin instruction, although there are just as many hours devoted to Latin in a year as generally fall to the share of modern languages in the course of two or three years, is it justifiable to let the pupils read the long passages of indirect discourse in Cæsar; they ought not to occur until the pupils are so far advanced that they could easily understand the same matter when directly presented. This is also a point to be kept in mind for any one who undertakes to revise the selections for reading according to the suggestions given above.

FOOTNOTE:

[4] It will be noticed that in the whole of this argument I agree with Sweet.

IV

So much for the reading selections--now for the way in which they ought to be used in the classroom. I have a very vivid recollection of how most of the language lessons were conducted when I went to school, and I have a suspicion that this method of procedure has not yet quite died out, even if in many places it has more or less felt the influence of the law of change. First the “old lesson” is gone through, and that must take as little time as possible, therefore the pupil is required to be able to translate it fluently without reading it aloud first. Then we come to the “new lesson.” A boy stands up and reads a little piece out of the reader--stuttering; the words are separated from each other by pauses and various unaesthetic hm- and er- sounds, and sometimes by the teacher’s corrections, or “now hurry,” “what a terrible pronunciation!” “how do you pronounce g before e? well, you know that just as well as I do, you blockhead,” etc. All that the boy thinks about, whenever he gets an opportunity, is, what in the world can be the meaning of that word I am coming to. Then he translates, interrupted by the teacher’s corrections, or “look out,” “where is the verb,” “but what case is it,” etc. Then there are, perhaps, some grammatical questions; he is to give the principal parts of a verb or two, explain the use of a subjunctive, etc.; the questions are not asked in the foreign language and are not to be answered in that tongue. The next boy is called upon to recite in the same way, and so on until the lesson has been gone through; if there is time enough, perhaps we go through it once more, but that must be in a hurry, so we do not stop to read it first this time. The last five or six minutes are devoted to looking through the lesson for next time; the teacher translates it while the pupils follow it in their books, and perhaps exert themselves to write down the meaning of some difficult word in the margin of the reader or in a note-book.

The most prominent feature of the teaching is haste; there is much to be done, especially as examination draws on. It seems to be an established custom that the examination marks are determined by the quality of the translation, and it is in order to get practice in translating that the reading selections are gone through as many times as possible. There is not much time for reading aloud; why, when one has only learned the main principles of pronunciation, one can generally infer the pronunciation of any word from the spelling, especially in German, but also in French. I suppose it is more or less in this confidence that the teachers let a piece be translated three or four times for every time it is read aloud in the original.

How much of the foreign language does the pupil hear in the course of such a lesson? The teacher says a word now and then--for instance, when a pupil translates incorrectly; but then the attention is not directed to the pronunciation; besides, it is generally only one word that he says, and that word occurs most likely in a sentence in the pupils’ own language. Now, it is a matter of fact that even one who pronounces very well cannot get the proper French swing of a French word when it occurs in company with words of another language. The basis of articulation is different in the two languages, and it is not easy to shift from the one to the other in a moment. So it is but little that the pupil hears from his teacher. From his classmates he hears a little more, no doubt; but theirs is not exactly exemplary pronunciation, and besides, it does not interest him to pay attention to it. If he only can manage to keep the place in the book where the others are for the moment, he can very well think about other things while the others are reciting; he can, for instance, review the difficult words in the next piece, if he does not prefer to dream about his stamp collection or his bicycle. Finally, on rare occasions, he is permitted to read a couple of lines aloud in class, but it is considered merely as a sort of introduction to the main business in hand, translation. He never gets an opportunity to say anything himself in the foreign language outside of what stands in the book, and he very seldom hears others say anything that he is not following in print.

So it is no wonder that such instruction scarcely cultivates at all the pupil’s ability to understand a foreign language as it is rapidly and naturally spoken by a native. If he should hear the simplest every-day sentence in a foreign language, correctly and naturally pronounced, and he should be asked merely to repeat it, he would in nine cases out of ten betray the strangest perplexity, although he would have had no trouble whatever with a far more difficult piece which he happened to meet with in print.

