Many years ago, Maria’s French teacher recommended that she read more novels in that language to advance her level, starting with something she was already familiar with so that she could focus on the language without the anxiety of trying to understand the story. Maria decided that Austen would fit the bill, and, when a friend living in Paris came to Brazil for her summer vacation, she brought her some cheap paperback editions. Reading Sense and Sensibility [Raison et sentiments], Maria noticed some strange scenes that she could not remember from the original. Towards the end, reading a scene in which Edward kneels in front of Elinor and sobs, she finally realized that something was off. She went to the preface, which she had skipped, and learned about Mme Montolieu, a French translator from the 1820s, who changed Austen’s story to better suit France’s taste for the melodramatic. At last everything made sense, but Maria noticed that there was nothing about these changes on the cover, no visible “warning” besides the preface—making her wonder how many people in France, having skipped the preface to that edition of Sense and Sensibility as she did, think that Austen is a soppy novelist.
How many examples like this one are there? Jane Austen’s House reports that Austen’s novels have been translated into more than forty languages around the world, and Marie Sørbø adds that the total number of translations exceeds 680 (10), both strengthening Janet Todd’s claim that Austen’s name has reached the status of a global brand (xi). But is the “Jane Austen” that is popular in all these different countries and cultures the same Austen valued in today’s United Kingdom or United States? Curious about how Austen has fared in other languages we could read—between the two of us, French, Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, and Danish—we started gathering popular editions in these tongues to see what readers from these countries had access to. Following Janine Barchas’s argument on the impact of covers in framing readers’ expectations of texts, we feel that the paratextual elements—titles, prefaces, annotations—of translated editions of Austen’s works help frame her international reception and “brand.”
Paratexts, as Gérard Genette has defined them, are thresholds through which readers must step before entering a work; they are the material characteristics that transform a text into a book. The simplest example is a title, which can inform readers about genre, themes, main character(s), and so forth. Persuasion, for example, may be read differently simply by considering that its original working title might have been The Elliots: suddenly, the novel’s focus shifts from Anne’s decision to break off her engagement to the dynamics of the Elliot family. Genette divides paratextual elements into two categories, peritexts (part of the book, such as prefaces) and epitexts (not part of the book, such as reviews). We are interested in peritexts, usually the result of the editor’s work. They include cover designs, for example, but also annotations—the latter, unlike titles, can easily be skipped by readers, but, when assimilated, affect interpretation. A notable example in Austen’s reception history is R. W. Chapman’s inclusion of Elizabeth Inchbald’s Lovers’ Vows in his 1923 edition of Mansfield Park, which Kathryn Sutherland credits with giving that play “unique significance for subsequent critical readings of the novel through the twentieth century” (32). This essay builds upon the premise that peritexts can influence readers’ reception of a work and author.
Bechs Forlag–Viatone (2013) |
10/18 (1982) |
From this premise, and without knowing what we would find, we decided to look at translators’ and editors’ notes to analyze the information non-anglophone readers are given about Austen. We were able to beg, borrow, or buy thirty-one translations and then narrowed our analysis to fifteen non-academic editions1 of Northanger Abbey (two Danish, three French, one Italian, two Portuguese) and Emma (two Danish, two French, one Italian, two Portuguese). We found that annotation priorities and practices vary widely—though the variations do not correspond to language, culture, or geography. Introducing the notes to a newly edited English Penguin edition of Pride and Prejudice, editor Vivien Jones explains that her predecessor had argued against extensive explanatory notes (and included only four in his edition) because the timelessness of the novel made them unnecessary. Jones, however, disagrees: “A full enjoyment and understanding of Austen’s ‘timeless’ comedy depends on being able to understand and interpret telling social details, effortlessly familiar to a contemporary audience [but] increasingly unfamiliar and alien to modern readers” (377).
If attitudes towards annotation differ so in English editorial practices, it should come as no surprise that the same is true in foreign-language contexts. Moreover, many of what Jones terms “telling social details” are equally “unfamiliar and alien” to modern readers regardless of culture or geography. On the other hand, anglophone and non-anglophone readers would have different needs regarding linguistic information about obsolete English definitions, for example, versus thorny translation issues.
