The year 1992 saw many important cultural commemorations take place, of which the most important, the fifth centenary of the “discovery” of America, seemed to eclipse, at least on the American continent, the four hundredth anniversary of the death of Montaigne (1533-1592). It therefore does not seem inappropriate to question the view of the author of the Essays concerning the theme, “much fussed over” by ideologues on all sides, of the “encounter,” as memorable as it is debatable, between the “New” world and the “Old”.

Dreams of gold have accompanied human history down through the ages. Gold is a beautiful and useful metal, easily shaped and immune to rust, and from the time of the ancient Sumerian and Egyptian civilizations, it has been regarded as a precious metal from which jewels and decorative as well as everyday objects have been fashioned. Even before the concept of money turned it into one of the principal forms of exchange, gold was used as a medium of barter.

Apart from being of commercial and aesthetic value, gold is also a part of the stuff of fables and legends. Legendary and mythical lands where gold abounds have crowded the imaginative geography of almost all civilizations. The Bible itself, in the Book of Kings, speaks of the Mines of King Solomon, the Kingdom of Ophir, and the City of Sidon, while the prophet Zechariah observes that in the City of Tyre: “silver is heaped up like dust, and gold as the mire of the streets.” [Zachariah, 9.3]

Our America has not fully realized the extent of the African continent's influence on the cultural and ethnic genesis of Latin America. This aspect of its history remains foreign to it and almost consciously denied: a denial that is the legacy of a racial complex created by the European mentality during the course of the Conquest. One of the characteristics of American humanism, however, lies within the valorization of the multi-ethnic origins of Latin American culture; this is why one cannot ignore the breadth of the African contribution to the American identity and the circumstances that determined this contribution.

When Anquetil-Duperron landed at Pondicherry in 1755, in search of the sacred books of the “Indous et des Parses” (“Hindus and Parsees”), he surely had no idea that he was inaugurating a new discipline, Indianism. He returned to France in 1761, laden with a whole library of Indian texts which he was to spend the rest of his life deciphering. That year was a turning point in Indian history: the Marathes, on the verge of becoming the dominant power of the entire Indian continent, were crushed in Panipat, north of Delhi, by the armies of an Afhgan invasion, and this catastrophe halted their advance for a while. During the same year, in the south of India, Lally-Tollendal was beaten and taken prisoner by the English, thereby destroying the French dream, shared by Dupleix and Bussy, of creating an Indian empire for themselves.

The central concern of this paper is to prove that Blake and Wordsworth, in spite of some revealing differences between them, essentially share the same world view. Before showing how this works, we first of all should discuss, however briefly, the main difference between them.

The main difference between Blake and Wordsworth is perhaps discernible in the way they respond to Nature or the physical frame of things. Here, their remarks on each other would be quite illuminating. Though there is no evidence that they knew each other personally, there is concrete proof that they read some of one another's works and even commented on them. Three sources immediately come to mind in this regard: first, there is Samuel Palmer's anecdote that Wordsworth borrowed a copy of Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience from a friend that “he read and read and took … home to read again”; second, we have Blake's 1826 annotations to the poems of Wordsworth contained in Keynes' Nonesuch Edition of Blake; third, there is Henry Crabb Robinson's Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence.

Literary translation, especially poetic translation, is one of the rare domains where aesthetic, literary, and technical fields meet. This characteristic makes it the sort of work where a number of theoretical and practical problems converge. It is necessary to approach the issue on three essential planes. The first is theoretical: translation is an operation defined by rules; the second, functional: translation is a practical procedure, which is to say an a posteriori task; the third, specific: poetic translation is itself a poetic activity.

Let us begin with the last. From the point of view of literary creation, there is actually no specific difference between the original text and that of the translation. For poet and translator alike take part in a creative act, each laboring according to his means and tastes. For each of them linguistic competence and poetic competence are essential. Indeed, the act of translating is based on a “task of purification of words and ideas” which requires the application of mental effort on the one hand to the problems and the constraints of the poetic art as such, and on the other hand, to the descriptive and analytic nature of language, which is also music. Which is to say that one should not see translation as a simple operation of a lexical order. Nor should one forget that each language requires a specific lexical classification.

Writing about testimonies from the concentration camps poses a fundamental problem to those who undertake this task, for one cannot lightly broach the still-living history of the Nazi camps. Auschwitz “is not a subject for a colloquium” or, at least, not a subject like others. For the deportees themselves, speaking up is not easy. In whose name can they speak, in the name of what can they remember, how can they say it and to whom? Such are the first questions which arise like so many obstacles to communication. How to express the inexpressible? Such is the problem lying at the heart of all the testimonies, inasmuch as their credibility but also their possibility of existing depend on it. As Yves Reuter points out, the question of form appears in its most crucial aspect here: