Notes Toward Chaucer’s Poetics of Translation

Notes Toward Chaucer's Poetics of Translation R. A. Shoaf Yale Vniversity CHAUCID< ;s on, of th, most elusive poets ;n th, English trndition. The many re-evaluations succeeding generations have made of his work amply testify to this characteristic. And we ourselves are among the wit­ nesses. Presently we are in the midst of a widespread effort to re-evaluate and re-define Chaucer and his poetry. Our dissatisfaction with numerous earlier evaluations is evident. Nor are we likely ever again to be satisfied with any monolithic assessment of Chaucer. The next generation any­ way will see in Chaucer a poet of uncertainties and a master craftsman of tonal multiplicities. He will reflect the pluralism in which we are immersed and which may well correspond, however roughly, to the cultural pluralism that characterized his own age. He and his poetry will be, inevitably, as fragmented as the culture of the late twentieth century. Nor am I sure finally that this situation is really deplorable, for out of it may arise authentically powerful visions of the complexity of the man and of his work. At least hopeful of such fruition, I propose to contribute some notes and observations on one crucial aspect of their complexity. Chaucer was fluent in at least four languages-in probable order of fluency: English, French, Latin and Italian. To these should be added the language of the past with its numerous vocabulary of literary con­ ventions, ranging from motifs (dreams) to puns ("venerie"). Chaucer was a fluent translator of this language, too. Indeed, it might be better said that the language he was actually translating when he translated English, French, Latin or Italian was this language of past literary consrnorns IN THE AGE oF CHAUCER 1 (1979). © Copyright 1979 by The New Chaucer Society, The University of Oklahoma. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 55 STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER ventions. Therefore, to initiate recovery of Chaucer's poetics of transla­ tion it is necessary to isolate and describe his attitude to the past and especially his attitude to the past-ness of language itself. The Prologues to Chaucer's poems oftentimes clarify his attitude to the conventions his poetry inherited to shape its various forms. He reveals his awareness of the depletion of traditions, for example, in the Prologue to The Legend of Good Women :1 Alias, that I ne had Englyssh, ryme or prose, Suffisant this flour to preyse aryght! But helpeth, ye that han konnyng and myght, Ye lovers that kan make of sentement; In this cas oghte ye be diligent To forthren me somwhat in my labour, Whethir ye hen with the lee£ or with the flour. For wel I wot that ye han her-biforn Of makyng ropen, and lad awey the corn, And I come after, glenyng here and there, And am ful glad yf I may fynde an ere Of any goodly word that ye han left. And thogh it happen me rehercen eft That ye han in your fresshe songes sayd, Forbereth me, and beth nat evele apayd.2 F. 66-80 The poet can hardly find an "ere" of a word. The image of the "ear of corn" evokes the "seed" and the "field" or the sem- and the text (I am using the partial homonyms "semen" and "semeion" to isolate the "seed" in the sign and the "sign" in the seed): the polysemantic vitality of the text is analogous to the seminal virtue of the field. But here the field seems exhausted. Chaucer had used a similar image earlier which helps to explain how the poet cultivates such a field: For out of olde feldes, as men seyth, Cometh al this newe corn from yer to yere, 1 A. C. Spearing, Medieval Dream-Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1976), p. rn9, notes that it is "possible to see the Prologue as a culmination of the tendency that has been developing through Chaucer's dream-poems, the tendency to use the dream as a way of writing about imaginative fiction itself." 2 All citations of Chaucer's poetry are quoted from the second edition of The Works by F. N. Robinson (Cambridge: Houghton-Mifflin; 1957). POETICS OF TRANSLATION And out of olde bokes, in good feyth, Cometh al this newe science that men !ere. The Parlement of Foules, 22-25 As Chaucer knew full well, new corn comes from old fields only because the old fields are plowed under season by season. This violation of "olde feldes" signifies the necessary violation of precedent texts. If a new sem­ is to come from an old text, a metamorphosis must violate that text. I am not invoking Harold Bloom's misprision nor Roland Barthes' "vide."3 I am pointing, rather, to Chaucer's awareness that every poet must change the past even if and sometimes precisely because he perfectly understands it. And, most importantly, Chaucer realized that each new