De La Terre à La Lune (Annoté) (Collection Jules Verne t. 1) (French Edition)

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Arthur B. Evans

After Jeanne's appearance in the frontispiece — remember, the reader hasn't discovered that they are the same individual — images of Jean in the first half of the novel appear to show… well, a young man. They deflect us, then, from the textual cues, which we will assume point to some other sort of intrigue. Knowing that the reader's impulse is first to trust her eyes, author and artist thus conspire to keep the secret as long as necessary. By showing Jean unambiguously as a boy, Roux provides Verne with cover for his textual legerdemain. Until, that is, the climax of Book I, when Jean's hidden identity is revealed.

The voyagers are caught midstream in a chubasco , a species of violent thunderstorm common in the Orinoco basin, accompanied by strong winds and intense lightning. The boy is thrown from the falca a kind of canoe with a thatched roof into the roiling waters:. Roux's depiction of the scene Figure 5 shows Jean falling headfirst, his face submerged in the waters. Even if we assume that the image captures an instant in time, Jean's posture seems strangely mannered, as though his tumble were a signal of some other event. In fact, the fall from the falca is plainly a baptism; it is, moreover, an immersion of the part of Jean's anatomy most likely, first, to have given away the secret there has never been any question of Verne or Roux revealing other parts , and second, to anticipate a transformation after the immersion.

Cradled in Martial's arms in a blanket that looks much like a long dress, his facial features are more feminine than in earlier illustrations. Imagine, if you will that this is the first time we see Jeanne ; I think it unlikely that a reader would mistake her for a young man. Our possible confusion is doubled by Jacques Helloch's new dilemma.

From early on, Helloch has felt drawn to Jean and the tragic tale of his missing father. His friend Paterne has remarked more than once that Helloch seems more interested in the boy than in his scientific work, and Helloch agrees, complaining that he can't understand why he finds Jean so… compelling. Moments before he leaps into the river to rescue Jean, Helloch hears Martial call his nephew by "un nom… oui!

The game then has moved to a new stage at the moment of Jean's fall Figure 5: We hardly have time to puzzle over this curious omission, because Helloch's restlessness becomes the focus of the next few chapters — unnaturally "pensive" and "taciturn," he avoids the boy and his uncle, grumbling to Paterne that "there are things that you can't understand": Neither of course has the reader, but she as least has read that something was heard, and that it has to do with… a name, or rather, not a name: Verne is especially careful in these passages, and Roux, with equal prudence, offers no visual explanation of Helloch's confusion beyond the ambiguous contours of the boy's face shown in Figure 6.

We can assume that Helloch must have felt that all was not as it seemed as he pulled the boy from the water, but this datum — which is never textually marked and can't be visually figured — remains the purest conjecture after the fact. In the final paragraphs of Book I, Helloch fills in the blank. He confronts Jean and Martial and pries from them the truth. His relief is… palpable. Long before she tumbles into the river, it is not hard to see that Helloch has fallen in love with Jeanne. Her change of sex is a happy solution to a growing tension in the text that, for all of Verne's obvious delight in such ambiguities, can only be resolved in this way if the novel is to remain the family fare that it purports to be.

How many readers, surprised by the disclosure of something that was nearly obvious all along, will now turn back to look at the illustrations to confirm the quality of the deception? More, I suspect, than will turn back to the first textual depictions of Jeanne dressed as a boy. Therein lies a sign of the importance of the dialogue of images and text and of what each is able to relate and pretend. After a chapter-long flashback that explains Jeanne's origins, the journey resumes.

She returns to her disguise, keeping it up for all but the final three chapters of the novel. But Roux's illustrations dispense with every pretext that she is a boy — she remains in masculine garb, but lets down her hair a bit and jettisons the extravagantly phallic hat that she wore for nearly all of Book I Figure 7.