Our first step, then, was to categorize the notes according to whether they provided linguistic information (e.g., about word origins or translation challenges), factual information (e.g., historic, geographic, or literary), or interpretation (e.g., commentary on Austen’s style or the novels’ themes).2 Some editions, we found, lack annotations altogether. In a fascinating study comparing a recently discovered Danish translation of Pride and Prejudice [Stolthed og Fordom]3 with the three previously known ones, Hanna Maj Britt Danielsen identifies a total of twenty published editions; according to her information, not one of them is annotated. Neither are there notes in the four Danish translations from our study—with one significant exception that will be discussed below. At the other extreme, the French Gallimard edition of Northanger Abbey [L’Abbaye de Northanger] has eighty-two notes, though the French Archipoche Northanger Abbey has only two and the French 10/18 Emma only three.4 So our first observation is that annotation varies widely not only in content, but also in quantity, both across and within languages.
Most of the notes explain Austen’s references to literary works, place names, or elements of daily life in that period, such as different kinds of carriages. Literary references are annotated regularly, while cultural and geographic annotations vary more. (The Italian Radici BUR edition of Northanger Abbey, for example, seems obsessed with geographical minutiae, and the French Gallimard edition includes a map of Bath.) Surprisingly, there are very few notes about translation issues, though the French 10/18 and Italian editions consistently point out words or phrases that are in French or Italian languages in the original (such as Mr. Elton’s use of “‘naïveté’” and Mrs. Elton’s “‘caro sposo’”). Our second observation, then, is that, by and large, the notes we have found are not meaningfully different from those in English popular and literary editions. We want to acknowledge here that our analyses are not comprehensive. Because our collection was assembled haphazardly, we can only comment on and compare specific cases. Also, we bring only the findings we thought were most interesting and exemplary. This table provides a summary:5
We can see in this table a variety of approaches towards annotation, and we can also make a few broad observations. For example, explanatory notes are much more common than our other two categories, and Northanger Abbey tends to be more heavily annotated than Emma, probably because the former relies so heavily on literary allusion—so much so, that Austen herself felt a need to write an Advertisement in which she points out that “places, manners, books, and opinions have undergone considerable changes” in the thirteen years between its original completion and sale and her recovery and revision of the manuscript (1). This Advertisement, in fact, represents another type of peritext that is sometimes included in modern editions—both English and translated—and sometimes not. French translators Josette Salesse-Lavergne and Pierre Arnaud both translate it, but Félix Fénéon does not; both Eduardo Furtado and Paulo Henriques Britto, in Brazil, translate it, but the Italian translator Linda Gaia does not. In Denmark, Vibeke Houstrup does, while Luise Pihl does not, though it is quoted on her edition’s flyleaf. Both Houstrup and Pihl do, however, translate the one original Northanger Abbey note—that notable exception mentioned above.
First edition of Northanger Abbey (1818)
(Click here to see a larger version.)
This note, which the Cambridge editors indicate is authorial, deserves some attention. An asterisk appears at the end of the line “for if it be true, as a celebrated writer has maintained, that no young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman’s love is declared” in the 1818 edition published by John Murray; its counterpart at the bottom of the page reads, “* Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. 97. vol. ii. Rambler” (42). Many English editions (including Chapman’s) replicate both asterisk and footnote within the text, often as the only footnote in the volume; some let it stand on its own, while others explain it. Chapman, for example, provides the Rambler quotation in an endnote. Translations are equally unpredictable. Luise Pihl translates the note into Danish as “* Brev fra [letter from] Mr. Richardson, Nr. 97, vol. II, Rambler,” without comment (21).6 The French 10/18 edition, despite having other footnotes, omits this one altogether, while the Gallimard edition copies the note’s content without revealing its authorial origins: “Il s’agit de Samuel Richardson; celui-ci dans une lettre au périodique The Rambler (19 février 1751) écrit: «[Q]u’une jeune fille s’éprenne d’un jeune homme avant qu’il se soit déclaré est une hétérodoxie que la prudence ne saurait autoriser» (no 97, vol. II, nous traduisons).” (This is Samuel Richardson; this here in a letter to the periodical The Rambler (February 19, 1751): “[T]hat a young girl should fall in love with a young man before he has declared himself is a heterodoxy which prudence cannot authorize” [no. 97, vol. 2, our translation)]. These choices provide a fascinating look into editors’ and translators’ attitudes towards what constitutes the original text and what information about it needs to be conveyed:7
