The Interpreter
BySTRATHEARN GORDON
I E was doodling moodily at a table before the business started, a youngish man in an excellent brown tweed suit, down in the arena among the nondescript, anonymous and, for the most part, silent fonctionnaires who look so unimportant and yet whose presence is so essential to any international conference. With his determined air and dark, sunburnt face he would have been very handsome but for too large a nose. He was an interpreter into his native French.
The object of interpretation is to provide a full and accurate oral version of a speech in the required language with the least possible delay. Two methods are employed. In consecutive interpreting the interpreter sits in full view, and immediately the speaker finishes he rises to give his version. In simultaneous interpreting, which saves practically half the time of a conference, but requires a whole apparatus of electrical circuits, the inter- preter sits watching the speaker behind the glass of a soundproof closet, and before the echoes of an orator's first sentence have died away he is speaking the interpretation into his instrument, whence it is transmitted into the ear-phones of the delegates. Which method imposes the greater strain ? The simultaneous interpreter has no use for memory ; indeed, he should pass the sponge over one sentence even as he speaks the next. It is the rarest achievement for anyone to be able to appreciate two con- versations simultaneously ; yet this man must do more. He must keep his mind continually stretched backwards and forwards, as it were, to apprehend the- words actually being spoken at the precise moment that he is speaking an interpretation of the words preceding them—surely an ordeal for which the human intellect was never intended. .
The consecutive interpreter, on the other hand, must depend almost entirely on his memory. He uses nothing but a few cursory notes, often single words and hieroglyphics, a connecting arrow here, a bracket there: just those—and his memory. It is easy enough when a speaker says, " festime que nous ferions mieux d'admettre le premier amendement." to rise and repeat " I believe we should do better to accept the first amendment." But what if the speech lasts for half an hour ; if it refers back- wards and forwards to an intricate mass of technical documents which have only just been placed on the interpreter's desk ; if it is perhaps uttered in French by an Italian or in English by a Scandinavian, in such French or English as never was heard before on sea or land ? These are the technical problems which confront the conscientious interpreter, and which he must solve from moment to moment.
The fraternity and sorority of interpreters at international conferences earn a daily salary which would make a Minister of i the Crown envious. They are in the top flight of an expert pro- fession. Most are chain smokers and some nervous to the point of hysteria. The nature of their task induces a self-consciousness which their friends call sensibility and their enemies exhibi- tionism. Their make-up usually contains something of the prima donna, and the stars have scope to follow entirely different techniques. Some perform prodigious feats of memory. A certain doyen of the profession dispenses absolutely with notes. He listens carelessly to a half-hour speech, heightening' the effect of studied inattention by exchanging smiles and signs with all and sundry, even scribbling a message to a newcomer. The finale is. therefore, all the more impressive, as the maestro's fluent and idiomatic rendering follows immediately upon the speaker's peroration.
He revels also in surprise tours de force, as, for instance, when no interpreter can be found to interpret, say, Norwegian into Turkish, and, after deprecating shrugs and gestures. he is at last reluctantly persuaded to make the attempt, which results as usual in effortless and noteless success, and is suitably rewarded by a round of applause even from the galleries. Another tech- nique is that of respectful mimicry. Old Geneva hands still speak of Monsieur M—, whose renderings of international statesmen reproduced not only every phrase but every gesture to the life, gestures upon which he claimed that his verbal memory was entirely based.
How, then, may one pretend that the young man in brown can surpass such giants and deserve the nickname, which he soon earned, of " the Genius " ? First, by- impeccable accuracy. Jealous detractors of the profession sneeringly maintain that the whole thing is a confidence trick, and that, by hearing the main points and striking phrases of a speech emphasised, the audience are deluded into ignoring the entire third of the substance which has been omitted. Certainly everything is not reproduced. A sentiment repeated five times may only be reproduced twice. Entirely useless trimmings may be ignored. But the Genius has never been at fault. Times without number some idiomatic nuance or parenthetic flight of fancy has provided a test. " That will catch him out," one thinks. Yet, inevitably, as the point is reached, up comes the perfect interpretation—often with a superior nicety of judgement of one's own language.
In committee, too, the Genius has reached incredible heights of perception. Here he interprets with felicity into both languages. He seems able to observe through the back of his head. When several delegates have intervened together, inter- jecting and contradicting, he relentlessly disentangles the confusion and so continues to the end ; even the final broken remarks breathed across the table among the general conversa- tion as the committee disperses are echoed by the machine-like precision of his mind.
But the Genius really excels in transforming a normal discourse into the oration of a giant. Therein lies his sombre pride. The Frenchman of this age appears to surpass the Englishman, with ..e rare exceptions (and still mo of course, the English-speaking foreigner), in public debate. t e Englishman at best is clear and cogent. The Frenchman is mile more. His gestures are effective, but no longer flamboyant ; his style is terse, persuasive and inspiring. Anyone who has beard M. Teitgen's impassioned commonsense, the bitter-sweet irony of M. Paul Reynaud's lucid prose, or the swelling thunder of M. Andre Philip's revolutionary poetry realises what French logic and French oratory really mean. It is, therefore, child's play for the Genius to transform a fine English speech into colourful and exhilarating French.
But hear him interpret a speech from English, often broken English, which, though containing good matter, is ill delivered and, therefore, ill received—in fact, a complete failure. A second's pause and the Genius rises—and immediately his deep, earnest voice awakens interest. The audience kindles to the beautifully articulated phrases. His lids droop as he slides with incredible speed over dull passages, though without ever missing a nuance of meaning. But one is ever conscious of the enormous reserves of sound and of dramatic power under command to stress the salient points. Gradually he warms to his work, infusing feeling into the chilly sentences, subtly heightening every stunted emotional effect, until, long before the end, he tosses his scanty notes upon the table, draws himself up. and with glowing eyes and in passionately vibrant tones emits a torrent of exquisitely idiomatic French, rising to a splendid peroration of pellucid oratory which, before he resumes his seat, has gained for him the thundering plaudits which were denied to the true author and original maker of the speech. Such triumphant intellectual virtuosity surely deserves the success of the cause it serves so well,
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