In contrast, textual markers of her gender in Book II are mixed: This is almost the reverse of the discretionary procedure of the earlier chapters, because we are now in on the charade, and reminded of it each time that Jean and Jeanne switch places in name only. The sexual tension of the first half of the novel is not discharged by this, only displaced: Timothy Unwin has stressed their dramatic character: Verne's absurdist intrigues, doublings and reversals, he proposes, provide templates for building and releasing narrative tensions in ways that are more typical of stage melodrama and vaudeville than of narrative prose.

Moreover, Verne's reliance on these devices invites the reader's attention to his programs with a directness that is consonant with his enthusiasm for popular dramatic conventions. His earliest writing was for the stage; he wrote or co-wrote several successful theatrical versions of his novels Margot Verne's applications of these forms in his fictions signals something more than his delight in exuberances of the stage; it indicates also a theory of fiction sustaining the whole of his oeuvre.

Showing and telling in Verne are not juxtaposed or serial modes of representation. They are rather entangled such that description is overdetermined and often undone by the most contrived wordplay, and wordplay given cover by description. The mutual engagement of textual and visual programs of the illustrated Voyages can only be fully appreciated in this context. Roux's illustrations are cannily drawn into this system. Like Clark Kent's glasses or The Lone Ranger's mask, the crux of Jeanne's costume is the more unconvincing the longer she wears it; our pleasure in the adventure is extended by our pleasure in being in on the joke.

The illustrations play the role of a foil to the divagations of the text up until the closing chapter, when the game of alternating names is dropped once and for all and Jeanne dons "the garments of her sex" Figure 8. Stylistically, if not comically, this is the vaudevillian climax of the novel, when the word games and the picture games collide and the missing parts — letters and image — find their proper place. As readers, we are able to parse the significance of this moment because we remember that we've seen this pretty girl before, in the novel's frontispiece Figure 2.

Lateral windows

Jean ne 's place in this circuit is structurally consistent from start to finish: What has varied over the course of the journey is what we imagine the circuit to represent, on the basis of textual and graphic cues that in this special but important sense are distinct from the fiction of the journey. The novel could have been a story a boy's search for his father or a girl's search for her father; the perils and rewards of the voyage would apply equally well to both. The disclosure of Jeanne's true gender adds little more than a few conspiratorial scenes involving the "boy" and his "uncle" and the girl's romance with Jacques Helloch.

Verne was after something else, I think, in introducing a turnabout structure in a pattern that he had applied with success several times before. The conceit of androgeny — it is only ever that — and the curiosity and desire it invokes are in a way incidental; their significance is realized on other registers of reading. This eccentricity of the program of the intrigue with regard to the plot that is its support and channel is, in the end, a hallmark of the most accomplished practitioners of textual and verbal arts.

Author and illustrator — together, in dialog and in opposition — have articulated a fictional imaginary that reveals to us: We read in the wink of an eye between. In the final section of this essay I examine representative examples of post-Hetzel illustrated editions and adaptations of the novel. It has never been one of Verne's popular works. As of June , only one French edition is in print; most translations appear to be out of print and difficult to obtain.

For this study, I have been able to review, or others have provided me with descriptions of nineteen illustrated editions, translations, and adaptations of the novel in Czech, Dutch, English, French post-Hetzel , German, Hebrew, Russian, and Spanish. Cover art of these editions, we may assume, is subject to material and marketing constraints different from those applying to the grands octavos. Especially as we move later into the twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first centuries, the methods by which these works are designed, produced, and presented to prospective readers will have changed considerably.

Grand sizes will, in general, be supplanted by smaller pocket sizes, elaborate cartonnages by paper jackets and color softcover formats.

But the graphic legacy of the Hetzel series remains clear. The covers of many later editions evoke their precursors by citing traits of the cartonnages , or by incorporating Roux's illustrations into the cover art Figure This citation scheme is more pronounced between covers. For example, the only Dutch translation includes twenty-seven of the illustrations. The quality of images in these editions varies widely.

Mass-market paperbacks are usually printed on inferior paper stock in small sizes; unsurprisingly, subtle details are often lost on these surfaces. But in most post-Hetzel editions that reprise the Roux images, they are sufficiently legible to sustain minimal engagements with the text. First, the text must be complete; an abridgement is bound to strip out elements of the textual program.