poet is responsible for the changes he makes: he must be able to respond to the old before he changes it and his reader must be able to respond to the new thing he has made. The qualification "in good feyth" registers the poet's awareness of this burden of responsibility: he must keep good faith with the past, the present, and the future even as he must also change the past to valorize the present and make a claim on the future. "What so myn auctour mente, / Algate, God woot, yt was myn entente / To forthren trouthe in love and yt cheryce" (LGW, Pro!. F. 470-72). What­ ever the authority means, the poet has and must have his own intent. And he is responsible for it. Curtius has discussed the importance of agrarian imagery to concepts of writing in the Middle Ages, and the notion of "semination" in writing is largely self-explanatory.4 More important for present concerns is Chaucer's understanding of the violation which "plowing the field" evokes. He understood this violation to be, I think, translation: "Yt were better worthy, trewely, A worm to neghen ner my flour than thaw." "And why, sire," [said Chaucer to the God of Love] "and yt lyke yow?" "For thow," quod he, "art therto nothing able. Yt is my relyke, digne and delytable, And thaw my foo, and al my folk werreyest, 3 Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Infiuence: a Theory of Poetry (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1973), Chap. 1 esp.;Roland Barthes, Critique et vl:ritl: (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1966), pp.56-57. 4 European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. W.R. Trask (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1953), pp. 313-15. 57 STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER And of myn olde servauntes thow mysseyest, And hynderest hem with thy translacioun, And lettest folk from hire devocioun To serve me, and holdest it folye To serve Love ...." LGW,Prol. F. 317-27 In a deeper context than the immediate chastisement of the "poet," this speech touches the quick of Chaucer's concern. A translation, in one sense, is literally a missaying.It "misses" the phonic individuality of the original: tone, lilt, rhythm, paronomastic potential, etc. By extension­ and by many poets' practice-it also "misses" the meaning of the orig­ inal. It violates the original. A translation violates a prior intention or purpose. A translator is always a hermeneuticist, therefore a son of Hermes, and a thief.In the present passage, the prior intention is Love's -what he intends for his servants and their devotion.But in the deeper context of translation itself, the prior intention is always, as it is here too, auctoritas. To translate is to violate an authority.To his contemporaries Chaucer was the "grant translateur": 0 Socrates plains de philosophie, Seneque en meurs et Anglux en pratique, Ovides grans en ta poeterie, Bries en parler, saiges en rethorique, Aigles treshaulz, qui par ta theorique Enlumines le regne d'Eneas, L'Isle aux Geans, ceuls de Bruth, et qui as Seme !es fleurs et plante le rosier, Aux ignoransde la langue pandras, Grant translateur, noble Geffroy Chaucier. Deschamps may have meant only that Chaucer made pretty literary gardens where seductive roses grow. But it would be inadvisable to dis­ miss altogether the possibility that he refers to the English husbandman as a translator sowing the words/seeds of modern poetry in texts formerly exhausted.� To Deschamps and other contemporary poets, Chaucer may 5 Deschamps' text is quoted from Paget Toynbee, Specimens of Old French (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1892), p. 314. J. Norton-Smith, who states that Toyn­ bee's edition is the best text of Deschamps' ballad, Geoffrey Chaucer (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1974), p. 225, also notes that "the gardening imagery 58 POETICS OF TRANSLATION have been the model of that necessary but cautious "violence" which makes poetry live and live anew. And if Chaucer was an author whose intentions violated the prior intentions of the texts he confronted, there were at least three compelling reasons why he should have been so. The most immediate motivation was the instability of his native tongue.6 Connected with this motivation-but far more important (and hence more difficult to get right)-was the inchoate status of the Middle English poetic tradition. If the French tradition was obsolescent (not sterile but irrelevant), if the Italian tradition was swiftly becoming utterly secular, not to say pornographic, after the theological heights Dante had reached, if the Latin tradition was becoming increasingly alien to a rising bourgeoisie that clamored for translations into the vernacular (and this clamor is a crucial