A note on what follows. This foreword explains choices made in French. Each French rendering is given as it stands, with an English gloss, so that you will recognise it in the verses.
A. The Bismillah and the translation of Ar-Rahmân (الرحمٰن)
According to Ibn Manzûr’s Lisân al-’Arab, ar-Rahim (الرحيم) denotes that which surrounds the child among the organs of reproduction, from the time it is a drop of sperm until it becomes a formed creature. Al-Jawharî’s As-Sihâh adds that the word, denoting first the womb of a woman, comes also to mean kinship, and that ar-Rahmân (الرحمٰن) and ar-Rahîm (الرحيم) are both drawn from that same root, ar-Rahma (الرحمة).
I chose to render the Bismillah as “Au nom de Dieu, le Plein de grâce, le Très Miséricordieux”: in the name of God, the Most Graceful, the Most Merciful. Ar-Rahma (الرحمة), in Arabic, can perfectly well be rendered by the French grâce. It avoids using miséricorde twice in the same phrase. Arabic is built on roots with many derived forms, and takes the repetition of a root in its stride; French grows heavy the moment a word returns. And grâce betrays nothing of Rahma — quite the contrary. It makes the translation more natural.
B. God (الله, Allah)
I chose to translate the term “Allah” as “Dieu”, God, consistently throughout the text. I made this choice because I disapprove of transliterating the term into French: it suggests that the “god” of Arabic, as a language, would be the “god” of the Arabs, as a people. Yet God is confined neither to a language nor to a people, and the expression of His being and His majesty cannot be the monopoly of any one language or people — every one of us is His creature and His servant. Moreover, using a faulty pronunciation of the Arabic word “الله” in a language where the “h” that transcribes it stays silent honours neither the Arabic language nor the sense of the word itself. God, glorified be He, cannot be the object of a tribal appropriation, whether European or Arab. I therefore use the word “Dieu”, which is its most accurate rendering in French. I could have chosen the more literal “Le Dieu”, The God, but that is heavier in French; I gave preference to equivalence and usage over literal translation, a rule I follow throughout my work.
C. Lord, master, sovereign (رب)
This word will not go into a single French term. I translate it according to what the context brings forward.
The word becomes “Seigneur”, lord, where it designates God in a relation of majesty: this is the commonest case, as at 2.21, where men are called upon to worship their Lord.
It becomes “Maître”, master, where the relation is one of service. At 12.50 the two uses follow one another within a single sentence: Joseph speaks of the messenger's master, who is a man, and then of his Lord. And at 3.51 Jesus says of God that He is “mon Maître et le vôtre”, my Master and yours, in a verse that calls for worship.
It becomes “Souverain”, sovereign, where authority outweighs relation. At 7.121 the sorcerers declare their faith in the Sovereign of the worlds at the very moment they defy Pharaoh: the word sets one sovereignty against another.
The phrase رب العالمين itself takes more than one of these renderings, according to the movement of the passage.
D. Istawâ (استوى)
The primary sense of the root s-w-y (س و ي) is evenness and levelling: sawâ' (سواء), that which is equal, and sawwâ (سوّى), to make even, to complete a form. Istawâ derives from it and says the state of what is upright, accomplished, come to its full measure. Verse 2.29 uses both verbs in succession: God istawâ toward the heaven, then sawwâ seven heavens.
Many French translations render this verb as “s’établir”, to settle. I chose “se dresser”, to rise up, where God is the subject, so as to keep out all anthropomorphism: “s’établir” implies a seat and a posture, whereas “se dresser” says a direction rather than an attitude.
Followed by 'alâ (على), the verb says establishment upon something: “il s’est dressé sur le trône” (7.54, 10.3, 13.2, 20.5, 25.59, 32.4, 57.4), “vous serez installés dans l’arche” (23.28).
Followed by ilâ (إلى), it says movement toward something — the lexicographers gloss it by qasada (قصد), to head for: “il s’est tourné vers le ciel” (2.29, 41.11).
