Froude"s Disease does not appear to have ever been studied by the psychologists, nor, indeed, is it to be considered as a separate pathological ent.i.ty. Every one makes mistakes "out of carelessness,"
"through inadvertence," and in many other ways. What is abnormal is to make many mistakes, to be always making them, in spite of the most persevering efforts to be exact. Probably this phenomenon is connected with weakness of the attention and excessive activity of the involuntary (or subconscious) imagination which the will of the patient, lacking strength and stability, is unable sufficiently to control. The involuntary imagination intrudes upon intellectual operations only to vitiate them; its part is to fill up the gaps of memory by conjecture, to magnify and attenuate realities, and to confuse them with the products of pure invention. Most children distort everything by inexact.i.tude of this kind, and it is only after a hard struggle that they ever attain to a scrupulous accuracy--that is, learn to master their imagination. Many men remain children, in this respect, the whole of their lives.
But, let the psychological causes of Froude"s Disease be what they may, another point claims our attention. The man of the sanest and best-balanced mind is liable to bungle the simplest kinds of critical work if he does not allow them the necessary time. In these matters precipitancy is the source of innumerable errors. It is rightly said that patience is the cardinal virtue of the scholar. Do not work too fast, act as if there were always something to be gained by waiting, leave work undone rather than spoil it: these are maxims easy enough to p.r.o.nounce, but not to be followed in practice by any but persons of calm temperament. There are nervous, excitable persons, who are always in a hurry to get to the end, always seeking variety in their occupations, and always anxious to dazzle and astonish: these may possibly find honourable employment in other careers; but if they embrace erudition, they are doomed to pile up a ma.s.s of provisional work, which is likely to do more harm than good, and is sure in the long run to cause them many a vexation. The true scholar is cool, reserved, circ.u.mspect. In the midst of the turmoil of life, which flows past him like a torrent, he never hurries. Why should he hurry? The important thing is, that the work he does should be solid, definitive, imperishable. Better "spend weeks polishing a masterpiece of a score of pages" in order to convince two or three among the scholars of Europe that a particular charter is spurious, or take ten years to construct the best possible text of a corrupt doc.u.ment, than give to the press in the same interval volumes of moderately accurate _anecdota_ which future scholars will some day have to put through the mill again from beginning to end.
Whatever special branch of critical scholarship a man may choose, he ought to be gifted with prudence, an exceptionally powerful attention and will, and, moreover, to combine a speculative turn of mind with complete disinterestedness and little taste for action; for he must make up his mind to work for distant and uncertain results, and, in nearly every case, for the benefit of others. For textual criticism and the investigation of sources, it is, moreover, very useful to have the puzzle-solving instinct--that is, a nimble, ingenious mind, fertile in hypotheses, prompt to seize and even to guess the relations of things.
For tasks of description and compilation (the preparation of inventories and catalogues, _corpus_ and _regesta_-making) it is absolutely necessary to possess the collector"s instinct, together with an exceptional appet.i.te for work, and the qualities of order, industry, and perseverance.[116] These are the apt.i.tudes required. The labours of external criticism are so distasteful to those who lack these apt.i.tudes, and the results obtained are, in their case, so small in comparison with the time expended, that it is impossible for a man to make too sure of his vocation before entering upon a career of critical scholarship. It is pitiful to see those who, for want of a wise word spoken in due season, lose their way and vainly exhaust themselves in such a career, especially when they have good reason for believing that they might have employed their talents to better advantage in other directions.[117]
II. As critical and preparatory tasks are remarkably well suited to the temperament of a very large number of Germans, and as the activity of German erudition during the present century has been enormous, it is to Germany that we must go for the best cases of those mental deformations which are produced, in the long run, by the habitual practice of external criticism. Hardly a year pa.s.ses but complaints are heard, in and about the German universities, of the ill effects produced on scholars by the tasks of criticism.
In 1890, Herr Philippi, as Rector of the University of Giessen, forcibly deplored the chasm which, as he said, is opening between preparatory criticism and general culture: textual criticism loses itself in insignificant minutiae; scholars collate for the mere pleasure of collating; infinite precautions are employed in the restoration of worthless doc.u.ments; it is thus evident that "more importance is attached to the materials of study than to its intellectual results."