But that is not all; this method has other disadvantages. The foreign words gallop past the pupil’s eye; his main object is to be able to recognize them in a vague sort of way so that they may give him the clue to the translation. Oftentimes one word thus vaguely remembered even gives him the clue to the translation of a whole sentence which he knows by heart because there was something special about it. What he gets hold of is the translation, and the whole translation often comes to his mind when he has only looked at the beginning of the sentence in the original--sometimes, however, only on condition that it stands in the same place on the page (at the top to the left, etc.), where he is used to seeing it. There is not the same inducement to remember the forms of the foreign expressions exactly. If you take a clever boy who has been taught according to the usual method and, after he has translated a little piece of his lesson, close his book and ask him to give the original of the last sentence which he has translated, it will in many cases be impossible for him to do it. I reported an example of this at the congress in Stockholm in 1886; a clever pupil was translating a piece of Mérimée’s _Colomba_ at sight, and was doing it very well, when I made the experiment. He apparently remembered the sentence well enough in the translation, but it was slowly and with difficulty that he ventured the French: _Et il pleurait comme le fils de Pietri pleurait._ But in the book there stood: _Et il pleura comme pleurait le fils de Pietri._ It is clear that it is impossible for a pupil to get a correct conception of the radical difference between passé défini and imparfait, or of the effect of the order of words, when he pays so little attention to the French forms that he meets with. One can never get any real appreciation of the idiosyncrasies of a foreign language as long as the translation is the main object.

Let us consider for a moment the workings of a boy’s mind when it is his turn to recite and he has to translate such a sentence as, for instance: _cet homme, dont elle ne voyait jamais les enfants_. _Cet_, this, _homme_, man, _dont_, whose--now he discovers that it will not be English if he continues to take one word after the other in the French order, so he looks ahead, tries every word hurriedly; finally he finds _les enfants_, the children; no, I forgot, we must not have the article there in English, so merely children; back to _elle_, she; now he sees that _ne jamais_ must be taken first: never; _voyait_, saw. So instead of taking the French words in the natural order, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, he has to skip backwards and forwards in order to get them in the order 1, 2, 3, (8), 9, 4, 5, 7, 6. In an English text-book for German schools the following sentence[5] is given for translation with numbers indicating the order in which the words are to be taken in English: ^1Würden ^2Sie ^3nicht ^6viel ^7zeit ^5gehabt ^4haben ^8wenn ^9Sie ^{11}nicht ^{15}jenen ^{16}brief ^{13}zu ^{14}schreiben ^{12}gehabt ^{10}hätten. In other cases, it is the pupils themselves who by means of numbers and letters (“paving letters”) smooth the difficulty of translation. Anyone who is accustomed to translate German at sight knows how when he has translated the subject of a dependent clause he silently runs through what follows, often several lines, in order to find the verb, which according to English usage must not be too far separated from its subject, and how in hastily trying each single word his attention is drawn to a number of subordinate thoughts while the main thought stands and waits, as it were. This mental process is made even more complicated by the fact that only in a minority of cases does every word in a sentence (like the simple sentence given above) in any way correspond to an English word; as a rule the translator also has to think about such questions as, does _sich_ here mean him, or her, or himself, or herself, or itself, or oneself; does _si_ mean so, or as, or if; is _il fait_ to be taken as he does, he makes, he has (something done), or it does, or it is, or in still another way, etc., etc. This mental process, which is much more complicated than would generally be supposed, is far beyond the ability of the children. Therefore they often remain contented with the text-book’s, the teacher’s or the parent’s translation, which is learned partly or entirely by heart; otherwise the translation is apt to swarm with the well-known offences against the mother-tongue, word-formations, phrases, expressions, order of words, etc., which are not English. Since the teacher of course cannot put up with this murdering of the King’s English, a large part of every lesson in the foreign language has to be spent in the troublesome task of rooting out these barbarisms.