element in the vexed issue of translation in fourteenth-century literature)-the Middle English tradition was on the one hand already depleted in the repetitiousness of romances and lyrics but on the other hand unstable and fertile in its multiplicity which included, for example, the alliterative revival, the ecclesiological passion of a Langland, the courtly occasionalism of the multi-lingual Gower, the obstreperous protest in the popular ballads against both Court and Church, the extreme popularity of the sermon and the proliferation of its exempla, the beautiful, moving and intensely personal prose of the mystics, the entertaining and formative prose of the travelogues, and the prose of the numerous theological tracts which burgeoned in the latter part of this period.7 In such a state of affairs, the individual poet is central" to it. A full study of the poet as gardener in the fourteenth century would perhaps yield one medieval metaphorics for the whole concept of poetry. 6 Of the instability of his native tongue Chaucer himself is the most eloquent witness. In addition to the passage from LGW quoted above (Pro!. F. 66-67), consider TC V, 1793-98. 7 By calling the French tradition irrelevant although by no means sterile, I do not mean to challenge the time-honored and true evaluation of Chaucer's indebtedness to that tradition, which Muscatine, Chaucer and the French Tradition (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1957), for example, has so authoritatively documented. I mean rather only to point out that he did choose English over French. P. M. Kean, Chaucer and the Making of English Poetry (London: Rout­ ledge, 1972), I, 1-30, has recently corrected the kind of imbalance that creeps into critical discourse when too much emphasis on the various traditions obscures the fact that Chaucer was an English poet. Chaucer's choice of English when French or Latin was still a possible alternative, especially in a court circle, is sufficient witness in itself that the pre-eminence of those languages was on the wane; it is 59 STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER also a witness, though less sufficient, that their obsolescence had also possibly already set in. For the increasingly secular definition in Italy of poetry and poets-which paradoxically the renewed theory of divine inspiration accompanied (see De Genealogia Deorum Gentilium, XIV, 6 & 7)-and for the pornographic dimen­ sion, at least in the case of Boccaccio, see John Freccero, "The Fig Tree and the Laurel: Petrarch's Poetics," Diacritics, 5 (1975), 34-40; and Giuseppe Mazzotta, "The Decameron: The Marginality of Literature," UTQ, 42 (1972), 64-81. On the status of Latin, and the related question of vernacular translations, W. A. Pantin offers illuminating information in his lengthy study of "Religious Lit­ erature," in The English Church in the Fourteenth Century (Cambridge: Cam­ bridge Univ. Press, 1955), pp. 189-262; the number of translations from Latin religious works he cites and their popularity argue for the very increased demand in the fourteenth century. This demand continues into the fifteenth century, and, although old, H. S. Bennett's study of the Pastons and their books, in The Pastons and their England, 2nd edn. (1932; rpt. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1951), pp. no-13, is still informative. Perhaps the most outspoken evidence of the clamor for translation is the phenomenon of John Lydgate, whose thousands of lines of poetry much of the time are an accommodation to the taste for the moral vernacular; see Derek Pearsall, John Lydgate (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1970), esp. Chap. I. It was in such a period of intense translation activity that Chaucer earned the multiply significant title of "grant translateur." By depletion in the repetitiousness of romances, I do not mean to disagree with Kean who time and again lucidly demonstrates how Chaucer exploits both ME romances and ME lyrics to shape new poetic forms (see esp., II, 60-75; 87-88). Rather I would suggest that the new forms themselves indicate the depletion of traditions: Chaucer would not have used the romances as lumber to build new forms had he not for some reason(s) found the traditions wanting. On this vexed and complicated question see also J. A. Burrow, Ricardian Poetry (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1971), pp. n-46, esp. 18 and 28-29; and Derek Brewer, "The Relationship of Chaucer to the English and European Traditions," in Chaucer and Chaucerians (London: Nelson, 1970), pp. 1-38, esp. 2-13. Out of the vast literature on later ME genres, see further Dorothy Everett, "The Alliterative Revival," in Essays on Middle English Literature, ed. P. M. Kean (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1955), pp. 46--g6; John Fisher, /ohn Gower (New York: New York Univ. Press, 1964), esp. 135-204; Maurice Keen, The Outlaws of Medieval Legend (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961), and the popular poems collected in Twenty-six Political and Other Poems, ed. J. Kail, from MSS. Ox. Digby 102 and Douce 322, EETS, OS, 124, Part I (London: Kegan Paul, 1904); G. R. Owst, Literature and Pulpit in Medieval England, 2nd edn. (1933; rpt. Oxford: Blackwell, 1961); H. E. Allen, English W1·itings of Richard Rolle (1931; rpt. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963); The Travels of John Mandeville, ed. A. W. Pollard (1900; rpt. New York: Dover, 1964); and Christian K. Zacher, Curiosity and Pilgrimage: The Literature of Discovery in Fourteenth-Century England (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1976). 60 POETICS OF TRANSLATION almost had to adapt and modify to make his own unique forms. The most important motivation for Chaucer's attitude, however, differs from these two, though it is doubtful he would have felt it had it not been for these basic stimuli. This motivation is the nature of language itself. It is the nature of language to be an inheritance. It is always handed down and is therefore always of the past. It is thick with the accretions of history. It is the nature of translation that in the act, at every word, the poet is made aware of the differences between the "auctor's" language and his own. The history of "trouthe" differs from the history of "veritas." Hence the translator, and especially the translator who is also the poet, is painfully conscious of the arbitrariness of signs, of the muta­ bility of conventions. The speculative or modistic grammarians of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries had long been heightening this con­ sciousness.8 Largely due to their influence, "educated opinion in the Middle Ages generally regarded words as arbitrary or conventional signs."9 As such, every word, to cite the grammarians, "potest significare oppositum suae significationis," and men agree on ("concordare" or "convenire") the significances of words.10 Establish your convention: establish your significance. If the history of a word is rich enough­ "sex," "God," "truth," for example-it can be made to bear ("impositio ad placitum," according to the grammarians) even two or more opposing meanings. Language is not a stable given; it is a mutable inheritance. One practical result of this state of affairs is the discontinuity between language and life. At one extreme, the words "I hurt" are utterly useless 8 On the modistic grammarians see the fundamental studies of Jan Pinborg, Die Entwicklung der Sprachtheorie im Mittelalter, Beitrage zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, 42, 2 (Miinster/Westf. : Aschendorf, 1967) and Logik und Semantik im Mittelalter, Ein Uberblick (Stuttgart: Bad Canstatt, 1972). See also Thomas of Erfurt, Grammatica Speculativa, ed. with trans. and comm.by G.L.Bursill-Hall (London: Longman, 1972), esp. the intro­ duction; and R.W.Hunt, "Studies in Priscian in the eleventh and twelfth cen­ turies," Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 1/2 (1941-43), 194-231; (1950), 1-56. 9 J. A. Burrow, A Reading of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), p.188. 10 See the gloss Admirantes on Alexandre de Villedieu's Doctrinale in MS. Bibliotheque de la ville d'Orleans, M252, fol.174, as quoted in Charles Thurot, Extraits de divers manuscrits Latins pour servir a l'histoire des doctrines gram­ maticales au moyen age (Paris, 1869; rpt.Frankfurt: Minerva, 1964), p.468; see also, Johannes Aurifaber, Determinatio de modis significandi, section III, ad resp. 10, as transcribed by Pinborg in Die Entwicklung ..., p. 228. 6i STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER against the bubo in the lymph gland swelling to death. The vanity of language at such a moment Chaucer witnessed as a boy in 1349. At an­ other extreme, the words "hoc est corpus meum" point to a communion so profoundly desirable that against their mystery mere life seems flat and toneless, and one would rather dwell in the ceremony forever. At either extreme, man's divorce from the generalizing, fictionalizing and eternal­ izing power of language is pronounced. Language is at once arbitrary and the phenomenon of the ideal. It is at once temporal and (apparently) eternal. This paradox and the discontinuity it entails are nowhere more in evidence than in literature which, after mathematics, is the most con­ ventional of convention-dependent sign systems. Medieval poetry, to my knowledge, begins to explore this paradox and this discontinuity at least as early as the twelfth-century Latin lyric. The lyric, "lam ver oritur," for example, exposes the distance between language and life: r. lam ver oritur veris £lore variata tellus redimitur. excitat in gaudium cor concentus avium voce relativa Iovem salutantium. in his philomena Tereum reiterat et iam fatum antiquatum querule retractat. sed dum fatis obicit ltym perditum, merula choraulica carmma coaptat. 