The Rector of Giessen sees in the diffuse style of German scholars and in the bitterness of their polemical writings an effect of the habit they have contracted of "excessive preoccupation with little things."[118] In the same year the same note was sounded, at the University of Bale, by Herr J. v. Pflugk-Harttung. "The highest branches of historical science are despised," says this author in his _Geschichtsbetrachtungen_[119]: "all that is valued is microscopic observations and absolute accuracy in unimportant details. The criticism of texts and sources has become a branch of sport: the least breach of the rules of the game is considered unpardonable, while conformity to them is enough to a.s.sure the approval of connoisseurs, irrespectively of the intrinsic value of the results obtained. Scholars are mostly malevolent and discourteous towards each other; they make molehills and call them mountains; their vanity is as comic as that of the citizen of Frankfort who used complacently to observe, "All that you can see through yonder archway is Frankfort territory.""[120] We, for our part, are inclined to draw a distinction between three professional risks to which scholars are subject: dilettantism, hypercriticism, and loss of the power to work.
To take the last first: the habit of critical a.n.a.lysis has a relaxing and paralysing action on certain intelligences. Men, of naturally timid dispositions, discover that whatever pains they take with their critical work, their editing or cla.s.sifying of doc.u.ments, they are very apt to make slight mistakes, and these slight mistakes, as a result of their critical education, fill them with horror and dread. To discover blunders in their signed work when the time for correction is past, causes them acute suffering. They reach at length a state of morbid anxiety and scrupulosity which prevents them from doing anything at all, for fear of possible imperfections. The _examen rigorosum_ to which they are continually subjecting themselves brings them to a standstill.
They give the same measure to the productions of others, and in the end they see in historical works nothing but the authorities and the notes, the _apparatus criticus_, and in the _apparatus criticus_ they see nothing but the faults in it which require correction.
_Hypercriticism._--The excess of criticism, just as much as the crudest ignorance, leads to error. It consists in the application of critical canons to cases outside their jurisdiction. It is related to criticism as logic-chopping is to logic. There are persons who scent enigmas everywhere, even where there are none. They take perfectly clear texts and subtilise on them till they make them doubtful, under the pretext of freeing them from imaginary corruptions. They discover traces of forgery in authentic doc.u.ments. A strange state of mind! By constantly guarding against the instinct of credulity they come to suspect everything.[121]
It is to be observed that in proportion as the criticism of texts and sources makes positive progress, the danger of hypercriticism increases.
When all the sources of history have been properly criticised (for certain parts of ancient history this is no distant prospect), good sense will call a halt. But scholars will refuse to halt; they will refine, as they do already on the best established texts, and those who refine will inevitably fall into hypercriticism. "The peculiarity of the study of history and its auxiliary philological sciences," says Renan, "is that as soon as they have attained their relative perfection they begin to destroy themselves."[122] Hypercriticism is the cause of this.
_Dilettantism._--Scholars by profession and vocation have a tendency to treat the external criticism of doc.u.ments as a game of skill, difficult, but deriving an interest, much as chess does, from the very complication of its rules. Some of them are indifferent to the larger questions--to history itself, in fact. They criticise for the sake of criticism, and, in their view, the elegance of the method of investigation is much more important than the results, whatever they may be. These _virtuosi_ are not concerned to connect their labours with some general idea--to criticise systematically, for example, all the doc.u.ments relating to a question, in order to understand it; they criticise indiscriminately texts relating to all manner of subjects, on the one condition of being sufficiently corrupt. Armed with their critical skill, they range over the whole of the domain of history, and stop wherever a knotty problem invites their services; this problem solved, or at least discussed, they go elsewhere to look for others. They leave behind them no coherent work, but a heterogeneous collection of memoirs on every conceivable subject, which resembles, as Carlyle says, a curiosity shop or an archipelago of small islands.
Dilettanti defend their dilettantism by sufficiently plausible arguments. To begin with, say they, everything is important; in history there is no doc.u.ment which has not its value: "No scientific work is barren, no truth is without its use for science ...; in history there is no such thing as a trivial subject;" consequently, "it is not the nature of the subject which makes work valuable, but the method employed."[123]
The important thing in history is not "the ideas one acc.u.mulates; it is the mental gymnastics, the intellectual training--in short, the scientific spirit." Even supposing that there are degrees of importance among the data of history, no one has a right to maintain _a priori_ that a doc.u.ment is "useless." What, pray, is the criterion of utility in these matters? How many doc.u.ments are there not which, after being long despised, have been suddenly placed in the foreground by a change of standpoint or by new discoveries? "All exclusion is rash; there is no research which it is possible to brand beforehand as necessarily sterile. That which has no value in itself may become valuable as a necessary means." Perhaps a day may come when, science being in a sense complete, indifferent doc.u.ments and facts may be safely thrown overboard; but we are not at present in a position to distinguish the superfluous from the necessary, and in all probability the line of demarcation will never be easy to trace. This justifies the most special researches and the most futile in all appearance. And, if it come to the worst, what does it matter if there is a certain amount of work wasted?