That is why it is so often said that instruction in foreign languages always is, or ought to be, at the same time instruction in one’s native language, or, as the matter is sometimes more pointedly put, that the main object in learning other languages is to get a correct knowledge of one’s own. Of course there is much truth in this last statement, if it is the theoretical understanding of languages that we are thinking about; for it is only natural that we cannot appreciate the richness of our mother-tongue, or have any opinion about its structural advantages or disadvantages, or even give a correct description of its structure or understand its historical development, when we have no other languages to compare it with.[6] Yet all this ought not to close our eyes to the fact that as soon as it is a question of the practical command of the mother-tongue, the assertion is utterly false. In this respect instruction in foreign languages does not help us, and it is not the people who are most accomplished in other languages who are the best stylists in their own. On the contrary! Only compare the language used by the same pupil in his English essays and in his translations from the Latin; in the latter, you will find a number of offences against good English usage which could not possibly have occurred in the former. So the errors are in reality not due to a deficient command of the mother-tongue, but solely and alone to the restraining and confusing influence brought to bear upon the pupil’s thoughts by the foreign forms of expression; the strange language lures him in upon linguistic paths where he would never set his foot otherwise, and which only lead him into a mire. It is the school with its translation-method that has sown the dragon’s teeth, and it must now reap the consequences. Instruction in foreign languages, according to the prevailing method, is so far from being a help to the pupils in their treatment of English, that, on the contrary, in spite of all the energy which is put in on combating Germanisms, Latinisms, etc., in the translations, it often makes them uncertain and vacillating in their feeling for what is good English.[7]

The acquirement of a certain intuition for good usage in a _foreign_ language had best be left out of the discussion here; a really thorough knowledge of French or German habits of expression is, of course, not to be obtained as long as we are unable to see anything in these languages without straightway turning all our attention to something quite different, namely, the English rendering.[8] We get no further than to a “nodding acquaintance” with the component parts of the foreign language, so that we know them pretty well by sight and can repeat their names, but we do not become quite intimate with them, we do not live together with them, they do not become flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood. If something difficult is to be learned, the very first essential is to be much occupied with it; therefore the first condition for good instruction in foreign languages would seem to be to give the pupil as much as possible to do with and in the foreign language; he must be steeped in it, not only get a sprinkling of it now and then; he must be ducked down in it and get to feel as if he were in his own element, so that he may at last disport himself in it as an able swimmer. But what is most characteristic for the prevailing methods is that the translation with its accessories swallows up so much time, that there is none left for this free disporting in the foreign element.

Then why does translation play such an important part? We must first find an answer to this question before we proceed to ask if it can and ought to be thrust into the background, and by what means. Now the ability to translate may either be considered the end of instruction in foreign languages, or translation may be regarded merely as a means of instruction (one of several means or perhaps the only means).