With no preposition, it says the accomplished form: Moses “devint homme posé” on reaching his maturity (28.14), and the angel “se dressa” (53.6). Two uses say immobilisation: the ark that “se posa” upon the Judi (11.44), and the stalk that “s’affermit” on its stem (48.29).
E. Recitation (القرآن, al-Qur’ân)
The primary sense of the root qara’a (قرأ), according to Ibn al-Athîr and Ibn Manzûr, is gathering, bringing together. From this sense derives that of reading aloud: ar-Râghib al-Isfahânî defines qirâ’a (قراءة) as the joining of letters and words into an ordered recitation. The word Qur’ân carries this same sense of gathering: according to az-Zajjâj, it is so named because it brings the surahs together into a single book. Built as it is on the pattern fu’lân (فُعلان), Qur’ân carries the sense of that which is recited.
I chose to render this term as “Récitation”, consistently throughout the text, even though “Coran” is perfectly usual in French. I made this choice so that the reader would grasp the sense of the word and not miss the essence of the text, which is first and above all a recitation, in the primary sense of that word.
F. The disjointed letters (الحروف المقطّعة)
Twenty-nine surahs open on a sequence of isolated letters — alif, lam, mim; alif, lam, ra; ha, mim and others. Their meaning is not established: commentators have proposed many interpretations, none prevails, and nothing goes back to the Prophet. I therefore say nothing of them in the translation, in keeping with the rule I have set myself.
I render them by their usual transliteration, followed by the initials in parentheses: Alif, Lam, Mim (A, L, M); Ha, Mim (H, M).
The ’Ayn is an exception. French has no letter for this consonant, and I therefore write it out in full even inside the parentheses: Kaf, Ha, Ya, ’Ayn, Sad (K, H, Y, ’Ayn, S).
Ta-Ha and Ya-Sin keep their hyphen, these two sequences also serving as the names of their surahs.
Where a single letter opens a verse that continues — sad, qaf, noun — it appears without parentheses: Sad, par la Récitation aux multiples rappels (38.1); Qaf, par la Récitation pleine de prestige (50.1); Noun. Par le calame et par ce qu’ils écrivent (68.1).
G. The titles of the surahs
Each surah carries its number, then its name in transliteration, then the translation of that name in parentheses: 2. Al-Baqara (La Vache) — Al-Baqara meaning the cow.
Six surahs have no parentheses, their names not being translatable: Hud, Luqman and Saba, which are proper names; Ta-Ha, Ya-Sin and Sad, which are letters.
H. Names of the prophets and messengers of God
I chose to give the names of the prophets and messengers of God in their French form wherever an attested equivalent exists: Jethro for Chuaïb, Moïse for Musa, Lot for Lut, Aaron for Harun. The last two are more a matter of spelling, the forms being so close.
Where a name has no biblical equivalent, I keep to the conventional transliteration: Salih for صالح, Hud for هود.
At the first occurrence of a name within a surah, the French transliteration is given first, followed by the latinised name in parentheses; the latinised name alone is used thereafter. The best-known prophets are an exception. Abraham, Moïse or Jésus appear directly in their Latin form, the transliteration adding nothing and weighing the reading down.
Some names are more allusive: Zul-Qarnaïn (ذو القرنين), Zul-Nun (ذو النون), and others such as “les gens de la caverne” (أهل الكهف), the people of the cave. I have simply translated their meaning, with no further comment. I set myself the rule never to introduce commentary into the translation. Many French translations do the opposite and load the text with exegetical readings: they often make it almost unreadable, and impose a doctrinal view upon it.
I. Faith (الإيمان, al-Îmân) and denial (الكفر, al-Kufr)
The primary sense of the root a-m-n (أ م ن), according to the lexicographers, is the repose of the heart, the quieting of the soul and the vanishing of fear. From this root derive al-amn (الأمن), security; al-amâna (الأمانة), that which is entrusted to a trustworthy person; and al-îmân (الإيمان), faith — literally, the act of placing someone in safety, of granting them one’s trust.