"It is a law in science, as in all human effort," and indeed in all the operations of nature, "to work in broad outlines, with a wide margin of what is superfluous."
We shall not undertake to refute these arguments to the full extent in which this is possible. Besides, Renan, who has put the case for both sides of the question with equal vigour, definitively closed the debate in the following words: "It may be said that some researches are useless in the sense of taking up time which would have been better spent on more serious questions.... Although it is not necessary for an artisan to have a complete knowledge of the work he is employed to execute, it is still to be desired that those who devote themselves to special labours should have some notion of the more general considerations which alone give value to their researches. If all the industrious workers to whom modern science owes its progress had had a philosophical comprehension of what they were doing, how much precious time would have been saved!... It is deeply to be regretted that there should be such an immense waste of human effort, merely for want of guidance, and a clear consciousness of the end to be pursued."[124]
Dilettantism is incompatible with a certain elevation of mind, and with a certain degree of "moral perfection," but not with technical proficiency. Some of the most accomplished critics merely make a trade of their skill, and have never reflected on the ends to which their art is a means. It would, however, be wrong to infer that science itself has nothing to fear from dilettantism. The dilettanti of criticism who work as fancy or curiosity bids them, who are attracted to problems not by their intrinsic importance, but by their difficulty, do not supply historians (those whose work it is to combine materials and use them for the main purposes of history) with the materials of which the latter have the most pressing need, but with others which might have waited. If the activity of specialists in external criticism were exclusively directed to questions whose solution is important, and if it were regulated and guided from above, it would be more fruitful.
The idea of providing against the dangers of dilettantism by a rational "organisation of labour" is already ancient. Fifty years ago it was common to hear people talking of "supervision," of "concentrating scattered forces;" dreams were rife of "vast workshops" organised on the model of those of modern industry, in which the preparatory labours of critical scholarship were to be performed on a great scale, in the interests of science. In nearly all countries, in fact, governments (through the medium of historical committees and commissions), academies, and learned societies have endeavoured in our day, much as monastic congregations did of old, to group professed scholars for the purposes of vast collective enterprises, and to co-ordinate their efforts. But this banding of specialists in external criticism for the service and under the supervision of competent men presents great mechanical difficulties. The problem of the "organisation of scientific labour" is still the order of the day.[125]
III. Scholars are often censured for pride and excessive harshness in the judgments which they pa.s.s on the labours of their colleagues; and these faults, as we have seen, are often attributed to their excessive "preoccupation with little things," especially by persons whose attempts have been severely judged. In reality there do exist modest and kindly scholars: it is a question of character; professional "preoccupation with little things" is not enough to change natural disposition in this respect. "Ce bon monsieur Du Cange," as the Benedictines said, was modest to excess. "Nothing more is required," says he, in speaking of his labours, "but eyes and fingers in order to do as much and more;" he never blamed any one, on principle. "If I study it is for the pleasure of studying, and not to give pain to any one else, any more than to myself."[126] It is, however, true that most scholars have no compunction in exposing each other"s mistakes, and that their austere zeal sometimes finds expression in harsh and overbearing language.
Barring the harshness they are quite right. Like physicians, chemists, and other members of learned and scientific professions, they have a keen appreciation of the value of scientific truth, and it is for this reason that they make a point of calling offenders to account. They are thus enabled to bar the door against the tribe of incapables and charlatans who once infested their profession.