If it is a translation, then it must be faithful to at least general contours of the program. No translation can reproduce every textual relay of the original — and Verne can be a particularly difficult case in this regard, given his enthusiasm for puns and anagrams — but an approximation of the decisive relays is possible, if the two languages are generally comparable with respect to their alphabets, phonemic and syntactic operations. Second, the selection of the illustrations and their positions in the sequence of the reading must conform generally to the model of the edition.

When a later edition reproduces all of his images in the sequence in which they originally occurred, we may assume that their part of the work's careful charade has been repeated. When only a subset of the images is included, the selection of images will be decisive. On the one hand, the exclusion of any of the images shown in Figure 9 would fracture the fundamental circuit they represent. On the other hand, other illustrations more closely associated with the "color" of the landscape and the adventure might be excised without disturbing this circuit.

The effects of exclusions must be determined on a case-by-case basis. These constraints on the selection and position of the images are set aside for editions in which Roux's images are replaced by those of another artist. Then, the new artist — whether or not she is aware of it or chooses to act on it — carries a certain responsibility with regard to the novel's requirement of a graphic program keyed to its textual programs. My survey of such editions suggests that few artists, even some with considerable talent, have given careful attention to this aspect of their contribution.

In , newly-illustrated Spanish and French editions of the novel were issued in Venezuela in commemoration of the th anniversary of its first publication. Pancho Quilici's sepia watercolors for the Spanish-language volume are quite beautiful Figure 11 , but are too abstract to support the calculated scheme of disguise and disclosure that Roux's more realist style sustains.

Daniel Maja's illustrations for the French-language volume are less abstract than Quilici's, but still too nonobjective to activate textual programs of the novel Figure Despite their subtlety and grace, images by both artists are less engaged with operations of those programs than are Roux's technically less accomplished illustrations: As I have already observed, strict fidelity to textual programs is impossible in such a format.

Moreover, fidelity to graphic programs or an homology of textual and graphic programs is often not a concern of illustrators of these works. They begin their project with an sharply constrained foundation, making complex engagements of image and text unlikely if not impossible. Or they are tasked with boosting the book's shelf appeal, which usually means sensationalism and melodrama at the cost of narrative and stylistic accuracy. For example, the cover and frontispiece of a Russian translation of the novel Figure 13 recast it in hackneyed conventions of the boy's adventure tale — exotic locales and menacing fauna, treacherous natives, intrepid explorers and their well-armed derring-do.

With some modifications, these elements are present in the original, but they figure there a kind of window-dressing for the fundamental circuits of the work. Here, Jean ne has simply gone missing — she is shown in none of the illustrations — and there is no hint of a Telemachiad or its gendered turnabout. Verne's text includes no mention of this reptile. The edition replaces Faivre's images with twelve of Roux's original engravings, crudely reproduced on the book's very poor stock. Faivre's frontispiece shows a banal river scene Figure Jean is depicted as frankly girlish from the start.

He is not shown falling into the river during the chubasco , and seems little changed after being rescued Figure Jeanne is never shown in "the garments of her sex. None of the images of Jean in masculine dress is included. Roux's frontispiece Figure 2 is used for the book's jacket but the companion illustration of Jeanne "charmante en fille" Figure 8 is omitted, thus requiring the reader to resolve the puzzle of her first appearance as a woman without its double at the adventure's end. In both editions, the illustrations have been re fitted to an at best accessory relation to the text — which is to say, they are "illustrations" in a trivial, uninteresting sense of that term, leaving little room for more complex engagements.

A abridgement of the novel in Hebrew multiplies infelicities of the earlier BV edition.

It reprises four of Faivre's illustrations uncredited, they include two full-page images shown in Figure These are augmented with two modern-day photographs of forests of the Orinoco region — supplied, the colophon notes, by the Shell Oil Corporation! The final image of the book — roughly in the position where Jeanne is shown in the edition in a full dress Figure 8 — shows three men establishing a riverbank camp at the edge of a forest. The drawing is labeled, in English, "Lewis River.