On this etymological basis, I chose to render alladhîna âmanû (الذين آمنوا) as “ceux qui se sont confiés” — those who have entrusted themselves. The Arabic âmana (آمن) never carries the notion of belief or the act of believing, contrary to every French translation of the Recitation I have consulted. In my vocabulary the notion of believing is reserved rather for the root dhanna (ظن), which I have rendered by that verb. At 24.57: “Ne crois pas que ceux qui ont renié soient libres d’agir à leur guise…” — do not suppose that those who have denied are free to act as they please. At 59.14: “Tu les crois unis alors que leurs cœurs sont divisés…” — you suppose them united while their hearts are divided. I am well aware that the French croire, to believe, can in certain cases imply an idea of trust, as in believing what someone says; but in the religious field that sense is very marginal, if not absent: in French, belief means accepting a thing one cannot prove, and that sense prevails.
The derivatives of this root do not all receive the same rendering. Besides “ceux qui se sont confiés”, I use “les gens de foi”, the people of faith, for the noun al-mu'minûn (المؤمنون), the believers, and sometimes “ceux qui ont eu la foi”, those who have had faith, as at 2.25 and 2.82. The choice follows the context and the balance of the sentence, the root allowing all three.
The primary sense of the root k-f-r (ك ف ر), according to the lexicographers, is covering, concealing a thing entirely — the ploughman is called kâfir (كافر) because he casts the seed into the earth and covers it over. The kâfir, in religion, is the one who covers over and conceals the proofs of faith, not one whose mind merely lacks them. Its counterpart alladhîna kafarû (الذين كفروا), with all its variants, has therefore been rendered here as “ceux qui ont renié”, those who have denied, so as to convey the Arabic sense faithfully rather than an idea founded on cautious scepticism. The Arabic bears on the denial of a fact more than on an unwillingness to believe it. That is the whole difference with the Christian notions of belief and unbelief, used in every translation of the Recitation known to me.
J. Devotion and Contribution (الصلاة, aṣ-Ṣalât ; الزكاة, az-Zakât)
Aṣ-Ṣalât: the primary sense of the word, according to the lexicographers, is anatomical — the two bones on either side of the base of the spine. In the vocabulary of horsemanship, the same root gives the idea of the second runner following hard on the first. The verb sallâ (صلّى), used in pre-Islamic poetry, means to invoke, to make a supplication. Az-Zakât: according to Ibn al-Athîr and Ibn Manzûr, the primary sense brings together growth, purification and blessing — the verb zakâ (زكا) meaning to grow or to prosper, a zakî (زكيّ) man being a pure man.
On the basis of these two etymologies, I chose to render aṣ-Ṣalât by “Dévotion”, rather than by “prière”, prayer. The term goes beyond the simple invocation that du’â (دعاء) renders elsewhere in the text, and calls for devoting oneself body and soul. I rendered az-Zakât by “Contribution”, rather than by “aumône”, alms, to underline its social and public character — by contrast with aṣ-Ṣadaqa (الصدقة), which I have rendered as “aumône”, for example at 63.10, 2.263 and 2.264. That same root (ص د ق) recurs elsewhere in the Recitation in the form aṣ-Ṣiddîq (الصدّيق), the Honest, applied to the prophet Joseph (12.46) and then to Mary, mother of the Messiah (5.75), and in the verb tasaddaq (تصدّق), to be charitable (12.88). This is no coincidence: within the language itself, the act of faith, truthfulness and the legal contribution — monetary or moral — are bound together.
The word aṣ-Ṣalât does not always mean Devotion. At 33.56 its subjects are God and His angels, so the movement runs downward rather than up, and I rendered it there as “se penchent” — they lean toward. The word is ordinary in French, and it calls up a scene from the Gospels that a French reader knows well, without straining the Arabic. The second occurrence in that same verse I rendered as “prier sur”, to invoke blessing upon.