Among the youths who propose to devote themselves to the study of history there are some in whom the commercial spirit and vulgar ambition are stronger than the love of science. These are apt to say to themselves: "Historical work, if it is to be done according to the rules of method, requires an infinite amount of labour and caution. But do we not see historical writings whose authors have more or less seriously violated the rules? Are these authors thought any the less of on this account? Is it always the most conscientious writer who enjoys the highest consideration? Cannot tact supply the place of knowledge?" If tact really could supply the place of knowledge, then, as it is easier to do bad work than good, and as the important thing with these people is success, they might be tempted to conclude that it does not matter how badly they work as long as they succeed. Why should not things go in these matters as they do in life, where it is not necessarily the best men that get on best? Well, it is due to the pitiless severity of the critics that calculations of this kind would be as disastrous as they are despicable.
Towards the end of the Second Empire there was in France no enlightened public opinion on the subject of historical work. Bad books of historical erudition were published with impunity, and sometimes even procured undeserved rewards for their authors. It was then that the founders of the _Revue Critique d"histoire et de litterature_ undertook to combat a state of things which they lightly deemed demoralising.
With this object they administered public chastis.e.m.e.nt to those scholars who showed lack of conscience or method, in a manner calculated to disgust them with erudition for ever. They performed sundry notable executions, not for the pleasure of it, but with the firm resolve to establish a censorship and a wholesome dread of justice, in the domain of historical study. Bad workers henceforth received no quarter, and though the _Revue_ did not exert any great influence on the public at large, its police-operations covered a wide enough radius to impress most of those concerned with the necessity of sincerity and respect for method. During the last twenty-five years the impulse thus given has spread beyond all expectation.
It is now a matter of great difficulty to impose on the world of scholars, in matters connected with their studies, or at least to keep up the deception for any length of time. In the case of the historical sciences, as well as the sciences proper, it is now too late to found a new error or to discredit an old truth. It may be a few months, possibly a few years, before a bungled experiment in chemistry or a scamped edition is recognised as such; but inexact results, though temporarily accepted under reserve, are always sooner or later, and generally very soon, discovered, denounced, and eliminated. The theory of the operations of external criticism is now so well established, the number of specialists thoroughly versed in them is now so great in every country, that, with rare exceptions, descriptive catalogues of doc.u.ments, editions, _regesta_, monographs, are scrutinised, dissected, and judged as soon as they appear. It is well to be warned. It will for the future be the height of imprudence to risk publishing a work of erudition without having first done everything possible to make it una.s.sailable; otherwise it will immediately, or after brief delay, be attacked and demolished. Not knowing this, certain well-meaning persons still show themselves, from time to time, simple enough to enter the lists of critical scholarship insufficiently prepared; they are filled with a desire to be useful, and are apparently convinced that here, as in politics and elsewhere, it is possible to work by extemporised and approximate methods without any "special knowledge." They are sorry afterwards. The knowing ones do not take the risk; the tasks of critical scholarship have no seductions for them, for they are aware that the labour is great and the glory moderate, and that the field is engrossed by clever specialists not too well disposed towards intruders. They see plainly there is no room for them here. The blunt uncompromising honesty of the scholars thus delivers them from undesirable company of a kind which the "historians" proper have still occasionally to put up with.
Bad workers, in fact, on the hunt for a public less closely critical than the scholars, are very ready to take refuge in historical exposition. The rules of method are here less obvious, or, rather, not so well known. While the criticism of texts and sources has been placed on a scientific basis, historical synthesis is still performed haphazard. Mental confusion, ignorance, negligence--faults which stand out so clearly in works of critical scholarship--may in historical works be disguised up to a certain point by literary artifices, and the public at large, which is not well educated in this respect, is not shocked.[127] In short, there is still, in this department, a certain chance of impunity. This chance, however, is diminishing, and a day will come, before so very long, when the superficial writers who make incorrect syntheses will be treated with as little consideration as is now received by those who show themselves unscrupulous or unskilful in the technique of preparatory criticism. The works of the most celebrated historians of the nineteenth century, those who died but yesterday, Augustin Thierry, Ranke, Fustel de Coulanges, Taine, and others, are already battered and riddled with criticism. The faults of their methods have already been seen, defined, and condemned.
Those who are insensible to other considerations ought to be moved to honesty in historical work by the reflection that the time is now past, or nearly so, when it was possible to do bad work without having to suffer for it.