It is not a South American scene. Most of his images are of natural landscapes or distant views of an episode in which the adventurers appear as tiny, near-stick figures. Jeanne is never shown dressed as a young woman, even at the novel's end. The few close-up images of people are all of bearded men — Martial, Helloch, Colonel de Kermor, etc. But the boy is not only missing from the illustrations; he seems to be missing in a calculated way. He is notably absent from scenes in which other illustrators — including Roux — have placed him at the center, and where the text indicates explicitly that he should be present.

The illustration shown in Figure 15 middle right , for example, corresponds to a passage early in the novel I. Roux's illustration Figure 15 , far right shows the two of them in conversation. Martial is shown in profile and Jean's back is to the reader. In Stoye's version of this scene, however, Jean is not present and Martial looks directly quizzically? He can't be looking thus at Jean — the boy is not the narrating consciousness of this passage; in practical terms, the image can't be focalized through him.

Martial must be looking, then, at the reader. This is, in fact, a recurring trait of Stoye's illustrations, several of which include a person or an animal staring out from the page. The most striking examples of these are the two figures of the frontispiece and the half-submerged crocodiles of the book's jacket [ Figure 15 ]. Stoye has found thus an interesting solution to the illustrator's thorniest problem: The boy is, after all, a principal character of the adventure: The eyes looking out from the illustrations displace the locus of these questions and the riddle of the boy's identity away from the surface of the page and into the field of the reader's gaze.

The effect is not as interesting as it might have been were the translation more correct — Martial is reported to cry out "Jeanne, mein Kind! The comic format often requires drastic alterations of storyline; substantial liberties may be taken in this regard to heighten dramatic action or delete material presumed to be of no interest to the target audience, usually young readers. Crude halftoning techniques, inconsistent color registration, and poor paper quality limit the complexity and subtlety of images and push the artist's contributions toward simpler forms, brighter colors, and sharper contrasts.

Though fragments of description and dialogue may be preserved, it is more common that the author's textual programs are subjected almost entirely to systems of the graphic image and the unforgiving spatial constraints of the panel. Conversely, it demonstrates that the comic artist, in order to sustain narrative tensions, is obliged to rely on programs that an illustrator such as Roux might trust to his author. Her exchanges with Marcial Martial in these early panels suggest that there is a secret between them, but there is no sign that her clothing hides it.

Juana, in fact, never changes out of these clothes, though at the comic's conclusion she can't be mistaken for a young man Figure 16 , right. The frankness of her femininity in the closing panels provides the justification for a crucial punctuation marked in the dialogue: With his final exclamation, Helloch insists on the textual supplement by which young Juan has become Juana — the visual proof of which the reader may easily discern in the girl's profile, clearest in this panel than in any proceeding it.

In the comic, the structure corresponding to Paterne's tautology — a complex linguistic object that had to be sustained as much textually as graphically in the Hetzel edition — has been split and redistributed. The last term — "charmante en fille" — corresponds to the dialogue of the final frame. In the comic, Juan's fall into the river during the chubasco is, as it was in the original, the event that sets apart the boy of Book I from the young woman of Book II Figure We may observe, however, that instead of crying out the name that is not Juan, Marcial here remembers to keep the secret.

Juan is shown with his head above water — a practical consideration, perhaps: But this alignment of his speech and body has another effect: If Marcial were to call out a young woman's name at this moment, this would effect a break in the mimetic logic of the comic frame, which depends on the conceit that events are shown to us in the sequence and the manner in which they occur. Verne, in contrast, is more free to multiply structures of ambiguity and deferral in this moment, because he has already put in place textual feints and safeguards that have no correlate in the comic medium.