K. Paradise and Hell (الجنة والنار)
Al-janna (الجنة) is the garden whose foliage hides the ground, from the root that also gives al-jinn (الجنّ). An-nâr (النار) is fire, in its plainest sense. The other names each say one aspect of Hell: as-sa’îr (السعير), the brazier that is fed; al-jahîm (الجحيم), the fire whose heat redoubles; saqar (سقر), which the Lisân al-’Arab traces to saqarat-hu ash-shams, the sun scorched him, while reporting from Abû Bakr al-Anbârî that it is also held to be a foreign name with no known etymology. As for jahannam (جهنم), the views diverge: it is brought close to bi’r jahannâm, the well of far-off bottom, which would make it an Arabic word; ar-Râghib al-Isfahânî, in the Mufradât, gives it as an arabised Persian jahannâm and reports from Abû Muslim the Hebrew form kahannâm; as-Suyûtî, in al-Muhadhdhab, sums up these positions.
On this etymological basis, these two words are often rendered literally, where the verse calls for it: “les jardins”, the gardens of Saba, to right and to left of the dwellings, which the flood turned into orchards of bitter fruit (34.15-16); “le feu”, the fire Moses saw in the night and from which he meant to bring back a brand (20.10). Everywhere else I use “le Paradis” and “l’Enfer”, the ordinary French words.
Names proper to the text are simply transliterated: Firdaws (فردوس), Salsabil (سلسبيل), Tasnim (تسنيم).
The names that designate Hell under another aspect each receive a rendering I keep throughout: “la Géhenne” for جهنم, “le brasier ardent” for سعير, “la Fournaise” for جحيم, “les flammes dévorantes” for سقر.
Where a name has no French equivalent, I give the Arabic form in parentheses at its first occurrence in each surah, as with Saqar at 54.48 and 74.26.
L. Fitna (فتنة), balâ (بلاء) and imtihân (امتحان)
Three distinct roots say trial. B-l-w (ب ل و) says first of all wearing out: al-Fayyûmî, in al-Misbâh al-munîr, glosses baliya ath-thawb (بلي الثوب), the garment has worn out — whence the trial that reveals what a thing is worth.
F-t-n (ف ت ن) says the testing of metal by fire: Ibn Fâris, in the Maqâyîs al-lugha, sees in it a sound root indicating trial and examination, and gives fatantu adh-dhahaba bi-n-nâr (فتنتُ الذهب بالنار), I tried the gold by fire; ar-Râghib al-Isfahânî, in the Mufradât, specifies that it is a matter of putting gold to the fire so that its quality may be told from its alloy.
M-h-n (م ح ن) stands apart: Ibn Fâris gives it as three words with no common principle, the first of which, al-mahn (المَحْن), is examination. The lexicons also report mahana al-adîm (محن الأديم), to stretch leather so as to widen it, a sense by which some have explained verse 49.3.
On this basis, al-balâ' (البلاء) is the trial God sends, favourable or painful — the word does not decide. Ar-Râghib says so expressly: God tries his servants now by goods, that they may give thanks, now by ills, that they may endure, so that the mihna (محنة), the affliction, and the minha (منحة), the gift, are both of them balâ' — and the second is the greater of the two.
I translate it according to the verse: “épreuve”, trial (8.17, 44.33), “tourment”, torment (2.49), “châtiment”, chastisement (7.141), “bienfait”, benefit, where the trial is a grace (14.6). The verb ibtalâ (ابتلى) is constant: it always becomes “éprouver”.
Al-fitna (الفتنة) designates both the trial undergone and the trouble sown, and so takes several renderings: “épreuve” fifteen times; “sédition” where the word aims at the dividing of the ranks (4.91, 8.39, 24.63, 33.14); “persécution” (2.193), “discorde” (3.7), “oppression et grand désordre” (8.73).
Imtahana (امتحن) has only two uses: God “a examiné les cœurs”, has examined the hearts (49.3), and one must “mettre à l’épreuve”, put to the test, the women who emigrate (60.10).
M. Those of the mother city (الأميون, al-ummiyyîn)
The term designates those who had received no Scripture before the revelation — as opposed to the people of the Book, Jews, Christians, Sabians and Mazdeans (22.17) — and appears at verses 2.78, 3.20, 3.75 and 62.2. This plural shares the root of an-Nabî al-Ummî (النّبيّ الأمّيّ; see the note on Bakka), which this translation renders as “le Prophète de la mère des cités”, the Prophet of the mother of cities, rather than as the majority reading, “the illiterate one”. The French “Primo-citadins” follows the same logic: those of the mother city, rather than those who can neither read nor write.