Finding that at least one note in our translated versions originated in English opened the possibility that other notes might also have been translated along with the text. There are no other authorial notes in the original editions of Austen’s novels, but one set of Brazilian editions was published in partnership with Penguin, so we placed the English and Portuguese notes side by side. We discovered that most of the English notes to Emma did in fact have Portuguese counterparts except for notes about older meanings of English words, which would obviously not be relevant in another language.8 In fact, translator Julia Romeu distinguishes her own comments by putting them in footnotes, of which there are only thirteen. Almost all the 111 endnotes directly translate the endnotes from the English edition, indicating that these annotations were not specifically curated towards the Brazilian readership.9 Curiously, the Penguin/Companhia das Letras Northanger Abbey, even though part of the same editorial project, is almost the opposite: all endnotes from the English Penguin edition were omitted. Translator Paulo Henriques Britto instead created his own footnotes. Sometimes, however, they coincide with the textual elements English Penguin editor Marilyn Butler annotated, suggesting that Britto perceived the needs of Brazilian and English readers to be similar. Beyond this specific partnership, however, it is difficult to determine what English editions the translators may have consulted beyond their immediate source texts, which may or may not be identified. But whether the notes originate with the translators or editors of the foreign-language editions (as seems likely in most cases) or have been copied from an English edition, these editors and translators must perforce make deliberate choices about which to include based on their priorities—priorities that seem to align with those of their English counterparts overall.
Although the majority of these notes function the same way as their equivalents in English editions, apparent exceptions come in three varieties: first, explanatory notes that are inaccurate and therefore potentially misleading; second, interpretive notes that go beyond the bounds of neutrality to privilege a given reading of the text; and third, linguistic notes that are needed to explain untranslatable features of the original text (such as riddles and puns). In the last case, the absence of such notes is as interesting as their presence.
Our first category consists of inaccurate explanatory notes. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine and Mrs. Allen visit Bath’s Pump-room, where “they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at every body and speaking to no one” (17). The Brazilian, Italian, and French editions all include notes explaining what the Pump-room is. The Brazilian Landmark and Italian editions, however, confuse it with the thermal baths, which renders the scene a little absurd: “parading” in the water is a strange image. Later, Catherine rushes to the Pump-room to look for Henry Tilney, and then the Thorpes and the Allens all go there after Sunday service. Readers believing the note would imagine that men and women frequented the baths together and that families bathed together after church. What curious practices! Whoever wrote these notes clearly did not pay attention to the novel.10 The French Gallimard edition is accurate as far as drinking the water is concerned, but a reference to curistes de la station thermale (spa guests) might still conjure up images of thermal baths. Only the Brazilian Penguin/Companhia das Letras, French 10/18, and French Archipoche editions get it right. The last of these calls it “l’un des principaux points d’attraction. Les curistes, élégamment vêtus, s’y pressent pour boire un peu d’eau de source tirée à la pompe, au son d’un orchestre” (“one of the most sought-after places [in Bath where] well-dressed visitors flock to drink the water from the pump while an orchestra plays”) (Seyrès 26 n.1). The 10/18 edition has an earlier explanatory note about Bath describing the Pump-room as a place to drink the waters, adding that it “était rapidement devenue un lieu de rendez-vous” (“quickly became a meeting place”) (Salesse-Lavergne 18 n.1). Understanding the Pump-room is not essential, but correct notes provide context, while wrong information might affect readers’ perceptions of the level of intimacy between characters.