Now is it right to say that the _purpose_ of instruction in a foreign language is that the pupils may learn to _translate_ fluently and exactly (from and into the language)? The answer must be an emphatic No. The popular opinion among those who have not thought the matter over, or who have not given sufficiently careful attention to their own mental processes, is that a foreign language can be understood only by transposing it into one’s mother-tongue; but this is not so. Those who read foreign authors in the original with real advantage do not actually first translate each word, still less each sentence or each period, into English before they proceed further. Those who are listening to a French lecture or seeing a play in Paris have no time to translate to themselves, but it is not necessary for them to do it either. And finally, it goes without saying that the Englishman who really speaks French and German well does not first construct his sentences in English and then translate them in the same way as a schoolboy translates his exercises. No; in all these mental processes, English occupies a place in the background and is just as superfluous as for instance German is for me while I am reading or talking French. How often are we not asked the meaning of some foreign word or expression which we know very well and would neither pay any special attention to in a book nor hesitate to use in conversation but yet we cannot give any English equivalent for it without resorting to some vague uncertain circumlocution; then suddenly, after a good deal of speculation, we hit upon the correct English expression. Or the questioner may suggest first one and then another translation of something French or Latin; we do not feel satisfied, but cannot mention anything better; then he attempts a new suggestion and instantly it flashes upon us that this is the best. In all these cases, then, we have clearly and distinctly understood the foreign expressions without being able to translate them (or before we could translate them). Of course the German word _fall_ is only one and the same word for me whether it be used in such a manner as to be best rendered by English _case_, _instance_, or by _fall_, _decline_, _descent_, or in still another way (_unglücksfall_, accident; _schlimmsten falles_, if the worst come to the worst; _auf keinen fall_, on no account, etc.). When I come across the word _gegen_, I do not consciously stop to decide if it “means” _towards_, _to_, _about_ or _against_; nor in the case of _bleiben_, if it is to be rendered by _remain_, _stay_, _stop_, _continue_, _keep_, or _survive_. _Il a dû se taire_; _elle a le cœur serré_; _il traite le sujet avec la compétence qu’on lui connaît_--should I really have to hunt for the proper translation every time such an idiom occurs? Should I stop at every perspicuous German compound until I had found the cumbersome English circumlocution that is often needed to render it? No; in all of these cases, I directly and spontaneously connect the idea with the language in which it is expressed without going any roundabout way through the words of my native language. Any one who introduces a foreign word into his English either because there is no exact equivalent in English or, at least, because he cannot recall it for the moment, also thereby shows that people really can, and very frequently do, learn words in other languages without getting at their meaning through their mother-tongue.

“Il trouva la pauvre fille dans un état à faire pitié.” “On a voulu trouver dans ses œuvres un pessimisme de parti pris.” “Pour lui, il y allait de la gloire de cette maison qu’il servait depuis sa jeunesse.” How many a man will understand without difficulty such sentences as these and a hundred others, and yet hesitate at once when asked to translate them! We must on the whole make a distinction between the ability to feel at home in a language and skill in translating from or into it; even if these two accomplishments may be found in one and the same person, yet they are not seldom to be seen separated. If I may be allowed to talk about myself, I may say that my ability to translate quickly and well is so decidedly inferior to my ability to understand and to express my thoughts in those languages which I have studied, that I should scarcely like to have my linguistic attainments judged by my skill in translation.

The lately deceased art-critic, P. G. Hamerton, the author of that interesting book _French and English_, says about himself: “As my wife was a Parisian with a strong taste for the classical literature of her own country, I became her pupil in French and she became mine in English. We made it a rule in our private conversation never to allow a fault in either language to pass uncorrected, and we read aloud to each other a great deal.... In the use of languages I have one faculty which seems to be rather uncommon: that of keeping them entirely separated. When speaking or writing French I am, for the time being, like one totally ignorant of English, as English words do not occur to me, and I never translate anything, not even weights and measures, or money, or the thermometer, from one language to the other, but think in each, independently.”

When Hamerton here says that this ability is unusual, he no doubt means that it is unusual in so high a degree as he had it. Perhaps it is not all people who get so far that _dix-huit degrés_, for instance, awakens in them just as precise a conception as the corresponding degrees of heat in terms of Fahrenheit; and yet, no doubt, by habit, this too will become quite natural for those who care very much to have the temperature expressed in degrees. It is just like the foreigner in France who, after a very short time, involuntarily begins to calculate with French money, so that he does not have to transpose _deux francs cinquante_ into English shillings and pence before he can judge as to whether the price of an article is high or low.

