Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

‘How much do you charge for those services, though?’ Letty pressed. ‘A dozen shillings, I’ve heard? Is it really worth so much to perform a little touch-up?’

Professor Playfair’s grin widened. He looked rather like a boy who’d been caught sticking his thumb in a pie. ‘It pays well to perform what the general public thinks of as magic, doesn’t it?’

‘Then the expense is entirely invented?’ Robin asked.

This came out more sharply than he’d intended. But he was thinking, then, of the choleric plague that had swept through London; of how Mrs Piper explained the poor simply could not be helped, for silver-work was so terribly costly.

‘Oh, yes.’ Professor Playfair seemed to find this all very funny. ‘We hold the secrets, and we can set whatever terms we like. That’s the beauty of being cleverer than everyone else. Now, one last thing before we conclude.’ He plucked up one gleaming blank bar from the far end of the table. ‘I must issue a warning. There is one match-pair that you must never, ever attempt. Can anyone guess what that is?’

‘Good and evil,’ said Letty.

‘Good guess, but no.’

‘The names of God,’ said Ramy.

‘We trust you not to be that stupid. No, this one’s trickier.’

No one else had the answer.

‘It’s translation,’ said Professor Playfair. ‘Simply, the words for translation itself.’

As he spoke, he engraved a word quickly on one side of the bar, and then showed them what he’d written: Translate.

‘The verb translate has slightly different connotations in each language. The English, Spanish, and French words – translate, traducir, and traduire – come from the Latin translat, which means “to carry across”. But we get something different once we move past Romance languages.’ He began inscribing a new set of letters on the other side. ‘The Chinese fānyì, for example, connotes turning or flipping something over, while the second character yì comes with a connotation of change and exchange. In Arabic, tarjama can refer both to biography and translation. In Sanskrit, the word for translation is anuvad, which also means “to say or repeat after and again”. The difference here is temporal, rather than the spatial metaphor of Latin. In Igbo, the two words for translation – tapia and kowa – both involve narration, deconstruction, and reconstruction, a breaking into pieces that makes possible a change in form. And so on. The differences and their implications are infinite. As such, there are no languages in which translation means exactly the same thing.’

He showed them what he’d written on the other side. Italian – tradurre. He put it on the table.

‘Translate,’ he said. ‘Tradurre.’

The moment he lifted his hand from the bar, it began to shake.

Amazed, they watched as the bar trembled with greater and greater violence. It was awful to witness. The bar seemed to have come alive, as if possessed by some spirit desperately trying to break free, or at least to split itself apart. It made no sound other than a fierce rattling against the table, but Robin heard in his mind a tortured, accompanying scream.

‘The translation match-pair creates a paradox,’ Professor Playfair said calmly as the bar started shaking so hard that it leapt inches off the table in its throes. ‘It attempts to create a purer translation, something that will align to the metaphors associated with each word, but this is of course impossible, because no perfect translations are possible.’

Cracks formed in the bar, thin veins that branched, split, and widened.

‘The manifestation has nowhere to go except the bar itself. So it creates an ongoing cycle until, at last, the bar breaks down. And . . . this happens.’

The bar leapt high into the air and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces that scattered across the tables, the chairs, the floor. Robin’s cohort backed away, flinching. Professor Playfair did not bat an eye. ‘Do not try it. Not even out of curiosity. This silver,’ he kicked at one of the fallen shards, ‘cannot be reused. Even if it’s melted down and reforged, any bars made with even an ounce of it will be impotent. Even worse, the effect is contagious. You activate the bar when it’s on a pile of silver, and it spreads to everything it’s in contact with. Easy way to waste a couple dozen pounds if you’re not careful.’ He placed the engraving pen back on the worktable. ‘Is this understood?’

They nodded.

‘Good. Never forget this. The ultimate viability of translation is a fascinating philosophical question – it is, after all, what lies at the heart of the story of Babel. But such theoretical questions are best left for the classroom. Not for experiments that might bring down the building.’

‘Anthony was right,’ said Victoire. ‘Why would anyone bother with the Literature Department when there’s silver-working?’