To be fair, foreign-language editions are not the only ones to make mistakes. A note to “women’s usual occupations” in the English Penguin edition of Emma misattributes Bingley’s remark about young ladies’ accomplishments to Darcy (Stafford 462 n.2); in the Brazilian Penguin edition, Julia Romeu not only translates this endnote but corrects it. Sometimes information is simply incomplete or outdated. For example, the French 10/18 edition of Northanger Abbey identifies Austen’s quip about Catherine’s father’s name being Richard as “une allusion à une plaisanterie entre Jane et sa sœur Cassandra au sujet d’un certain Richard Harvey” (an allusion to a pleasantry between Jane and her sister Cassandra about a certain Richard Harvey) (Salesse-Lavergne 9 n.1). But the Cambridge edition points out that this “long-standing joke with the Austen family” dates back at least to her 1791 History of England (291 n.2), making the letter of 15–16 September 1796 about Richard Harvey evidence of the joke but not its source. Oddly, the English Penguin edition calls the quip “a mysterious assertion” and makes no mention of Richard Harvey or the family joke, though it does refer to the History of England (Butler 243 n.1). The French Gallimard edition, published in 2000, is simply working with outdated information when noting that the “première apparition du mot base-ball en anglais” (first appearance of the word base-ball in English) describes Catherine’s youthful pursuits (Arnaud 1026 n.4): the 1989 Oxford English Dictionary had it so, but its 2011 revision traces the word back to 1748. The errors in these notes, however, relate to outside information rather than to misunderstandings of the novels’ scenes and are less likely to mislead the reader.
The overly interpretive notes of our second category vary in their directness—or, shall we say, officiousness? For example, the Brazilian Nova Fronteira edition of Emma annotates the name Highbury but only explains that “high” means elevated or important, leaving readers to figure out for themselves the irony of the description of this village as a place that “afforded Emma no equals” (5) and its connection to Emma’s own (misguided) sense of self-importance. But this edition’s second note comments on Harriet’s mentioning that Mr. Martin has read parts of Elegant Extracts aloud, explaining not only what this work is but also that it indicates Harriet’s low taste in literature. This interpretation is at odds with Susan Allen Ford’s assessment that Elegant Extracts rather reveals the Martins’ education and culture.
The French 10/18 edition goes even further. When John Thorpe ridicules the novelist “who married the French emigrant” (43), a note not only identifies Fanny Burney but adds,
Thorpe se ridiculise ici par cette stupide xénophobie, mais il est à remarquer qu’au chapitre XXV Jane Austen se moquera plus généralement de la méfiance instinctive qu’éprouvent les Anglais devant tout ce qui est étranger à leur civilisation, et ce par l’entremise même de ses héros, Henry et Catherine. (Salesse-Lavergne 52 n.1)
Thorpe is ridiculed here for this stupid xenophobia, but it may be noted that in [volume 2, chapter 10] Jane Austen mocks more generally the instinctive mistrust the English feel towards all that is foreign to their civilization, and this even through its heroes, Henry and Catherine.
While right about Thorpe, the annotator seems to have misread the irony of the passage in which Catherine berates herself for her gothic suspicions about General Tilney. A French editor’s bristling at the comment that “the South of France might be as fruitful in horrors” (205) as Radcliffe’s novels depict is understandable, but attention to context shows that it is Catherine’s naïveté, not mistrust of foreignness, that is on display. She had previously romanticized the south of France (as shown by her comments during her walk with the Tilneys around Beechen Cliff) and here speculates about extremes, not horrors per se, distinguishing not between good and bad but between one-sided stereotypes and “mixed characters” (205). In fact, her new-found conviction leads her to surmise that even Henry and Eleanor might not be perfect—which hardly sounds xenophobic.11 The real question, though, is the extent to which notes should point out possible character traits as opposed to leaving them for readers to discern, whether in English or in translation.12
The Gallimard French edition of Northanger Abbey does something similar. When Catherine marvels at Isabella’s dancing with Captain Tilney after positively asserting that she intended not to dance at all in James’s absence, Henry says, “‘When properly to relax is the trial of judgment; and, without reference to my brother, I really think Miss Thorpe has by no means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour’” (136). An annotation explains that
La mode sentimentale était favorable à la douceur féminine, et par voie de conséquence, à la persuasibility («docilité», «disposition à céder»). Toute l’œuvre de Jane Austen marque un intérêt considérable à la question de savoir jusqu’où il fait résister lorsqu’on vous presser de céder–débat auquel Catherine a déjà été confrontée au chapitre XIII du premier volume. (Arnaud 1030 n.3)
The sentimental mode favored female sweetness, and therefore, persuadability (docility, disposition to cede). All the works of Jane Austen mark a considerable interest in the question of knowing how much to resist when one is pressured to cede—a debate with which Catherine has already been confronted in chapter 13 of the first volume.