2. Istis insultantibus cantibus fatalibus in choree speciem res reciprocatur.11 POETICS OF TRANSLATION The verbs-"redimitur," "reiterat," "retractat," "reciprocatur"-per­ sistently suggest Philomena's self-reification in the language of song. Experience irretrievably lost through fatal mutation is replaced and evi­ dently even redeemed in the infinite repeatability of song which preserves desire-"in choree speciem/res reciprocatur." Vox12 precisely replaces res. And yet this is all it can do. Song cannot retrieve experience: infinite repeatability can only repeat. Unlike the spring in which it bursts forth, song cannot die (in winter) to be born again new and different. Only the singer can mutate the song, but the arrival of the singer instantly removes the song into the mortality of his voice. Because of his voice the song becomes the wedge between the singer and his desire; it becomes the presence of an absence. And the presence (vox) of the song always threatens to reduce the singer to a Philomena: a vox in place of a res.13 11 Carmina Burana, ed. Otto Schumann (Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1941), 1/2, "Die Liebeslieder," 5-7, No. 58. 12 Normally, medieval grammarians reserve vox to designate the physical voice which is the material of a word; an actual word-that is, a sound with a sig­ nificance-they designate by various terms such as sermo, dictio, or very strictly speaking, pars orationis. After considerable deliberation, I have run counter to their practice by choosing vox to designate a sound with significance; my purpose in this is the desire to emphasize the presence of the actual human voice in the production of any significance. It is the self's physical voice along with the self's desired significance which often consumes the res. On the various terms, consult the early pages of Pinborg's Die Entwicklung . .. and Bursill-Hall's glossary of terms. 13 Perhaps the purest example of this threat a medieval poet confronted was "fama." Through the words of poetry a poet's "fame" endured forever; indeed, the man disappeared-he had to die anyway-and he became his words. Ovid, for example,welcomed this condition: "ergo cum silices, cum dens patientia aratri depereant aevo, carmina morte carent. pascitur in vivis Livor-post fata quiescit, cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos. ergo etiam cum me supremus adederit ignis, vivam, parsque mei multa superstes erit. Amores I. 15. 31-32 and 3g-42 (my emphasis) In various ways, which criticism is obliged to illumine, Chaucer explores the death­ lessness of song throughout his poetry. The central question perhaps is whether or not he subscribed to Ovid's faith. Cf., e.g., HF, 1868-82. I arrived at the interpretation of "lam ver oritur" offered here while studying the Carmina Burana with Professor Winthrop Wetherbee, of Cornell University; STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER Because language, and especially the language of literature, is dis­ continuous with life, Chaucer's attitude to traditions and the conventions his poetry inherited was that of a translator. He violated the authority of conventions that confused vox and res so that, in regard to the con­ ventions of preaching, for example, the voice of a Pardoner, which was the only reality behind his relics, could be exposed as a hideous fiction which hated even itself. Chaucer mutated the prior intentions of a text wherever the idealism of a story threatened to consume the sympathy mortals hunger for, so that, for example, the legend of Hugh of Lincoln is told by a voice obviously vain and selfish and therefore incapable of perceiving the horror of a pogrom: the voice betrays the brutal idealism consuming realities of mercy. Chaucer plowed under the old fields of poetry to prepare for the harvest of new science. For example, he parodies outrageously the conventions of the tail-rhymed romance and then op­ poses to them a "Iitel thyng in prose" (CT, VII, 937). But he does this around an intervening discourse of the hermeneutic difficulties of diver­ gent authorities. "... ye woot that every Evaungelist, That te!leth us the peyne of Jhesu Crist, Ne seith nat alle thyng as his felawe dooth; But nathelees hir sentence is al sooth, And alle acorden as in hire sentence, Al be ther in hir tellyng difference. For somme of hem seyn moore, and somme seyn lesse, Whan they his