Though I may admit, however, that this ability to feel at home in a strange language is not altogether common in so high a degree, yet I think it may be said that the same ability only in a less degree is not unusual. I mean that it is rather the exception than the rule for people who read foreign books to any extent at all to have to translate to themselves in order to understand what they are reading, with the exception, perhaps, of some difficult lines here and there. And even in the difficult places, where they have to resort to their mother-tongue in order to understand the meaning, it is generally only one or two words which have to be looked up, so they generally do not even pause to translate the whole clause in which those words have occurred; still less frequently do they stop merely to untangle some involved sentence construction. When a whole population has to make constant use of two languages, the circumstances are no doubt always the same as among the Wends in Lusatia: “They speak both Wendish and German with equal fluency; yet the common people generally refuse when they are asked to translate something from one language to another: ‘he cannot do it,’ or, as one of my informants expressed himself, ‘he is afraid to.’ He can, however, without difficulty repeat in German a tale which he has heard in Wendish, and _vice versâ_, and likewise he can give the exact translation of single words.”[9]

While there are countless persons who have use for the ability to understand a foreign language directly, and while there is at all events a constantly increasing number of people who need to express their thoughts in a foreign language, there are really very few who will ever have any occasion to exercise skill in translation. There are many who write private letters in German, etc., but they do not compose an English text first which they then proceed to translate with exactness. Even those who have foreign business letters to write for someone else are not generally given every word that is to stand in them, but merely a rough draft of the contents, which they are to clothe in a foreign language as best they can. There remain, then, the few translators connected with the law-courts, the providers of translated novels, and finally the very small number of choice spirits who have the courage to grapple with the valuable and charming art of transplanting poetry in a poetical rendering. But they may all find comfort in the fact that skill in translation at the very bottom rests on that same direct command of language that we all need,[10] so there is no need for them to feel dissatisfied if we refuse to recognize skill in translation as the end and aim of all instruction in languages.

Our ideal must rather be the nearest possible approach to the native’s command of the language, so that the words and sentences may awaken the same ideas in us as in the native--and these ideas, as we well know, are not the same as those called forth by the corresponding words in our own language. The relations between languages are not like the relations between mathematical equivalents; _cœur_, _herz_, _heart_ do not all cover the same ground, to say nothing of the difference between _sens_, _sinn_, _sense_, etc. Even when the literal meaning may be said to be the same, the suggestions associated with the words vary in the different languages, suggestions arising from related words, from words that are similar in sound or similar in some other way, from frequent combinations in which the words occur, etc. The same animal is in English called _bat_, in French _chauvesouris_, in German _fledermaus_, in Latin _vespertilio_, in Danish _flagermus_, but what a difference in the suggestions! The French, the German and the Danish words call attention to the animal’s resemblance to a mouse, the Danish word besides to its flapping movement (a suggestion which must be lost for the Germans since _flattern_ has taken the place of _fledern_), but the French word to its bald appearance; the Latin word makes us think of the time of day when the animal is abroad, but the English word _bat_ is rather an abstract expression without any suggestiveness, and we can understand why Tennyson declared that the provincial word _flittermouse_ was far more suitable for poetical use than _bat_. These “undertones” of the words sound more distinctly in puns, rhymes, etc., but still they always lie lurking in the background of our conscience. It is all such things as these, together with the fact that some languages carefully distinguish between certain shades of grammar or meaning which are of no consequence in other languages, where the finesses seem to be extended to totally different points, and furthermore together with different habits as to order of words, etc., etc., which, taken all in all, make it impossible for any translation ever to be a perfect reproduction of the original: _traduttore traditore!_

For all these reasons, it is not translation (or skill in translation) that we are aiming at in teaching foreign languages.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Quoted in _Englische Studien_ VIII., 175.

[6] Wer fremde sprachen nicht kennt, weiss nichts von seiner eignen.

J. GRIMM.

[7] Ch. Darwin had the strongest disbelief in the common idea that a classical scholar must write good English; indeed he thought that, the contrary was the case. (_Life and Letters_, i. 155.) See also the strong expressions to the same effect in H. Spencer’s _Facts and Comments_, 1902, p. 70.