While this note accurately identifies an important theme in Austen’s works and in this passage, its placement implies that Henry Tilney favors female docility. There is plenty of evidence elsewhere, however, that he approves neither of Isabella’s character nor of persuadability in general. For example, he encourages Catherine to think for herself after Isabella’s betrayal, commending her feelings and adding that they “‘ought to be investigated, that they may know themselves’” (213). Later, he agrees with her that Isabella does not have “‘any heart to lose’” (225). In the annotated passage, he reassures her by classifying this breach of Isabella’s word as inconsequential (which seems reasonable in context, though later proved wrong). In fact, the statement just preceding this one, “‘To be always firm must be to be often obstinate’” (136), echoes Anne Elliot’s ruminations about what might be learned from Louisa’s fall from the Cobb, without regard to the sentimental mode. Both general theme and specific scene, then, are more nuanced than the note can capture.
An interesting variation on this theme is a note providing factual information that, because of its placement, has an interpretive effect. For example, in Emma, when Frank Churchill uses children’s alphabets to communicate with Jane Fairfax after he lets slip his knowledge of Mr. Perry’s intention of buying a carriage, the perspective shifts to Mr. Knightley, who has begun to suspect their relationship. He watches Jane’s reaction when the first puzzle, “blunder,” is deciphered; her displeasure at the word “Dixon”; then her refusal to solve a final word that Frank hurriedly gives her. Its solution remains a mystery to both Mr. Knightley and the reader, but a note in the French Archipoche edition reveals that, “according to family tradition . . . , it was the word ‘pardon’” (Seyrès 385 n.1). In a story filled with charades and other not-so-obvious references, this note is the only one in the whole book. Further, almost immediately afterwards, Emma strongly denies any possibility of Frank’s having feelings for Jane, which makes Mr. Knightley leave Hartfield irritated—one of the first hints that he might have feelings for Emma himself. This chapter, therefore, is masterfully created to give us clues but also to make us wonder, an effect that the note destroys. By providing external information that the third word was Frank’s attempt at an apology, this note validates Knightley’s suspicions and thereby changes the experience of reading the novel for the first time. In contemporary terms, it is a huge spoiler. The only other editions we found that reveal this information are David Shapard’s Annotated Emma,13 the Penguin editions (both in English and in Portuguese), and the heavily annotated Chapman and Cambridge editions, aimed at academics or established Austen fans rather than first-time readers. Further, all except the Annotated Emma use endnotes, which are more easily ignored than the French edition’s solitary footnote.
Our third category of noteworthy notes deals with documenting the challenges of translation. For example, a key passage in Northanger Abbey turns on the changing meaning of the English word nice. The 1773 edition of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary lists nine definitions for the adjective, including “accurate” (positive) and “fastidious” (negative) but not Catherine’s use (“pleasing”) to describe Udolpho as “‘the nicest book in the world.’” Henry, feigning incomprehension, complains that “‘now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word,’” to which his sister retorts, “‘[w]hile, in fact, . . . it ought only to be applied to you, without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise’” (109). Miss Tilney’s final remark renders the scene’s humor, as Henry shows himself to be “nice” in the conservative sense that he defends so vigorously. How should a translator address this polysemic joke?
Brazilian translator Eduardo Furtado explains in a note that this use of nice would be impossible to reproduce in Portuguese (89 n.1). Therefore, he uses two different words: melhor (the best), for Catherine’s opinion about Udolpho, and maravilhoso (wonderful), for Henry’s complaint that “‘it does for everything’” (109). His choice, although exploring diverse possible translations of nice in Portuguese, loses the polysemic nature of the original and, because maravilhoso doesn’t have a double meaning, takes the quip out of Eleanor’s reply. The other translators opt for a single word: fin (fine) in Danish;14 delicioso (delicious) in the Brazilian Penguin/Companhia das Letras; joli (pretty, pleasant) in one French translation and beau (beautiful) in the other two; and bello (beautiful) in Italian. These last options create a happy twist on Eleanor’s last sentence: Henry is “piú bello che saggio”/ “plus beau que sage” (more handsome than wise [Gaia 1359; Arnaud 91; Salesse-Lavergne 119]). Although the changing meaning of the word is lost, it is amusing to have Henry’s equally witty sister mock his pretentiousness with the proper use of language by calling attention to something so anti-intellectual as his looks. But none of these translators comments on the elusive double meaning. Only Furtado provides any sort of explanation for the reader.