Because visual registers of the fiction are given a greater priority here, it makes little sense that Marcial should tell us Juan's real name, and thus gender. It is more fitting that we be shown these data. In the following panels, we are able to see traits that in the novel we can only assume Helloch must have felt , but neither Verne nor Roux could represent. Juana's femininity is visually signified: Optical conditions for this revelation are extremely unlikely — Juan has fallen into a storm-tossed river; Helloch could never see so far or so clearly beneath the surface — but the medial system of the print comic requires a sequence of this kind if the reader is to understand Helloch's confusion and barely-disguised relief.

In early panels of the comic, external signs of Juana's anatomy are subdued, if not missing altogether Figure 16 , left; Figure By the end, those signs are unambiguous and as marked as a child-oriented comic book will allow Figure 16 , right. The example of his her visual transformation suggests an important difference between graphic programs of the comic artist and the book illustrator.

Generally speaking, the illustrator is compelled to adapt her images to narrative sequences and, more rarely, to textual programs of the work she illustrates. This doesn't mean, however, that she may not extend them in new directions, or even subvert them in certain respects. In contrast, the artist of a comic adaptation is freed from many of the obligations imposed by textual systems of the original. The reductive imperative of adaptation and the unforgiving constraints of the comic book format tend to invert the relation of text and image characteristic of the book, pushing graphic programs to the foreground, and, often, stripping textual programs of most or all of their nuances.

His images must be the foundation of the intrigue; he cannot rely on subtle verbal systems to balance their evidence because there is not enough room in the panel to build much of textual basis for misleading the reader. Once the masquerade is revealed, it can't be credibly resumed; the mimetic pull of the image is too strong and the counter-pull of the speech balloon too weak. The most effective solution to this double bind is formal: Again, the reading surface can support effects beyond narrative sequence.

As the reader's eye makes a tour of the page, Juana's body turns to show us what we've been looking for all along. Verne can rely on the machinery of realist language, grammar and punctuation to keep from giving it all away too quickly. Roux can pretend for awhile to show us what Verne pretends to describe, and then show us what we know is there as Verne continues the pretense when it is no longer credible. Artists working in formats in which strict fidelity to textual programs is impossible can, as we have seen, ignore engagements of image and text save those that serve the most basic patterns of the narrative.

Even then, the images may figure only some strands of the narrative and neglect others; some textual programs become thus literally unrecognizable. There, the lateral window is turned a little, but retains its indirection. Emb , Gondola della Riva and Jauzac survey dates of first publication and distinctive traits of their major categories.

Butcher , Dumas , and Martin describe the often antagonistic relations between Verne and his editors. I ignore here the importance of Michel Verne's role in the redaction of his father's posthumous works published by Hetzel. These are now known to have been largely or entirely rewritten by Michel. Chromolithography was used for color maps of the series beginning in the late s. Chromotypographs were introduced to the series in In some re-editions of older works after that date, black-and-white illustrations are replaced by chromotypographs; in a few cases, these appear to be newly-commissioned or previously unpublished images by the original artists.

The "chromos" are always hors-texte , unnumbered leaves printed only on the recto and inserted between signatures before binding. Victorian-era translations of Verne, however grotesquely abbreviated and unrepresentative of his style, were often published in ornamented bindings that included illustrations from the first French editions. For example, the cover of the LdP edition of Vingt mille lieues sous les mers shows Aronnax, Conseil, and Ned Land in silhouette looking out a window of the Nautilus - the image is cropped from Alphonse de Neuville's original engraving - at a giant shark an enlarged color photograph of a real shark Figure 3.

Chromotypographs in both the classic and modern LdP editions are reprinted in black and white. To my knowledge, no modern reprints of the Hetzel editions include the chromotypographs as they were presented in the originals, in color and hors-texte. Sebeok, for example, recalls that his father's library in Budapest was well-stocked with the Hetzel editions, and that their images had a powerful effect on him as a child, though he was not able to read French until years later Sebeok , A cruel economic irony is marked in this elevation of the image in the published works during Verne's lifetime and, above all, at the Voyages' end: For the first two decades of their publication, illustrated editions of the Voyages far outsold unillustrated editions, and the profitability of the former was substantially greater on a per-copy basis.

