words—the meaning of the thing. If you tried to translate it into English, you’d lose the spirit of the whole thing. Don’t you see,” he went on earnestly, “—it’s not the meaning of the thing—you can’t translate a thing like that, you really can’t—if you tried to translate it, you’d have nothing but a filthy and disgusting jingle—”
“But so long as it’s French it’s beautiful?” the other said sarcastically.
“But quite!” said Starwick impatiently. “And it’s very stupid of you not to understand that, Gene. It really is. The whole spirit and quality of the thing are so French—so utterly French!” he said in a high and rather womanish tone—“that the moment you translate it you lose everything…. There’s nothing disgusting about the song in French—the words mean nothing, you pay no attention to the words; the extraordinary thing is that you forget the words…. It’s the whole design of the thing, the tone, the quality.… In a way,” he added deeply, “the thing has an enormous innocence—it really has, you know…. And it’s so disappointing that you fail to see this…. Really, Gene, these questions you keep asking about names and meanings are becoming tiresome. They really are…. And all these books you keep buying and trying to translate with the help of a dictionary… as if you’re ever going to understand anything—I mean, really understand,” he said profoundly, “in that way.”
“You may get to understand the language that way,” the other said.
“But not at all!” cried Starwick. “That’s just the point—you really find out nothing: you miss the whole spirit of the thing—just as you missed the spirit of that song, and just as you missed the point when you asked Elinor to translate La Pêche Miraculeuse for you…. It’s extraordinary that you fail to see this…. The next thing you know,” he concluded sarcastically, a burble of malicious laughter appearing as he spoke, “you will have enrolled for a course of lessons—” he choked suddenly, his ruddy face flushing deeply with his merriment—“for a course of lectures at the Berlitz language school.”
“Oh, but he’s entirely capable of it!” cried Elinor, with gay conviction. “I wouldn’t put it past him for a moment…. My dear,” she said drolly, turning toward him, “I have never known such a glutton for knowledge. It’s simply amazing…. Why, the child wants to know the meaning of everything!” she said with an astonished look about her—“the confidence he has in my knowledge is rather touching—it really is—and I’m so unworthy of it, darling,” she said, a trifle maliciously. “I don’t deserve it at all!”