[8] Der geist des schülers muss eine ganz wunderliche turnerei treiben, immer hin- und herhüpfen zwischen den beiden sprachen, in keiner recht zur ruhe kommen. Das mag eine treffliche übung sein zu mancherlei anderen verstandesleistungen (? O. J.), nur gerade für die spracherlernung ist der gewinn zweifelhaft.--G. v. d. Gabelentz, _Die Sprachwissenschaft_, 1891, 73.

[9] F. Polle, _Wie denkt das volk über die sprache_. Leipzig, 1889, p. 35. The languages are as different from each other as English and Russian.

[10] Only by understanding the connexion in which they occur is it possible to know what is meant by English _light_, or _bow_, French _montre_ or _fin_, German _thor_ or _lieben_. So the language must be understood before it can be translated.

V

But for all that translation might still be a useful and indispensable _means_ in the service of language instruction. In order to judge of this we must have a clear conception of the different ways in which translation can be and really is used:

(_a_)--Translation _into English_ is a means of getting the pupil to
understand the foreign language, as for instance, when I tell him
that _cheval_ means “horse,” or when I translate a whole sentence for
him;

(_b_)--Translation into English is a means of testing whether the
pupil understands, as, for instance, when I ask him what _cheval_
means in English, or when I let him translate a whole sentence;

(_c_)--Translation _from English_ is a means of giving the pupil
practice in producing something in the foreign language;

(_d_)--Translation from English is a means of testing whether the
pupil can express himself in the foreign language. It is really
a subdivision of this when the teacher lets a pupil translate an
English sentence in order to see if he understands some grammatical
rule in the foreign language.

It is clear that _a_ and _b_ are right closely connected, likewise _c_ and _d_; yet it will be seen later that the one does not necessarily presuppose the other, as is no doubt generally assumed.

Advocates of the routine-method will throw _a_, _b_, _c_, and _d_ together indiscriminately and say about them all that translation is an excellent and indeed the only practical means.

But their opponents, now, maintain that in none of these four cases is translation the only means--very far from it!--and that besides it is not equally valuable in all instances.

(_a_)--There is always danger in translation; but in spite of this
there are many who in certain cases will use this means as being the
surest and quickest way of getting the pupils to understand, but in
other cases will try to do without it; some teachers even think that
in all cases they can find other and better means of getting the
pupils to comprehend the meaning of foreign expressions.

(_b_)--As a means of testing whether the pupil understands the
foreign language, it is a tolerably good thing to let him translate,
but only tolerably good; it is not always reliable, and ought in many
cases to be a last resort.

(_c_)--Translation from English is, for beginners at least, an
extremely poor means in comparison with the many other hitherto
generally neglected ways in which the teacher may get a pupil to say
(or write) something in the foreign language. “Das übersetzen in die
fremdsprache zum zwecke der erlernung derselben gehört einfach in das
gebiet pädagogischer sünden und verirrungen” (Bierbaum, _Die neueren
sprachen_, i. 57).

(_d_)--As a test of whether the pupil can express himself in the
other language, an oral or written exercise in translation is either
illusory or is at least suitable only for the most advanced pupils.

These assertions must now be made good, especially by the suggestion of other means which may be substituted for translation. I shall not continue strictly to observe the distinctions between the four categories, _a_, _b_, _c_, _d_. In order to avoid tedious repetitions of expressions like “the foreign language in question,” I shall in the following pages say in short “the language” in contrast to English.

