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Source text - French Clio III
Que reste-il aux
Petites ?
Elue voiture de l'année 2006, la dernière Renault n'est pas celle que vous croyez
Elle a grossi. On peut voir là une différence de taille entre les filles et les autos. Chez les secondes, l'empâtement est à la mode. Donc, la Clio 3 a fait comme toutes ses rivales, elle a bien profité. Rendez-vous compte qu'elle est désormais pratiquement aussi importante que feu la 306. Le paradoxe est là : quand certains maires de France réduisent l'auto à la portion congrue, une descendante de la mythique R5 entend s'habiller XL. Ainsi, une petite puce des villes, longtemps en tête des ventes en France, peut engendrer une berline du milieu... A ne pas confondre avec une voiture moyenne. Non, non, car côté nouvelle muse n'ait plus qu'un comportement global – on veut dire confort, tenue de route et freinage –, elle n'est pas ordinaire du tout, elle est même plutôt impressionnante. Côté accélérations et reprises, elle n'est pas moyenne non plus, mais là, c'est plutôt l'inverse. Avec le diesel dCi de 85 ch, elle a du mal à arracher en furie ses 1 240 kg. Peut-être est-ce voulu : son limiteur de vitesse vous autorise à la fondre dans le paysage des vélocités radarisées (pour votre sécurité). Sous le regard de Big Brother, la Clio n'a qu'à se muer en brave mulet fidèle et fiable. Et elle aurait tort de se plaindre : elle est équipée de tout un tas de choses électroniques réservées autrefois aux grandes. Mais que reste-t-il des petites ?
Que tout cela soit emballé dans un style intérieur et extérieur pas franchement emballant n'est même pas un problème : cette Clio au cube doit séduire tous azimuts et pas seulement en France. Que la nouvelle muse n’ait plus qu’un lointain cousinage avec les versions 1 et 2 n'a plus beaucoup d'importance non plus. Prenez la Golf, objet d'un morphing continuel depuis une trentaine d'années : rien de plus facile que d'escalader son arbre généalogique. En cinq versions, son ADN n'a guère menti. Tracer celui de la Clio relève du casse-tête. A moins que ce ne soit voulu : on comprendrait que Renault ne soit guère tenté de se retrouver au fond de l'impasse Volkswagen...
On en ressort avec la drôle d'impression que les ingénieurs de Renault avaient reçu une mission impossible lorsqu'il s'est agi de concevoir la Clio 3 : lui donner les mêmes vertus citadines que sa grand-mère tout en lui conférant le volume flatteur de sa grande sœur. Le résultat donne une auto destinée sans nul doute à connaître le succès de ses parentes, tant elle semble adaptée à la force de vente Renault.
Translation - English The New Clio.
Is it the end of the road for small cars?
Voted car of the year 2006, the latest Renault is not what you’d expect
It’s filled-out, which is a sizeable difference between women and cars. Nowadays, the latter don’t mind putting on a few pounds; in fact, it’s the height of fashion. Like all of its rivals, the New Clio has followed suit, and is looking very well for it. It’s now almost as big as the old 306 and that’s where the paradox lies. At a time when certain French mayors are clamping down on cars, this offspring of the legendary Renault 5 has gone for a fuller-figured look. This much-loved little ‘city slicker’, which has been a bestseller for a long time in France, has now grown into a mid-range saloon… The New Clio, however, certainly can’t be accused of being average. By no means, because its overall performance – comfort, road-holding and braking – isn’t at all ordinary, it’s rather quite impressive. Neither is it average when it comes to pace and acceleration. On the contrary, that’s where it’s quite the opposite. The 85 bhp dCi version struggles to get its 1,240 kg quickly off the mark. Perhaps this is intentional. Thanks to its cruise control with speed limiter, you can drive the car undetected through areas where radar traps have been installed ‘for your safety’. Under Big Brother’s watchful eye, the New Clio’s now just another loyal and trusty ‘beast of burden’. It would be wrong for it to complain though, as it’s now equipped with a whole range of electronic goodies that were once the reserve of larger cars. Are there any small cars left?
