I was curious so I asked GPT-4 to translate a bit of french literature, here it is, along with the official translation (I'll let you guess which is which)
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The tale I'm about to unfold commenced with a mysterious handwriting on an envelope. Within the pen strokes that outlined my name and the address of the Fossil Review, a publication I was associated with and where the letter had been forwarded from, there was an intriguing fusion of intensity and tenderness. As I speculated about the possible sender and message contents, a faint yet compelling sensation stirred within me, akin to a stone disrupting a tranquil frog pond. An unspoken realization surfaced, acknowledging the stagnancy of my life as of late. Upon opening the letter, I couldn't ascertain whether it felt like a revitalizing burst of fresh air or an unwelcome chilly breeze.
In the same brisk and flowing handwriting, the message was conveyed without pause:
Sir, I have perused your article on Mount Analogue. Up until now, I considered myself the sole believer in its existence. Presently, we are a pair; tomorrow, perhaps a group of ten or more, and then we can launch our expedition. It is essential that we establish contact promptly. Kindly phone me at one of the numbers provided below at your earliest convenience. I eagerly anticipate your call.
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My story begins with some unfamiliar handwriting on an envelope. On it was written only my name and the address of the Revue des Fossiles, to which I had contributed and from which the letter had been forwarded. Yet those few penstrokes conveyed a shifting blend of violence and gentleness. Beneath my curiosity about the possible sender and contents of the letter, a vague but powerful presentiment evoked in me the image of 'a pebble in the mill-pond'. And from deep within me, like a bubble, rose the admission that my life had become all too stagnant lately. Thus, when opened the letter, I could not be sure whether it affected me like a breath of fresh air or like a disagreeable draught. In what seemed a single movement, the same fluent
hand had written as follows:
Sir:
I have read your article on Mount Analogue. Until now I had believed myself the only person convinced of its existence. Today there are two of us, tomorrow there will be ten, perhaps more, and we can attempt the expedition. We must meet without delay. Telephone me as soon as you can at one of the numbers below. I shall be expecting your call.
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Le commencement de tout ce que je vais raconter, ce fut une écriture inconnue sur une enveloppe. Il y avait dans ces traits de plume qui traçaient mon nom et l’adresse de la Revue des Fossiles, à laquelle je collaborais et d’où l’on m’avait fait suivre la lettre, un mélange tournant de violence et de douceur. Derrière les questions que je me formulais sur l’expéditeur et le contenu possibles du message, un vague mais puissant pressentiment m’évoquait l’image du « pavé dans la mare aux grenouilles ». Et du fond l’aveu montait comme une bulle que ma vie était devenue bien stagnante, ces derniers temps. Aussi, quand j’ouvris la lettre, je n’aurais su distinguer si elle me faisait l’effet d’une vivifiante bouffée d’air frais ou d’un désagréable courant d’air.
La même écriture, rapide et bien liée, disait tout d’un trait :
Monsieur, j’ai lu votre article sur le Mont Analogue. Je m’étais cru le seul, jusqu’ici, à être convaincu de son existence. Aujourd’hui, nous sommes deux, demain nous serons dix, plus peut-être, et on pourra tenter l’expédition. Il faut que nous prenions contact le plus vite possible.
Téléphonez-moi dès que vous pourrez à un des numéros ci-dessous. Je vous attends.