N. The Génies (الجن, al-Jinn)
The primary sense of the root j-n-n (ج ن ن) is that which is hidden from sight. Ibn Fâris, in the Maqâyîs al-lugha, gives it as a single root meaning veiling and being veiled, and draws from it al-janna (الجنة), the garden, because the tree covers with its foliage. From the same root come al-junûn (الجنون), reason veiled, and al-jinn (الجنّ), the beings withdrawn from view. The name says nothing of their nature, only that they escape the senses.
Following this etymology, I have translated this word as “génies” — génies meaning genies in English — a term perfectly usual in French, even if it is polysemous. Using this word avoids a transliteration that might lead the reader to suppose these are beings belonging to beliefs foreign to the text, rather than a category of creatures mentioned in the text itself.
O. The words for the human being (الإنسان، البشر)
Ibn Fâris, in his Sâhibî fî fiqh al-lugha, writes that the name of the jinn derives from al-ijtinân (الاجتنان), being veiled, and that al-ins (الإنس) comes from az-zuhûr (الظهور), appearing — ânastu ash-shay' (آنستُ الشيء), I caught sight of the thing. The two orders of creature are thus named by sight: the veiled and the apparent.
For al-insân (الإنسان), the lexicographers waver between al-uns (الأنس), familiarity, and an-nisyân (النسيان), forgetting, whence the saying reported from Ibn 'Abbâs that he was so named because he received a covenant and forgot it. The text thus uses several words for man, and I keep them apart.
Banû Adam (بني آدم) becomes “les fils d’Adam”, the sons of Adam, the address by which the text speaks to humankind as a whole.
Al-insân (الإنسان) designates man in his condition, weak and forgetful. The word carries both sexes in its very form; French has no neutral term and renders it with a masculine. I translate it now as “l’être humain”, the human being, now as “l’Homme”, Man, according to the balance of the sentence.
Al-ins (الإنس) becomes “les Hommes”, and appears almost always opposite the Génies, as the etymology announces, the two orders of creature the Recitation addresses.
Bashar (بشر) designates man in his bodily envelope: the word belongs to the family of bashara (البشرة), the skin. I render it as “Un être de chair”, a being of flesh, where it is this bodily condition that is at stake: je ne suis qu’un être de chair comme vous (18.110). “Un homme”, a man, where it designates an individual: nul homme ne m’a touchée (3.47).
The capital everywhere marks the kind, in the singular as in the plural: l’Homme, les Hommes, les Génies — including where God addresses it: Ô assemblée de Génies (6.128). In lower case the word designates an individual or the male sex: certains hommes parmi les Génies (72.6), un génie indomptable (27.39).
P. Satan and the demons (الشيطان، الشياطين)
The lexicographers differ over shaytân (شيطان), and the difference bears on the letter nûn. Some hold it to be radical and trace the word to shatana (شطن), to be far off: Ibn Fâris, in the Maqâyîs al-lugha, sees in it a constant root indicating distance, and al-Farâhîdî, in the Kitâb al-'Ayn, gives shaytân as a fay'âl form drawn from that verb. Others hold it to be augmentative and trace the word to shâta (شاط), to burn or to perish, whence a fa'lân form. Ibn Kathîr reports that both readings are admissible, the first being the sounder.
Iblîs (إبليس) comes from ablasa (أبلس), to despair: al-Farâhîdî writes that he was so named because he despaired of good, and Ibn Fâris places this root under the sense of despair. The name keeps its form in my translation, no attested French equivalent existing.
Ash-shaytân (الشيطان), with the article, becomes “Satan”: a proper name, that of the named adversary. Without the article and followed by a qualifier, the word designates any one of them, and I then render it as “un démon”, a demon: tout démon banni (15.17), tout démon rebelle (37.7).
The plural ash-shayâtîn (الشياطين) becomes “les démons”.
Q. Other names
The same rule as in H holds for figures who are neither prophets nor messengers: Jalut, whom French calls Goliath, along with Pharaon, Qarun and others.