The fact that all of this comes in a rather unexciting looking package, both inside and out, isn’t the problem. The problem is that this chunky third generation Clio has to win hearts the world over, and not just in France. It’s no longer of much importance either that this latest reincarnation is no more than a distant cousin of the first and second generation Clios. Take the Golf, for example, which has been undergoing constant change for around 30 years. There is nothing easier than ‘climbing’ its family tree. The Golf’s DNA has hardly changed throughout its five generations. Tracing the Clio’s ancestry, however, turns out to be quite a puzzle. Unless that’s the intention, as you would hardly expect Renault to be eager to find itself stuck in the same jam as Volkswagen.
You’re left with the strange feeling that it must have been “Mission Impossible” for the Renault engineers when asked to design the New Clio. How could they give it the same city car qualities as its grandmother whilst at the same time endowing it with the more flattering figure of its big sister? The result is a car, which is without any doubt destined to be as successful as its forerunners, as it is one that seems to be right up the street of the Renault sales force.
Spanish to English: Una Madre
Source text - Spanish Una Madre
Nosotras somos lo que soñaron nuestras madres. Hemos estudiado como ellas no pudieron, hemos casado pero no por ello renunciado a nuestra profesión, hemos tenido vocación pero no por ello hemos renunciado a tener hijos. Ellas soñaron con cosas poco románticas para quien las da por supuestas, soñaron con tener una cuenta propia en el banco (la habitación propia de Virginia Woolf), con tener dinero sin necesidad de sisar al marido, con decidir su destino, ser tomadas como adultas. De pronto, en la vejez, han descubierto una libertad tardía. Las puede uno ver en la calle, andando a paso ligero, en una lucha feroz contra el envejecimiento de esos huesos que aguantaron trabajos ingratos, repetitivos y no remunerados; las puede uno ver en los centros culturales, apuntándose a clases de arte, de historia, asistiendo a actos literarios, y en gimnasios, en las colas de los cines, del teatro. Han decidido no perderse una, ya que perdieron tanto. Las puede uno escuchar quejarse del marido jubilado (esa rémora), que se deprime, que no quiere viajar, que no tiene marcha. Qué hubiera sido de este país si esas mujeres bravas que tienen tanta voluntad de aprender hubieran desarrollado su vida plenamente. Es en ellas en quien pensé el día de la mujer trabajadora. Me irrita un poco ese consabido "compañeros y compañeras" que se les cae de la boca a los políticos y que suena a falso halago. Ese tonito a veces paternalista y cachondón que adoptan en el mitin del día 8. Yo pensé en ellas. Lo esencial es entender que una mujer mayor que se dejó la vida trabajando, aunque fuera en la 'retaguardia' se merece gratitud y respeto. Respeto y admiración se merece esa mujer de aspecto frágil y dignidad de acero que sobreponiéndose al dolor dijo "No ha nacido todavía quien me escriba a mí lo tengo que decir". Hay que ser muy perverso ¡y terriblemente machista! para no valorar el coraje del que es capaz una madre que defiende a su hijo asesinado. Este 8 de marzo fue el día de Pilar Ruiz, Madre de Pagazaurtundua. Esa sí que es una frase para llevar en pancarta el día de la mujer. Lo que quiero tener presente, como ejemplo a seguir, cada vez que empiece a escribir un artículo.