_SECTION II.--INTERNAL CRITICISM_
CHAPTER VI
INTERPRETATIVE CRITICISM (HERMENEUTIC)
I. When a zoologist describes the form and situation of a muscle, when a physiologist gives the curve of a movement, we are able to accept their results without reserve, because we know by what method, by what instruments, by what system of notation they have obtained them.[128]
But when Tacitus says of the Germans, _Arva per annos mutant_, we do not know beforehand whether he took the right method to inform himself, nor even in what sense he used the words _arva_ and _mutant_; to ascertain this a preliminary operation is required.[129] This operation is internal criticism.
The object of criticism is to discover what in a doc.u.ment may be accepted as true. Now the doc.u.ment is only the final result of a long series of operations, on the details of which the author gives us no information. He had to observe or collect facts, to frame sentences, to write down words; and these operations, which are perfectly distinct one from another, may not all have been performed with the same accuracy. It is therefore necessary to _a.n.a.lyse_ the product of the author"s labour in order to distinguish which operations have been incorrectly performed, and reject their _results_. _a.n.a.lysis_ is thus necessary to criticism; all criticism begins with a.n.a.lysis.
In order to be logically complete, the a.n.a.lysis ought to reconstruct _all_ the operations which the author must have performed, and to examine them _one by one_, to see whether each has been performed correctly. It would be necessary to pa.s.s in review all the successive acts by which the doc.u.ment was produced, from the moment when the author observed the fact which is its subject up to the movements of his hand by which he traced the letters of the doc.u.ment; or, rather, it would be necessary to proceed in the opposite direction, step by step, from the movements of the hand back to the observation. This method would be so long and so tedious that no one would ever have the time or the patience to apply it.
Internal criticism is not, like external criticism, an instrument used for the mere pleasure of using it;[130] it yields no immediate satisfaction, because it does not definitively solve any problem. It is only applied because it is necessary, and its use is restricted to a bare minimum. The most exacting historian is satisfied with an abridged method which concentrates all the operations into two groups: (1) the a.n.a.lysis of the contents of the doc.u.ment, and the positive interpretative criticism which is necessary for ascertaining what the author meant; (2) the a.n.a.lysis of the conditions under which the doc.u.ment was produced, and its negative criticism, necessary for the verification of the author"s statements. This twofold division of the labour of criticism is, moreover, only employed by a select few. The natural tendency, even of historians who work methodically, is to read the text with the object of extracting information directly from it, without any thought of first ascertaining what exactly was in the author"s mind.[131] This procedure is excusable at most in the case of nineteenth-century doc.u.ments, written by men whose language and mode of thought are familiar to us, and then only when there is not more than one possible interpretation. It becomes dangerous as soon as the author"s habits of language or thought begin to differ from those of the historian who reads him, or when the meaning of the text is not obvious and indisputable. Whoever, in reading a text, is not exclusively occupied with the effort to understand it, is sure to read impressions of his own into it; he is struck by phrases or words in the doc.u.ment which correspond to his own ideas, or agree with his own _a priori_ notion of the facts; unconsciously he detaches these phrases or words, and forms out of them an imaginary text which he puts in the place of the real text of the author.[132]
II. Here, as always in history, method consists in repressing the first impulse. It is necessary to be penetrated by the principle, sufficiently obvious but often forgotten, that a doc.u.ment only contains the ideas of the man who wrote it, and to make it a rule to begin by understanding the text by itself, _before_ asking what can be extracted from it for the purposes of history. We thus arrive at this general rule of method: the study of every doc.u.ment should begin with an a.n.a.lysis of its contents, made with the sole aim of determining the real meaning of the author.
This a.n.a.lysis is a preliminary operation, distinct and independent.
Experience here, as in the tasks of critical scholarship,[133] has decided in favour of the system of slips. Each slip will contain the a.n.a.lysis of a doc.u.ment, of a separate part of a doc.u.ment, or of an episode in a narrative; the a.n.a.lysis ought to indicate not only the general sense of the text, but also, as far as possible, the object and views of the author. It will be well to reproduce verbally any expressions which may seem characteristic of the author"s thought.
Sometimes it will be enough to have a.n.a.lysed the text mentally: it is not always necessary to put down in black and white the whole contents of a doc.u.ment; in such cases we simply enter the points of which we intend to make use. But against the ever-present danger of subst.i.tuting one"s personal impressions for the text there is only one real safeguard; it should be made an invariable rule never on any account to make an extract from a doc.u.ment, or a partial a.n.a.lysis of it, without having _first_ made a comprehensive a.n.a.lysis[134] of it mentally, if not on paper.