Are there other means by which I can get the pupil to comprehend the meaning of foreign words and sentences? Yes; in the first place by means of _direct observation_ or immediate perception (what the Germans call anschauung). This applies to substantives which designate objects, etc., to be found in the school-room: fenêtre, porte, banc, chaise, tableau (noir), craie, livre, plume, crayon, montre, élève, maître (professeur), etc. All that is necessary is to point to the objects with such remarks as _c’est_ (or _voilà_) _la craie_, _on appelle ça le tableau noir_, etc., and the pupil cannot mistake the meaning of each word. Furthermore, this is the best way to teach the most necessary words relating to the human body: tête, cheveux, nez, yeux, bouche, lèvres, barbe, joue, oreille, bras, main, doigt, etc. But in addition to the many substantives there are also a number of words of other classes which can be learned in this manner: voilà une fenêtre, et voilà une _autre_ fenêtre; Pierre est un élève, Paul est un autre élève; words like _ici_, _là_; especially a number of verbs of action: _j’écris_; Victor écrit. je _prends_ la craie; Jean prend la craie. je me _lève_; Pierre se lève. _je m’assieds_, je _marche_ (vers la porte), _j’ouvre_ la porte, je _ferme_ la porte; je _donne_ le livre à Pierre, Pierre me donne le livre, etc. At the same time as the teacher or the pupil says something or other, the teacher illustrates the action. In that manner, already in the first stage, before the pupils have any French vocabulary to operate with, a number of words and sentences may be learned without the use of a single English word. Yes, even the various tenses of the verbs can be explained by this method. If, for instance, in the course of their reading, the pupils come across _il a pris_ and they do not understand it, the teacher can show what it means--this of course does not apply to the very first lessons--by first taking the chalk and saying: je prends la craie, then a book: je prends le livre de Jean, then his hand: je prends sa main, and then saying: d’abord j’ai pris la craie, puis j’ai pris le livre de Jean, et enfin j’ai pris sa main. With a little ingenuity a good deal can be brought in in this way; some material in French has been well arranged in P. Passy and T. Tostrup, Leçons de choses. I shall later come to the question as to whether and how the pupils are to repeat what the teacher says in this way, as likewise to the objection that the pupils in reality understand these words in English. Here I shall merely caution against taking too much material of this kind at a stretch; it is best to intersperse it with other things.

In the second place, the meaning of the words may be communicated through _mediate perception_, through pictures. This is what Miss Goldschmidt with so much energy has put into practice in her “picture-words” and in other books on the same plan, which have been edited partly by her and partly by others. Each page contains a collection of pictures representing a series of objects belonging to the same sphere of ideas. Sometimes they are joined together to make a whole scene; sometimes the objects remain separated, without being brought into connection with each other; some of the pictures are well put together; others present several curiosities, as, for instance, a telescope freely hovering in a rainbow. Each object is supplied with a number referring to lists where the corresponding French (English, etc.) words are given. In many German schools, and in several places in Denmark now too, large picture-charts are used to hang upon the schoolroom wall, especially the Hölzel charts, where, for instance, on a winter-picture are collected representations of the most important things belonging to winter. Then the teacher can point to one of these things and at the same time explain it in the language which is being studied. Finally pictures can also be used to illustrate a narrative or descriptive text, as in the English primers published by Sarauw and myself.

There have been several objections raised against the perception-method. Thus Sweet says that the idea is not so sharply defined as in the case of translation. If we see _chapeau_ by the side of (the picture of) a silk hat, we do not know if it merely designates that kind of hat or other kinds too, so that the translation “hat” is more apt to suggest the correct idea. Or if the teacher points to his mouth and says _bouche_, the pupils might just as well think that it means lip, etc. The objection comes from a closet philosopher, who has not seen the thing in practice; there is almost no danger except for one who would try to learn a language by himself and exclusively through pictures. In oral instruction, such mistakes are scarcely frequent enough to be worth mentioning, even if it might be a good thing perhaps for teachers to realize that they are possible--they even occur now and then in a child’s apprehension of his native language, which in large part follows exactly these same paths. If the teacher understands his business, no mistake at all occurs or else it is soon corrected, for of course he will never stop at merely pointing to the object and giving the word, but he will immediately use it in sentences and connections in which the meaning becomes perfectly clear; for instance, if he only says _tu as une bouche et deux lèvres_, or, after having pointed to his mouth and said _bouche_, he asks one of the boys: _Combien as-tu de bouches?_ there will be no danger of such mistakes; indeed all danger is generally precluded from the very beginning, for when the teacher points to his mouth, he is not apt to say merely _bouche_, but _voilà la bouche_ or _voilà ma bouche_, where the singular form _la_, _ma_ unmistakably indicates the correct meaning. Such misunderstandings as in the case of _chapeau_ are no doubt of rare occurrence, but at all events, the teacher may prevent them too by talking about his own and the pupils’ hats with the use of the same word.

