Sometimes I was almost tempted to substitute something of my own for what the publisher had written, but my conscience interposed; the awful words, Traduttore traditore, commenced ringing in my ears, and I asked myself whether I should be acting honourably towards the publisher, who had committed to me the delicate task of translating him into German; should I be acting honourably towards him, in making him speak in German in a manner different from that in which he expressed himself in English?
No, I could not reconcile such conduct with any principle of honour; by substituting something of my own in lieu of these mysterious passages of the publisher, I might be giving a fatal blow to his whole system of philosophy.

Besides, when translating into English, had I treated foreign authors in this manner?
Had I treated the minstrels of the Kaempe Viser in this manner ?--No.

Had I treated Ab Gwilym in this manner?
Even when translating his Ode to the Mist, in which he is misty enough, had I attempted to make Ab Gwilym less misty?
No; on referring to my translation, I found that Ab Gwilym in my hands was quite as misty as in his own.

Then, seeing that I had not ventured to take liberties with people who had never put themselves into my hands for the purpose of being rendered, how could I venture to substitute my own thoughts and ideas for the publisher's, who had put himself into my hands for that purpose?
Forbid it every proper feeling!--so I told the Germans, in the publisher's own way, the publisher's tale of an apple and a pear.
I at first felt much inclined to be of the publisher's opinion with respect to the theory of the pear.

After all, why should the earth be shaped like an apple, and not like a pear ?--it would certainly gain in appearance by being shaped like a pear.