To a.n.a.lyse a doc.u.ment is to discern and isolate all the ideas expressed by the author. a.n.a.lysis thus reduces to _interpretative criticism_.
Interpretation pa.s.ses through two stages: the first is concerned with the literal, the second with the real meaning.
III. The determination of the literal meaning of a doc.u.ment is a linguistic operation; accordingly, Philology (in the narrow sense) has been reckoned among the auxiliary sciences of history. To understand a text it is first necessary to know the language. But a _general_ knowledge of the language is not enough. In order to interpret Gregory of Tours, it is not enough to know Latin in a general way; it is necessary to add a special study of the particular kind of Latin written by Gregory of Tours.
The natural tendency is to attribute the same meaning to the same word wherever it occurs. We instinctively treat a language as if it were a fixed system of signs. Fixity, indeed, is a characteristic of the signs which have been expressly invented for scientific use, such as algebraical notation or the nomenclature of chemistry. Here every expression has a single precise meaning, which is absolute and invariable; it expresses an accurately a.n.a.lysed and defined idea, only one such idea, and that always the same in whatever context the expression may occur, and by whatever author it may be used. But ordinary language, in which doc.u.ments are written, fluctuates: each word expresses a complex and ill-defined idea; its meanings are manifold, relative, and variable; the same word may stand for several different things, and is used in different senses by the same author according to the context; lastly, the meaning of a word varies from author to author, and is modified in the course of time. _Vel_, which in cla.s.sical Latin only has the meanings _or_ and _even_, means _and_ in certain epochs of the middle ages; _suffragium_, which is cla.s.sical Latin for _suffrage_, takes in mediaeval Latin the sense of _help_. We have, then, to learn to resist the instinct which leads us to explain all the expressions of a text by their cla.s.sical or ordinary meanings. The grammatical interpretation, based on the general rules of the language, must be supplemented by an historical interpretation founded on an examination of the particular case.
The method consists in determining the special meaning of the words in the doc.u.ment; it rests on a few very simple principles.
(1) Language changes by continuous evolution. Each epoch has a language of its own, which must be treated as a separate system of signs. In order to understand a doc.u.ment we must know the _language of the time_--that is, the meanings of words and forms of expression in use at the time when the text was written. The meaning of a word is to be determined by bringing together the pa.s.sages where it is employed: it will generally be found that in one or other of these the remainder of the sentence leaves no doubt as to the meaning of the word in question.[135] Information of this kind is given in historical dictionaries, such as the _Thesaurus Linguae Latinae_; or the glossaries of Du Cange. In these compilations the article devoted to each word is a collection of the pa.s.sages in which the word occurs, accompanied by indications of authorship which fix the epoch.
When the author wrote in a dead language which he had learnt out of books--this is the case with the Latin texts of the earlier middle ages--we must be on our guard against words used in an arbitrary sense, or selected for the sake of elegance: for example, _consul_ (count, earl), _capite census_ (censitary), _agellus_ (grand domain).
(2) Linguistic usage may vary from one region to another; we have, then, to know the _language of the country_ where the doc.u.ment was written--that is, the peculiar meanings current in the country.
(3) Each author has his own manner of writing; we have, then, to study the _language of the author_, the peculiar senses in which he used words.[136] This purpose is served by lexicons to a single author, as Meusel"s _Lexicon Caesarianum_, in which are brought together all the pa.s.sages in which the author used each word.
(4) An expression changes its meaning according to the pa.s.sage in which it occurs; we must therefore interpret each word and sentence not as if it stood isolated, but with an eye to the general sense of the context.
This is the _rule of context_,[137] a fundamental rule of interpretation. Its meaning is that, before making use of a phrase taken from a text, we must have read the text in its entirety; it prohibits the stuffing of a modern work with _quotations_--that is, shreds of phrases torn from pa.s.sages without regard to the special sense given to them by the context.[138]
These rules, if rigorously applied, would const.i.tute an exact method of interpretation which would hardly leave any chance of error, but would require an enormous expenditure of time. What an immense amount of labour would be necessary if, in the case of _each_ word, we had to determine by a special operation its meaning in the language of the time, of the country, of the author, and in the context! Yet this is the labour demanded by a well-made translation: in the case of some ancient works of great literary value it has been submitted to; for the ma.s.s of historical doc.u.ments we content ourselves, in practice, with an abridged method.