Translation - English A Mother
We are what our mothers dreamt of becoming. We have had an education that they were not able to, we have married but have not had to give up our careers, and although we had ambition, it did not stop us having children. They dreamt about things that seemed unromantic to those who took them for granted. They dreamt about having their own bank accounts, Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, about having money without having to diddle it out of their husbands, about choosing their own destiny, and about being treated as adults. All of a sudden, with old age they have discovered a belated freedom. One can see them in the street walking hastily along, relentlessly fighting against the ageing of their bones that have endured thankless, repetitive, and unpaid work. One sees them in community learning centres enrolling in art and history classes, attending literary evenings, keeping fit in gyms, and queuing at cinemas and theatres. They have decided not to miss a thing, since they have already missed so much. One hears them complaining about what a ‘drag’ their retired husbands are — who get depressed, do not want to travel, and just have no get-up-and-go. What would have become of this country if these brave women, who have so much desire to learn had followed their own paths to the full? It is about them I thought on International Working Women’s Day. It irritates me that usual “Brothers and Sisters, unite!" that sounds so insincere coming from politicians. That conciliatory tone that is at times paternalistic and extremely patronising that they adopt at rallies on the eighth. I thought about those women. The essential thing is to understand that an elderly woman, who has spent her whole life working, although ‘behind the scenes’, still deserves gratitude and respect. Recognition and admiration are due to that fragile looking iron-willed woman who overcoming her pain said, “He who can tell me what I ought to say has not yet been born”. One has to be awfully wicked and exceptionally chauvinistic not to value the courage which a mother is capable of when defending her murdered son. This 8th March belonged to Pilar Ruiz, the mother of Pagazaurtundua. Now that is a message to carry on your placards on International Women’s Day. It is one that I want to have as an example to follow every time I start to write an article.
French to English: En Ce temps-là...
Source text - French En Ce temps-là...
Lorsque le petit Émile Gallé va naître à Nancy en 1846, la monarchie de Louis-Philippe vit ses dernières années de somnolence. Le régime ne va pas tarder à basculer dans la trappe de l'Histoire. Mais ce ne fut pas mai 1968 ! Le 26 février 1848 une poignée d'individus s'empare, à Nancy, de l'Hôtel de Ville sans aucune résistance des autorités. La Commission provisoire qui a pris le pouvoir paraît au balcon de l'Hôtel de Ville et se fait acclamer par la population aux cris de «plus de Bourbon, vive la République ! ». En ville, quelques voyous en profitent pour casser des vitres et piller les perceptions ou manifester devant des maisons religieuses. L'évêque publie immédiatement une circulaire a ses curés : on se rallie ! Dès le 28, le Pouvoir Central parisien reprend la situation en mains en désignant un Commissaire du Gouvernement qui est le comte de Ludres. Les nouveaux notables «républicains» de la «Commission Provisoire» ressemblent comme des frères aux notables qui quittent le pouvoir... Les réalités demeurent, impératives : pour donner du pain aux chômeurs on imagine «les ateliers nationaux» financés par une souscription publique. Quand les fonds baissent les ouvriers envahissent l'Hôtel de Ville et chantent la Marseillaise. Alors les bourgeois souscrivent...
Translation - English At the time…
When little Émile Gallé was to be born in Nancy in 1846, the July Monarchy of Louis-Philippe was living out its last lethargic years. The regime would soon be consigned to the annals of History. This was, however, not May 1968! On 26 February 1848, a handful of people took over the Town Hall in Nancy, without any resistance from the authorities. When the provisional Commission, that had assumed power, appeared on the balcony of the Town Hall, they were greeted by the population with cries of “Down with the Bourbons, long live the Republic!” In town, a few louts took advantage of the situation, breaking windows, looting the tax offices, and protesting in front of religious houses. The Bishop immediately distributed a circular to his priests: Support the revolution! The National Government in Paris took the situation in hand from the 28th by appointing the Count de Ludres as Government Commissioner. The new ‘Republican’ dignitaries of the ‘Provisional Commission’ resembled the brothers of those who had just left office… However, the issue of paramount importance remained unchanged; the unemployed needed food and work. ‘National Workshops’ were set-up and financed through public subscription, but when the money ran out the workers invaded the Town Hall singing La Marseillaise. Soon afterwards, the bourgeoisies joined in…
French to English: Muerte y Resurrección de Robin Hood
Source text - French Muerte y Resurrección de Robin Hood
Durante casi mil años, el sheriff de Nottingham fue el malo de la leyenda. Ahora resulta que el malo es el que durante casi mil años había sido consi¬derado el bueno: Robin Hood. Los ediles de la ciudad inglesa de Nottingham acaban de to¬mar la decisión de que el célebre bandolero del bosque deje de ser el símbolo local, y el malvado sheriff—el ex malvado: llamémosle mejor el neo-liberal sheriff, pues a pesar de su nombre, Roy Greensmith, de bandido generoso de Sherwood, es un neo-laboralista de los de Tony Blair — el neo-liberal sheriff lo explica dicien¬do: «Un hombre que robaba a los ricos para darles a los po¬bres está pasado de moda».