Another opponent of the perception-method has said that it causes disturbance in the class when the teachers in modern languages now get up, now sit down, open the door, close the door, blow their noses, pull their boots off and on (?) etc.

A third opponent carefully depicts all the asides a pupil will think of when the teacher, in order to teach him the word _gants_, pulls his gloves out of his pocket: “They are pretty bad specimens,” or “Oho! he has brought his best ones along to-day because he knew he was going to use them,” etc. Of course the method can be driven to caricature, and of course the discipline can become lax if the teacher goes through the various actions with too much restlessness, but in general the method does not require very different or more disturbing movements than those which take place in every or every other lesson: a pupil goes to the blackboard or the door or opens a window. And if there is any spirit in the teaching, the pupils indulge in no more irrelevant asides than in other lessons.

There seems to be greater weight in the objection that only apparently is the foreign word directly attached to the idea by means of the perception-method, since either a real hat or a picture of one immediately suggests to the pupil the English word _hat_, so that after all we do not avoid the roundabout way through the native language, as we desire; the hobgoblin moves with us. Well, if we think it is possible entirely to prevent English words from turning up in the children’s consciousness, we certainly deceive ourselves. But if we are more modest in our demands and simply want the foreign language to be kept as much as possible in the foreground and English in the background, then it cannot be denied that it must make for this end when it is not necessary for either the teacher or the pupil to mention the English word. And the more they both become accustomed to this method of teaching, the more previously learned words there are for the new ones to be associated with, and the more ingenious the teacher is to vary the whole, the more seldom do the English words occur to the pupil.

With the pictures as a basis of suggestion, there can and ought to be conducted talks in the language, at least after the very first lessons are past. It is but seldom necessary to resort to the native language, and the time is almost exclusively occupied in hearing and saying something in the language. But this can best be done when the pictures not only suggest single words but are rich in content. Thus Mrs. Freudenthal, in Finland, has to a large extent in her teaching used reproductions of genre paintings, which give occasion for spinning out whole narratives suggested by the pictures. Perhaps it is still better, as Sarauw and I have done in our book for beginners in English, to supply the tales (or other selections) with little illustrations; they may occasion conversations which have more or less to do with the text and which can be conducted with essentially the same vocabulary; and the teacher ought also to return now and then to previously discussed pictures, which may be treated more fully than before on account of the progress made by the pupils in the meanwhile.

Pictures, then, are of undoubted significance in the teaching of languages, even if their scope must not be overrated and they must not be used as the only means of explanation--all one-sidedness is hurtful. But the pictures ought to be characteristic of the foreign land and people, especially when they are to be used beyond the beginner stage. I am not the first one to reproach Miss Goldschmidt because she gives pictures showing, for instance, a Danish sitting-room, a Danish postman, etc., and lets the pupils use the same pictures in learning all three foreign languages, something which is not exactly calculated to win interest but must be pretty monotonous whereas exactly what should be done is to open the pupil’s eyes to the manifold and characteristic differences existing between the various nations. Schools ought to be well supplied with pictures on the walls and illustrated works which may serve to give the pupils some enlightenment about French and German conditions of life, natural scenery, buildings, art, institutions. Foreign illustrated papers will be found to contain much useful material, and the teacher ought frequently to use 5-10 minutes or more of the lesson to discuss such a picture in the language with the pupils. That would be an excellent way in which to supplement the teaching based on the text-book.