French Classics Part 8

_M. Jour._ And what may this logic be?

_Prof. Phil._ It is that which teaches us the three operations of the mind.

_M. Jour._ What are they--these three operations of the mind?

_Prof. Phil._ The first, the second, and the third. The first is to conceive well by means of universals; the second, to judge well by means of categories; and the third, to draw a conclusion aright by means of the figures Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton, etc.

_M. Jour._ Pooh! what repulsive words! This logic does not by any means suit me. Teach me something more enlivening.

_Prof. Phil._ Will you learn moral philosophy?

_M. Jour._ Moral philosophy?

_Prof. Phil._ Yes.

_M. Jour._ What does it say, this moral philosophy?

_Prof. Phil._ It treats of happiness, teaches men to moderate their pa.s.sions, and--

_M. Jour._ No, none of that. I am devilishly hot-tempered, and, morality or no morality, I like to give full vent to my anger whenever I have a mind to it.

_Prof. Phil._ Would you like to learn physics?

_M. Jour._ And what have physics to say for themselves?

_Prof. Phil._ Physics is 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, and whirlwinds.

_M. Jour._ There is too much hullaballoo in all that, too much riot and rumpus.

_Prof. Phil._ Very good.

_M. Jour._ And now I want to intrust 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.

_M. Jour._ That will be gallant, will it not?

_Prof. Phil._ Undoubtedly. Is it verse you wish to write to her?

_M. Jour._ Oh, no! not verse.

_Prof. Phil._ You only wish prose?

_M. Jour._ No. I wish for neither verse nor prose.

_Prof. Phil._ It must be one or the other.

_M. Jour._ Why?

_Prof. Phil._ Because, sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse.

_M. 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.

_M. Jour._ And when we speak, what is that, then?

_Prof. Phil._ Prose.

_M. Jour._ What! when I say, "Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my nightcap," is that prose?

_Prof. Phil._ Yes, sir.

_M. 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 gallant manner, turned genteelly.

_Prof. Phil._ Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart to ashes; that you suffer day and night for her the torments of a--

_M. Jour._ No, no, no, I don't wish any of that. I simply wish what I tell you--"Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love."

_Prof. Phil._ Still, you might amplify the thing a little.

_M. Jour._ No, I tell you, I will have nothing but these 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."

_M. 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."

_M. Jour._ Yet I have never studied, and I did all right off at the first shot.

The "Bourgeois Gentilhomme" is a very amusing comedy throughout.

From "Les Femmes Savantes" ("The Learned Women")--"The Blue-Stockings,"

we might perhaps freely render the t.i.tle--we present one scene to indicate the nature of the comedy. There had grown to be a fashion in Paris, among certain women high in social rank, of pretending to the distinction of skill in literary criticism, and of proficiency in science. It was the Hotel de Rambouillet reduced to absurdity. That fashionable affectation Moliere made the subject of his comedy, "The Learned Women."

In the following extracts, Moliere satirizes, under the name of Trissotin, a contemporary writer, one Cotin. The poem which Trissotin reads, for the learned women to criticise and admire, is an actual production of this gentleman. Imagine the domestic _coterie_ a.s.sembled, and Trissotin, the poet, their guest. He is present, prepared to regale them with what he calls his sonnet. We need to explain that the original poem is thus inscribed: "To Mademoiselle de Longueville, now d.u.c.h.ess of Namur, on her Quartan Fever." The conceit of the sonneteer is that the fever is an enemy luxuriously lodged in the lovely person of its victim, and there insidiously plotting against her life:

_Trissotin._ Sonnet to the Princess Urania on her Fever.

Your prudence sure is fast asleep, That thus luxuriously you keep And lodge magnificently so Your very hardest-hearted foe.

_Belise._ Ah! what a pretty beginning!

_Armande._ What a charming turn it has!

_Philaminte._ He alone possesses the talent of making easy verses.