Sales of illustrated and unillustrated editions more nearly equalized in later years, but the illustrated editions were always the primary source of the series' profit. Verne's financial successes were significant, but slender in comparison to those of his publishers, and always more insecure. Paradoxically, the opacity of the page reminds us that this opening is at most a medially-bound conceit of the illustrated book.

Gandelman's analysis of this threshold function in the images of doors and windows, , Streamlining the texts to safeguard the reader's flagging attention suppresses effects of saturation, distraction — even boredom — that the lists are meant to instill.

Jules Verne

One might as well strip Borges's fictions of their impertinent digressions. As Miller observes , , Verne's contemporary readers would have picked up immediately on this comparison of the polar landscape to then state-of-the-art techniques in theatrical special effects. Chaffanjon's book was Verne's primary source for information about the Orinoco region, and the novel's principal character, Jean de Kermor, reads and repeatedly cites the book during the first two-thirds of the journey see, for example, Figure 4.

If, as I propose below, Verne and Roux must have had discussions about the function of illustrations in the novel, Chaffanjon's book probably served as an important intertext between author and artist. Such indiscriminate recycling is unfortunately giving a second—electronic—life to these Verne travesties, extending their influence into the twenty-first century and beyond. Even university presses are not exempt from this practice.

And they did so in one of three ways: Or were the translation manuscripts they received for publication judged to be so unsophisticated in content and tone that only adolescents and pre-adolescents could reasonably be targeted as their potential readers? It is impossible to know. But whatever the sequencing of these events, the outcome was the same: And, until very recently, his literary reputation among adult readers has suffered proportionately.

But simple logic would seem to dictate that three important aspects to consider would be their completeness , accuracy , and style. Furthermore, this translation condenses the first. In the Routledge translation of this work, this entire scene—which occupies four pages of text in the original French edition—is now reduced to the following two declarative sentences:. Clawbonny then went on to describe the diurnal and annual motions of the earth—the one round its own axis, the extremities of which are the poles, which is accomplished in twenty-four hours, and the other round the sun, which takes a whole year.

The astonishing vogue of these productions constitutes their chief claim to criticism, but they may be said to challenge it by a special eminence in worthlessness. By omitting this crucial passage, Mercier Lewis made Verne vulnerable to sneering attacks on his integrity as a science-fiction writer. For example, Theodore L. Oddly enough, Thomas preferred to accuse Verne rather than suspect the translator. Every available hour did he spend in the pursuit of his favourite science: The number of pins that he carried thick on the collar and sleeves of his coat, down the front of his waistcoat, and on the crown of his hat defied computation; they were kept in readiness for the capture of specimens that might come his way , and on his return from a ramble in the country he might be seen literally encased with a covering of insects, transfixed adroitly by scientific rule.

This ruling passion of his had been the inducement that had urged him to accompany Mr. Weldon to New Zealand. It had appeared to him that it was likely to be a promising district , and now having been successful in adding some rare specimens to his collection, he was anxious to get back again to San Francisco and to assign them to their proper places in his extensive cabinet.

Besides, it never occurred to Mrs. Weldon to start without him. To leave him to shift for himself would be sheer cruelty. As a matter of course, whenever Mrs. Off on a Comet! Such, at least, was the Nicene Creed repeated every Sunday by every good Bostonian. The President of the Gulf Railroad happened to be an extra good Bostonian. A Baltimorian to dictate to him?

Of course, he had his way; the branch followed the worst possible route because a Baltimorian had pointed out the best possible one. What matter if it cost the company an additional million of dollars and five thousand poor Irish laborers their lives? A grand moral principle had been successfully vindicated.

If Boston is not to have her way, the world is not worth living in! Sadly, this atrocious translation was the first English version to be published of this popular Verne novel. For instance, compare the following two excerpts: On 24 May , which was a Sunday, my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, came rushing back towards his little house, No.

