PROF. PHIL. Would you like to learn physics? MR. JOUR. And what have physics to say for themselves? PROF. PHIL. Physics are that science which explains the principles of natural things and the properties of bodies, which discourses of the nature of the elements, of metals, minerals, stones, plants, and animals; which teaches us the cause of all the meteors, the rainbow, the _ignis fatuus_, comets, lightning, thunder, thunderbolts, rain, snow, hail, wind, and whirlwinds. MR. JOUR. There is too much hullaballoo in all that; too much riot and rumpus. PROF. PHIL. What would you have me teach you then? MR. JOUR. Teach me spelling. PROF. PHIL. Very good. MR. JOUR. Afterwards you will teach me the almanac, so that I may know when there is a moon, and when there isn't one. PROF. PHIL. Be it so. In order to give a right interpretation to your thought, and to treat this matter philosophically, we must begin, according to the order of things, with an exact knowledge of the nature of the letters, and the different way in which each is pronounced. And on this head I have to tell you that letters are divided into vowels, so called because they express the voice, and into consonants, so called because they are sounded with the vowels, and only mark the different articulations of the voice. There are five vowels or voices, _a, e, i, o, u_. [Footnote: It is scarcely necessary to say that this description, such as it is, only applies to the French vowels as they are pronounced in _pâte, thé, ici, côté, du_ respectively.] MR. JOUR. I understand all that. PROF. PHIL. The vowel _a_ is formed by opening the mouth very wide; _a_. MR. JOUR. _A, a_; yes. PROF. PHIL. The vowel _e_ is formed by drawing the lower jaw a little nearer to the upper; _a, e_. MR. JOUR. _A, e; a, e;_ to be sure. Ah! how beautiful that is! PROF. PHIL. And the vowel _i_ by bringing the jaws still closer to one another, and stretching the two corners of the mouth towards the ears; _a, e, i_. MR. JOUR. _A, e, i, i, i, i_. Quite true. Long live science! PROF. PHIL. The vowel _o_ is formed by opening the jaws, and drawing in the lips at the two corners, the upper and the lower;_ o_. MR. JOUR. _O, o_. Nothing can be more correct; _a, e, i, o, i, o_. It is admirable! _I, o, i, o_. PROF. PHIL. The opening of the mouth exactly makes a little circle, which resembles an _o_. MR. JOUR. _O, o, o_. You are right. _O_! Ah! what a fine thing it is to know something! PROF. PHIL. The vowel _u_ is formed by bringing the teeth near each other without entirely joining them, and thrusting out both the lips whilst also bringing them near together without quite joining them; _u_. MR. JOUR. _U, u_. There is nothing more true; _u_. PROF. PHIL. Your two lips lengthen as if you were pouting; so that, if you wish to make a grimace at anybody, and to laugh at him, you have only to _u_ him. MR. JOUR. _U, u_. It's true. Oh! that I had studied when I was younger, so as to know all this. PROF. PHIL. To-morrow we will speak of the other letters, which are the consonants. MR. JOUR. Is there anything as curious in them as in these? PROF. PHIL. Certainly. For instance, the consonant _d_ is pronounced by striking the tip of the tongue above the upper teeth; _da_. MR. JOUR. _Da, da_. [Footnote: Untranslatable. _Dada_ equals "cock-horse" in nursery language] Yes. Ah! what beautiful things, what beautiful things! PROF. PHIL. The _f_, by pressing the upper teeth upon the lower lip; _fa_. MR. JOUR. _Fa, fa_. 'Tis the truth. Ah! my father and my mother, how angry I feel with you! PROF. PHIL. And the _r_, by carrying the tip of the tongue up to the roof of the palate, so that, being grazed by the air which comes out with force, it yields to it, and, returning to the same place, causes a sort of tremour; _r, ra_. MR. JOUR. _R-r-ra; r-r-r-r-r-ra_. That's true. Ah! what a clever man you are, and what time I have lost. _R-r-ra_. PROF. PHIL. I will thoroughly explain all these curiosities to you. MR. JOUR. Pray do. And now I want to entrust you with a great secret. I am in love with a lady of quality, and I should be glad if you would help me to write something to her in a short letter which I mean to drop at her feet. PROF. PHIL. Very well. MR. JOUR. That will be gallant; will it not? PROF. PHIL. Undoubtedly. Is it verse you wish to write to her? MR. JOUR. Oh no; not verse. PROF. PHIL. You only wish for prose? MR. JOUR. No. I wish for neither verse nor prose. PROF. PHIL. It must be one or the other. MR. JOUR. Why? PROF. PHIL. Because, Sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse. MR. JOUR. There is nothing but prose or verse? PROF. PHIL. No, Sir. Whatever is not prose is verse; and whatever is not verse is prose. MR. JOUR. And when we speak, what is that, then? PROF. PHIL. Prose. MR. JOUR. What! When I say, "Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my night-cap," is that prose? PROF. PHIL. Yes, Sir. MR. JOUR. Upon my word, I have been speaking prose these forty years without being aware of it; and I am under the greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_; but I would have this worded in a genteel manner, and turned prettily. PROF. PHIL. Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart to ashes; that you suffer day and night for her tortures.... MR. JOUR. No, no, no; I don't want any of that. I simply wish for what I tell you. _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_. PROF. PHIL. Still, you might amplify the thing a little? MR. JOUR. No, I tell you, I will have nothing but those very words in the letter; but they must be put in a fashionable way, and arranged as they should be. Pray show me a little, so that I may see the different ways in which they can be put. PROF. PHIL. They may be put, first of all, as you have said, _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_; or else, _Of love die make me, fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes_; or, _Your beautiful eyes of love make me, fair Marchioness, die_; or, _Die of love your beautiful eyes, fair Marchioness, make me_; or else, _Me make your beautiful eyes die, fair Marchioness, of love_. MR. JOUR. But of all these ways, which is the best? PROF. PHIL. The one you said: _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_. MR. JOUR. Yet I have never studied, and I did all that right off at the first shot. I thank you with all my heart, and I beg of you to come to-morrow morning early. PROF. PHIL. I shall not fail.
In a further connection between the Petronius and M is their demise. Pertonius' forced suicide at a party reveals art imitating life. M collapsed in a coughing fit while performing a comedy for Louis XIV and actually hemorrhaged to death. In a final touch of comedic irony, M collapsed during the production of his comedy "The Hypochondriac."
1 comment:
Mon Dieu! First Joe Pesci, now Moliere! Thanks very much, I had forgotten about the hilarious lesson in vowels.
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