Los notables locales lo dicen formalmente: «Tener un héroe así asusta a los inversores extranjeros». El director de una importante empresa farmacéutica venida pese a todo a instalarse en la zona les da la razón: «Era un tipo mal vesti¬do, indisciplinado, incapaz de ganarse honradamente la vida... ¿Se lo imaginan en un banco?»
No. Nadie puede imaginarse a Robin Hood trabajando de cajero en un banco, y aún menos de gerente. Y es preci¬samente por eso que es famoso desde hace casi un milenio, cuando tantos banqueros bien vestidos han pasado sin dejar la menor huella. Precisamente por eso era el héroe y el sím¬bolo de la ciudad de Nottingham, a la cual, si no fuera por Robin Hood, no conocería nadie. El propio sheriff malvado predecesor del señor Greensmith seria hoy, como lo fue en sus tiempos, un absoluto desconocido si no hubiera podido compartir un poco de la celebridad de Robin de los bosques. El más célebre, quizás, de los héroes que ha dado la Gran Bretaña en toda su historia.
Más célebre sin duda —para empezar— que ese estudio-so escocés Adam Smith, en cuyo nombre todos los sheriffs de hoy intentan volver a proscribir a todos los proscritos, a todos los rebeldes, a todos los —digamos la palabra— de¬magogos que, desde Cristo hasta Marx, pasando por Robin Hood, han intentado despertar la imaginación y la esperanza de los pobres. Adam Smith, por Dios... ¿Cuándo se le ha ocurrido a alguien hacer una película con Errol Flynn en el papel de Adam Smith? Nunca. Más aún: ¿Cuándo se ha hecho una película con Adam Smith en el papel de héroe? Jamás.
Translation - English The Death and Resurrection of Robin Hood
For almost a thousand years, the Sheriff of Nottingham was the legend’s arch-villain. Yet, it now appears that the arch-villain was actually, Robin Hood, who for almost a thousand years we believed to be the story’s hero. The councillors of the city of Nottingham have recently decided that the famous bandit of Sherwood Forest should no longer be the local symbol, and the evil sheriff— the ex-evil sheriff. More fittingly the neo-liberal sheriff, in spite of his name, Roy Greensmith, Nottingham’s generous bandit, is one of Tony Blair’s neo-labourites—the neo-liberal sheriff explained it as follows, “A man who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor is no longer fashionable”.
Officially, local dignitaries say, “Having such a hero scares off foreign investors”. The director of a large, already established, pharmaceutical business, who in spite of everything set up in the area, agrees with them saying, “He was a badly dressed, undisciplined man, who couldn’t earn an honest living... Can you imagine him working in a bank?”
No. Nobody could picture Robin Hood working behind a bank counter, and even less as a bank manager. It is, however, precisely for this reason that he has been famous for almost a millennium, whereas, so many well-dressed bankers have come and gone without even leaving the slightest trace. This is exactly why he was the hero and symbol of the city of Nottingham. A city that nobody would have heard of, if it wasn’t for Robin Hood. Mr Greensmith’s predecessor, the real evil sheriff, would be today as he was in his day, a complete unknown, if he hadn’t been able to steal a little of Robin’s limelight. Robin Hood is perhaps the most famous of Great Britain’s heroes in its entire history.
More famous —for starters— than that scholarly Scot, Adam Smith, in whose name all of today’s sheriffs try to outlaw all of the outlaws, all of the rebels, all of the —let’s say— de¬magogues, who from Jesus Christ to Karl Marx, including Robin Hood, have tried to ignite the hope and imagination of the poor. Adam Smith, for God’s sake... When would anybody ever have had the bright idea of making a film with Errol Flynn playing Adam Smith? Never. What’s more: When would a film portraying Adam Smith as the hero ever have been made? Never.
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