pitous passioun expresse1 meene of Mark, Mathew, Luc, and John­ But doutelees hir sentence is al oon. Therfore, lordynges alle, I yow biseche, If that yow thynke I varie as in my speche, As thus, though that I telle somwhat moore Of proverbes than ye han herd bifoore Comprehended in this lite! tretys heere, To enforce with th' effect of my mateere, his learning and suggestions were indispensable. Of course, responsibility for the interpretation is mine alone. For a different and provocative opinion on similar and related questions, in regard to vernacular French lyrics of the twelfth century, see Eugene Vance, "Love's Concordance: The Poetics of Desire and the Joy of the Text," Diacritics, 5 (1975), 40-52. POETICS OF TRANSLATION And though I nat the same wordes seye As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye Blamethme nat; for, as in my sentence, Shu! ye nowher fynden difference Fro the sentence of this tretys lyte After the which this murye tale I write." VII, 943-64 (my emphasis) Leaving aside for the moment the complex ironies operating here, and their relevance to The Tale of Melibee, consider only the warning con­ veyed to the reader. Once the reader has left the safety, if also the bore­ dom, of the conventions of poetry to enter the rational argumentation, if also the allegory, of prose discourse, he has crossed the margin between sensuous entertainment and the intellectual quest for truth. In the for­ mer, conventions are elastic enough to embrace "divergent authorities" (if one would even speak of such a concept in tail-rhymed romances): any singer can vary the basic matter of romance. In the latter, however, not only conventions but also words themselves come under scrutiny, and if authorities such as the Evangelists in the most sacred of all narra­ tives should diverge in their words, then divergence among lesser au­ thorities is likely not only to be frequent but also to provoke anxiety over the very possibility of conventionality and communication. Chaucer cer­ tainly felt such anxiety and that he did is the source of my argument with Payne who presumes too much conciliation between Chaucerian art and the traditions it inherited. The dialectic was more violent and the reconciliations, when and as achieved, more tenuous than Payne allows.14 The transition from the "drasty rymyng nat worth a toord" (VII, 930) to the "tretys lyte" of the Melibee in prose defines the un­ stable margin where Chaucer the poet spent most of his career: between the self-validating and self-perpetuating conventions of poetry and the intellectual quest for truth through rational discourse in prose. This margin is the locus of the Boethian problematic: Philosophy evicts the Muses but Boethius continues to sing.15 Chaucer ("Socrates plains de 14 R. 0. Payne,The Key of Remembrance: a Study of Chaucer's Poetics (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press,1963),p. 104. 15 See on this problematic the instructive remarks of Winthrop Wetherbee, Platonism and Poetry in the Twelfth Century (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1972), p. 77. STUDIES IN THE AGE OF CHAUCER philosophie") wrestled with this problematic all his career, and I do not presume to be able to say he solved it thus and so. Much more im­ portant than speculation about solutions is the recognition that the much celebrated Chaucerian irony toward character is also irony toward the possibility of poetry itself. Hence it is also, finally, irony toward the bur­ den of history each new generation bears. Chaucer missaid the past in order that it might have new meaning which would valorize the present and endure (though itself necessarily missaid) into the future. Only thus could he truthfully assert that his "sentence" did not differ from his original, for if he had merely repeated the prior "sentence," it would have manifestly differed because of its different, new context. Note that Chaucer says ".. . for, as in my sentence, Shu! ye nowher fynden difference Fro the sentence of thistretyslyte After the which this murye tale I write." VII, 961-64 In fact, we never read the "tretys lyte" but rather the "murye tale" which Chaucer wrote "after" or according to it. We read an utterly different thing, which pretends to inscribe its progenitor. But the illusion of identity masks the violence of difference.16 Poetry, too, must obey the order of time, which is change, and every new context is the violation of a pretext. The "thief" who translates is never at ease in the halls of history-read: the house of Fame. 16 For contrasting views, see Kean, II, 56ff. and Payne, pp. 73-75. Cf. also, Jacques Derrida, L'Ecriture et la difference (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1967), pp. 293-340,esp.311-12. 66 ...