 'mental about fighting' I was reminded about this because I was thinking about the translator Marie Rennard, who came up with the title Le Rugbyman Nomade. In French, ‘le rugbyman’ is a commonly used term for those lucky souls with a passion for the sport of rugby. However, it means more than that, just as ‘le cricketman’ would be someone with more than a casual interest in cricket. ‘Le rugbyman’ is a rugby nutter. He’s mental about rugby. This is because the ‘man’ in ‘le rugbyman’ comes from the wide-eyed man in maniac.
I’ve always liked this false-friend aspect of ‘Le Rugbyman’, as if everyone who plays rugby is indeed a superhero, with a big R in a shield across the front of his stripey jersey. Bird, Plane, Rugbyman – Dru could draw this in her sleep.
Knowing that the man comes from the maniac has wider consequences when the French meet our English-language superheroes. I mean the real ones.
Spiderman, pronounced Speederrhhman, is a confused newspaper reporter who is mental about spiders. Superman is a general, all-round, 24-hour basket-case – Supermaniac. He is the maniac above all others. Either that, or he just loves everything that’s super. He’s the original Hero of Super, a Superhero.
Batman gets a double misunderstanding, but barely suffers (he’s superhuman) in translation. Small French boys love Batman, but not because he has a friend called Robin or was bitten by a bat as a child. They’re immediate fans because here they have a superhero, just like them, who loves to ‘battre’. He’s Batman, a maniac about fighting, which about sums him up.
Language. What a Marvel.
 Henry Miller rides bikes For some time I’ve been gearing up to translate a short and little-known book by Henry Miller called I’m no More of an Idiot thany Anybody Else. Maybe. Despite the fact that Henry Miller is American, and wrote in English, he made an exception for Je Ne Suis Pas Plus Con Qu’un Autre.
There in the title lies the first dilemma. ‘Con’ is perhaps the most common French curse word. Certainly, it is a word that most Anglophones will hear at some stage on any visit to France, often prefaced with ‘espece de’. However, your French antagonist may be calling you something more or less rude than you think – the exact equivalent in English is unclear. Strictly speaking, a con is a cunt, but this translation is far too extreme in English. The French aren’t that rude, or not on an everyday basis. Yet ‘Idiot’ isn’t quite right. The Irish ‘eejit’ might come closer, except for its spectacular and confusing Irishness.
When in doubt,ask an expert. I therefore put the question to my French translator Marie Rennard, who as well as doing a fantastic job on Dry Bones and Le Rugbyman Nomade, also writes an extraordinary blog, Melting Pot et vin blanc.
Marie tells me:
‘any adjective preceding (or following) ”con” in french will induce a different connotation, opening on a wide range of translations, “brave con” being far more indulgent than “indécrottable con” or “vieux con” or “sale con”.
Translations could vary from a light ”idiot” to much worse, all depending on the context. It comes from the latin cunus (vulve, or lapin – but I don’t know why – still, lapin lovers are called “cuniculophiles”, which etymologically could also refer to con lovers).
Con acquired its vulgar connotation in the 12th century, and became an insult during the 19th. its original meaning of female genitalia is today completely forgotten, except among people who enjoy old books. Still, if the adjective used with the word can strengthen or weaken its meaning, it is important to note that who says it can also modify its strength. Remember Sarkozy’s “casse toi pauvre con”, which was perceived as much more injurious in his mouth than in any other.’
 - Ladies of the Night
It’s important to get these things right. The worst case of misunderstanding I came across was in the Guardian, in a profile of the French novelist Michel Houellebecq. The interviewer expected him to be a foul-mouthed misogynist, and gleefully described how half-way through the interview Houellebecq answered the phone and repeatedly called his wife a whore.
I had a think about that. ‘Putain’ he must have been saying, ‘Putain.’ Anyone with a taste for colloquial French knows that this is close to ‘Fucking Hell’ or ‘Shit’, registering a standard-type amazement when listening to a story told by another. Houellebecq was not calling his wife a whore.
Nor, for that matter, do French school-children go around shouting ‘Drawing Pin!’ whenever they’re annoyed. They do shout ‘Punaise!, often and loudly in every schoolyard in the land, and Punaise does mean Drawing Pin. But what they’re actually saying is ‘Putain!’, in a way that won’t upset the teachers.
The Last Word is the final chapter of Conseils a un Jeune Francais Partant Pour L’Angleterre by Andre Maurois, Editions Bernard Grasset, 1938.  If you want to read this short book from the beginning, scroll down to the first post and read upwards. It’s the modern way.
Above all, be joyful about the way England looks.
You will love the countryside that seems to have been drawn by Constable or Gainsborough.
You will love the hills, the valleys and the dunes.
You will love the amiably wild gardens and the mown and ordered lawns.
You will love London, which in its grey and gold fog, with the red stains of buses and the black stains of policemen, looks like an immense Turner.
You will love the theatres with their comfortable seats, their indifferent audiences and their short intervals.
You will love the bookshops, each one like an exotic fruit stall full of tempting surprises, and you will love above all the English version of what it means to be human.
Though don’t say so too loudly. You’ll only embarrass them.
 'never offer to tip the barmaid' Since the war, at the Saint-Cyr Military College, there has been an English teacher who also prepares our young Frenchmen for their journeys to England. He takes them to one side and explains certain infinitely detailed little mores. These may seem minor, but to know them is to avoid distressing new English friends. I’ll give a brief example of the kind of thing he teaches:
‘Never forget that it’s a delicate compliment to your host not to smoke while you’re drinking his Port; it shows that you wouldn’t want to risk masking the flavours of such a rare wine with veils of smoke…
Be polite by preparing to smoke a cigar by first smoking a cigarette …
An English private soldier will be assigned to you as an orderly. Don’t make it too obvious to him that his English is hard to understand – he’s probably a miner or a metal-worker. To keep him happy talk about his job and the town where he was born …
Tips. For hotel porters, if you’re in uniform: a shilling. If you’re in civvies, sixpence …
If you go into a pub, never offer to tip the barmaid. Remember she’s a lady …
If in a castle you discover that your bedroom is haunted, wait for the master of the house to broach the subject. It’s not good form to bring a man’s attention to his own ghosts.’
You can profit from these valuable pieces of advice: they’re all spot on.
 squirrel vs magpie You’ll find that the English are more sentimental and more capricious than us French. The films and plays liked by the general public here are swimming in sentimentality. Clearly we’re no longer in the era when Dickens, at the end of his novels, had to satisfy his public by reassuring them that all his characters ended happily. But among the English there are many who hang on to the need to believe that England is Paradise on earth.
They know the weaknesses in human nature, but would be made unhappy if they had to admit to them publicly. This is the source on one hand of their sentimentality and on the other their need for a moral mask.
The English sincerely wish to believe that human destiny, but above all their own, is determined by moral scruple. To make an Englishman do anything, it is only necessary to propose some action which conforms to the interests of his country and which can also, with more or less truthfulness, be described as moral.
Even with animals, or at least the animals they like, the English seek sportsmanlike behaviour. For them, a good dog is a gentleman; a trout is a lady. I’ve picked this letter from the Times, written by a clergyman. He writes:
‘I think that the following story, to which I was a witness, will interest your readers. This morning, in my garden, two magpies and a squirrel organized a race from the bottom of a tree to the top. The squirrel climbed up the length of the trunk, while the magpies jumped from branch to branch, and I’m happy to say that neither of the birds took immoral advantage of their ability to fly. Both of them showed themselves to be genuinely good sports.’
How charming. This fine fellow, who himself attaches the highest importance to conventions and rules, shows himself naively convinced that these qualities keep the same value in the world of birds.
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About Me
About Richard Beard
I'm a novelist and non-fiction writer, and recently took up the post as Director of the National Academy of Writing. As time goes by I'm gradually transferring the material from the old site (stories, articles, squibs) into the categories tabbed aboved. There's information on each of my books, with summaries and reviews, and now that I'm permanently back in the country I'm available for events and readings. Email me using Contact, below right. I'll get back to you.
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