Chronological Bibliography: Jules Verne

Martha must have thought that she was very behindhand, for the dinner was only beginning to sizzle on the kitchen stove. I was left alone. But as for getting the most irascible of professors to see reason, that was a task quite beyond a man of my rather undecided nature. So I was getting ready to beat a prudent retreat to my little room upstairs, when the street door creaked on its hinges, heavy footsteps shook the wooden staircase, and the master of the house, passing through the dining room, rushed straight into his study. On his way, he found time to fling his cane with the nutcracker head into a corner, his broad-brimmed hat onto the table, and these empathetic words at his nephew:.

Looking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I am scarcely able to believe in the reality of my adventures. They were truly so wonderful that even now I am bewildered when I think of them. Being very much attached to his fatherless nephew, he invited me to study under him in his home in the fatherland. This home was in a large town, and my uncle was a professor of philosophy, chemistry, mineralogy, and many other ologies.

One day, after passing some hours in the laboratory—my uncle being absent at the time—I suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the tissues—i.

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Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of man; he is, however, choleric and original. To bear with him means to obey; and scarcely had his heavy feet resounded within our joint domicile than he shouted for me to attend upon him. Beyond the initial shock of wondering if these two translations were drawn from the same novel at all, it is interesting to analyze some of the alterations made in the second one and to speculate about what might have inspired them.

The translator for this Griffith and Farran version is not named but was. And consider the important differences in the narrative flow of these two texts. For example, Verne first posits two identifier sentences—explaining time, place, and characters—and then follows them up with a brisk interchange of dialogue. This provides an effective in medias res introduction to the narrator Axel, certain information about the family maid and Lidenbrock, and a tinge of mystery to this opening scene. The translator, on the other hand, connects together a long series of descriptive statements, leaning heavily on denotative background-building, paraphrasis, and pseudo-stylistic register shifts for his effects.

Finally, the authorial hubris of this anonymous translator rivaled that of Edward Roth.

The most incredible of these occurs late in the novel: In Topsy-Turvy , the name of the British emissary representing England at the auction of these northern territories has been predictably changed from Dean Toodrink to Dean Todrin and J. Maston is now called for no obvious reason J. In terms of simple vocabulary and lexicon, the number of errors in these early translations is astonishing. And some are painfully comical if compared to the original French texts. It constitutes one of the worst crimes that a translator, editor, or publisher can commit: Consider, for example, portions of the Griffith and Farran edition of A Journey to the Centre of the Earth discussed earlier.

That science owed him some wonderful discoveries. Lidenbrock, printed in large-folio pages with plates—but without covering its costs. Add to that that my uncle was the curator of the mineralogical museum of Mr Struve, the Russian ambassador, which was a valuable collection much esteemed throughout Europe. William Butcher, Oxford, 5. He corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the age. I was therefore in constant communication with, at all events the letters of, Sir Humphrey Davy, Captain Franklin, and other great men.

The British yoke had weighed perhaps too heavily on the Hindu population. Prince Dakkar became the spokesman for the malcontents.

He instilled in them all the hatred that he felt for the foreigners. He traveled not only to the still independent areas on the Indian Peninsula but also to those regions directly subject to British administration. In , the great Sepoy revolt broke out. Prince Dakkar was its soul. He organized the immense uprising, and he devoted both his talents and his wealth to this cause. Sidney Kravitz, Wesleyan UP, Instigated by princes equally ambitious and less sagacious and more unscrupulous than he was, the people of India were persuaded that they might successfully rise against their English rulers who had brought them out of a state of anarchy and constant warfare and misery, and had established peace and prosperity in their country.

Their ignorance and gross superstition made them the facile tools of their designing chiefs. In the great sepoy revolt broke out. Prince Dakkar, under the belief that he should thereby have the opportunity of attaining the object of his long-cherished ambitions, was easily drawn into it.

He forthwith devoted his talents and wealth to the service of this cause. Such blatant political rewrites are disturbingly frequent. Finally, an incredulous Paganel observes.

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