The charades in Emma provide an even more complex linguistic situation, combining as they do the difficulties of translating poetry (with form, meter, rhyme scheme, and content) and of translating riddles (with both clues and solutions). The first charade is solved by the word woman, as the antidote of woe (affliction) + man (who feels it). But the combination of woe + man produces woman only in English. The second refers to courtship, combining the solution from the first stanza, court, with the solution from the second, ship. But no language we know of has an equivalent word. Based as they are on wordplay in English, these charades cannot be reproduced in other languages without some sacrifice of form, content, and/or function, and we might therefore expect linguistic notes.
Ivo Barroso’s note for the woman charade, however, only reproduces the original English verses, not even offering the solution. For the reader who understands only Portuguese, he leaves a broken charade. Italian translator Bruno Maffi cautions, in a note to Mr. Woodhouse’s charade fragment, that “it is obvious that the charades presented here become, in Italian, incomprehensible” (880). This comment would be welcome if followed by an explanation, but there is none. Without the original verses, even an English-speaking reader would have to deduce the meaning from the Italian or look for the original text elsewhere. The French 10/18 edition has no note at all for this charade, even though the French version makes no sense on its own. Here all these translators refuse to translate, in the traditional sense of building a bridge between two different cultures.
These translators do, however, help the reader with the courtship charade. Maffi and Salesse-Lavergne offer notes with the solution in both English and the target language: “Il primero è court—corte; il secondo, ship—nave; l’intero, courtship—corteggiamento” (Maffi 881); “Courtship (la cour que l’on fait à une dame) = court (cour d’un roi) + ship (navire)” (Salesse-Lavergne 89 n.1). As with the woman charade, Barroso’s notes only contain the original English verses, but he allows Emma’s explanation to Harriet to serve the reader as well, using the original English words but offering the Portuguese meaning between brackets. Emma says about the two first lines: “‘Ou seja court [corte]’” (“‘That is court.’”). Then, for the next: “‘Ou seja ship [navio].’” Finally, “‘Mas juntas (courtship [fazer a corte], está vendo), que contraste de ambas alinhavo!’” (“‘But united, (courtship, you know,) what reverse we have!’”) (Barroso 58)15 At least the bracketed solution allows readers to understand why Emma thinks the “state of [Mr. Elton’s] mind is . . . clear and decided” (78).
From these varied examples, then, we have noted that annotation in non-academic translated editions of Austen is anything but consistent. From many editions with no notes, to a few with many, we see that the inclusion of explanatory, linguistic, and/or interpretive comments relies on the individual opinions of translators or editors, without any justification, and sometimes even on translation from English notes. We did not find common themes that could indicate a specific topic being seen as necessary for understanding Austen nor differences readily traceable to the translations’ language or culture. Our incomplete findings suggest that editors and translators of foreign editions do not consider it necessary to annotate more, or more thoroughly, than editors of English editions.
Notes have the potential to shape readership in similar ways both in Austen’s original language and in translations. The wrong information about the Pump-room would be as baffling in an American or British edition as it is in the Brazilian and Italian ones, and the interpretive comments—about the irony in Highbury, the puzzle word pardon, or possible xenophobia—would be as (mis)leading. The primary difference relates to translation dilemmas, as in the charades. Here only, the English-speaking reader appears to have an advantage over the foreign one—an advantage that highlights the relevance of responsible translation and responsible annotation.
Radici BUR (2007) |
Landmark (2007) |
NOTES
1To establish a parameter of comparison, we divided English editions of Austen into four basic categories: scholarly (e.g., The Cambridge Edition of the Works of Jane Austen); student editions (usually with a selection of critical articles as well as notes, e.g., Norton and Longman); literary editions (with notes and named editors, e.g., Penguin and Oxford World’s Classics); and popular editions (aimed at a general readership; often with unnamed editors and few or no notes, e.g., Modern Library, Dover, and Barnes & Noble). Popular editions range from thrift editions with cheap paper and small print to luxury editions with embossed covers, lavish illustrations, and gilt edges. We consider categories one and two academic and categories three and four non-academic. A fifth category includes editions marketed specifically as annotated; these generally have the most notes of all and are aimed at ardent Austen fans. For this research, we compare our translations with non-academic editions (categories 3 and 4) to match the foreign editions we have assembled. Most are popular editions, except the French Gallimard and Brazilian Penguin/Companhia das Letras, which are arguably literary.
2Interpretive notes often begin with explanatory information but go on to comment on it. The line can be blurry, but we count notes as interpretive if they suggest a certain reading of a passage.
3This 1904 translation, made by Dorothea and Margrethe Fredstrup for their mother, was discovered in a hand-bound manuscript donated to the Jane Austen House in 2015 and predates Ebba Brusendorff’s 1928 translation, previously thought to be the first Danish rendering of Pride and Prejudice.
4Because we can’t always tell if the translators or the editors wrote the notes, we use the translators’ names primarily when discussing translation choices and publishers’ names elsewhere.
5The 1996 Emma translated by Ivo Barrosso has been printed multiple times, but an interval of thirty years produced no additions, subtractions, or changes to the notes in the 2017 edition.
6All translations into English are our own, assisted by dictionaries and online resources.
7In the category “Replicates Note without Comment,” most of these are footnotes using an asterisk, as in the original. Houstrup’s Danish edition makes it a numbered endnote but translates Austen’s words exactly, so we counted it here.
8Of interest is a note to Emma’s reference to “‘my brother, Mr. John Knightley’” in the English Penguin edition (“brother: brother-in-law” [460 n.2]), which is omitted because Romeu uses the Portuguese for “brother-in-law” in the text. This change seems innocent enough but hides the nineteenth-century practice of addressing in-laws as brothers and sisters just like blood relatives, which later comes into play when Emma tells Mr. Knightley, “‘we are not really so much brother and sister as to make [dancing together] at all improper’” (358).
9In one instance Romeu signals disagreement with Penguin editor Fiona Stafford by replacing an endnote (“Chapman suggests that [Mrs. Elton’s misquotation of Gray] . . . is unintentional, since the same mistake occurs in Northanger Abbey, but it is nevertheless appropriate to Mrs. Elton” [469 n.1]) with a footnote that (in addition to translating Gray’s lines, and without referring to Chapman) says instead that the mistake may be intentional to showcase Mrs. Elton’s ignorance.
10The 1987 BBC Northanger Abbey does show Catherine enjoying a thermal bath in one scene, but this version is inaccessible enough that its influence on translations is doubtful.
11Henry doesn’t appear at all in this passage, and detecting xenophobia in his admonition to “‘Remember we are English’” (203) at the end of the previous chapter seems a stretch.
12Compare, for example, Stafford’s note: “Mr. E: Mrs. Elton’s vulgarity is frequently emphasized by her inappropriate modes of address” (468 n.4).
13Interestingly, a few of his annotations (of which there are more than 2,200) are labelled “{CAUTION: PLOT SPOILER},” but this one isn’t.
14While Houstrup uses “fin” throughout this passage, she multiplies the adjectives in Eleanor’s retort in an apparent attempt to address nice’s polysemy: “Du er mere fin eller nydelig eller rar end klog” (You are more fine or nice [pretty] or nice [kind] than wise) (153). Pihl sticks with “fin” alone. Incidentally, “fine” (in both Danish and English) is similar to “nice” in its semantic range, from “delicate” to “distinguished” to “okay,” though it lacks the Johnsonian meanings related to accuracy.
15For Emma’s explanation, Maffi uses the Italian and English words mixed up: “‘Ciò significa: “corte” . . . Chiaro come il sole: “nave” . . . “Ma, uniteli, “courtship”’” (882). So we have “corte” + “nave” = courtship. A non-English-speaker who skipped the note on the previous page would have to return to it. Salesse-Lavergne includes only the English words in Emma’s explanation: “‘C’est “court”, bien sûr . . . c’est “ship,” aussi simple que possible . . . c’est “courtship,” bien entendu’” (This is “court,” of course . . . this is “ship,” also as simple as possible . . . this is “courtship,” well understood”) (89).
