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The Question of Latin
- GenresShort Stories
Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1886
3 people want to read
About the author
Guy de Maupassant
7,488 books3,048 followersHenri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was a popular 19th-century French writer. He is one of the fathers of the modern short story. A protege of Flaubert, Maupassant's short stories are characterized by their economy of style and their efficient effortless dénouement. He also wrote six short novels. A number of his stories often denote the futility of war and the innocent civilians who get crushed in it - many are set during the Franco-Prussian War of the 1870s.
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January 5, 2022
Guy de Maupassant's "The Question of Latin" is a question of should a Latin teacher teach or pursue love?
Story in short- A young student plays a trick on his Latin teacher.
"But his love for Latin did not leave him and harassed him like an unhealthy passion. He continued to read the poets, the prose writers, the historians, to interpret them and penetrate their meaning, to comment on them with a perseverance bordering on madness."
"One day, the idea came into his head to oblige all the students in his class to answer him in Latin only; and he persisted in this resolution until at last they were capable of sustaining an entire conversation with him just as they would in their mother tongue.
Now my father, allured by these successes, sent me as a day pupil to Robineau’s — or, as we called it, Robinetto or Robinettino’s and made me take special private lessons from Pere Piquedent at the rate of five francs per hour, out of which the usher got two francs and the principal three francs. I was then eighteen, and was in the philosophy class. These private lessons were given in a little room looking out on the street. It so happened that Pere Piquedent, instead of talking Latin to me, as he did when teaching publicly in the institution, kept telling me his troubles in French. Without relations, without friends, the poor man conceived an attachment to me, and poured out his misery to me. He had never for the last ten or fifteen years chatted confidentially with any one."
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌
"And I have nothing of my own, nothing except my trousers and my frock-coat, nothing, not even my mattress and my pillow! I have not four walls to shut myself up in, except when I come to give a lesson in this room. Do you see what this means — a man forced to spend his life without ever having the right, without ever finding the time, to shut himself up all alone, no matter where, to think, to reflect, to work, to dream? Ah! my dear boy, a key, the key of a door which one can lock — this is happiness, mark you, the only happiness!"
“I have no rest in life except in the hours spent with you. Don’t be afraid! you’ll lose nothing by that. I’ll make it up to you in the class-room by making you speak twice as much Latin as the others.”
"And each day a friendly intercourse was established between the working-women of the pavement and the idlers of the boarding school. Pere Piquedent was really a comical sight. He trembled at being noticed, for he might lose his position; and he made timid and ridiculous gestures, quite a theatrical display of love signals, to which the women responded with a regular fusillade of kisses."
“You would not believe it, Monsieur Piquedent, I met the little washerwoman! You know the one I mean, the woman who had the basket, and I spoke to her!” He asked, rather worried at my manner: “What did she say to you?” “She said to me — why, she said she thought you were very nice. The fact of the matter is, I believe, I believe, that she is a little in love with you.” I saw that he was growing pale. “She is laughing at me, of course. These things don’t happen at my age,” he replied. I said gravely: “How is that? You are all right.” As I felt that my trick had produced its effect on him, I did not press the matter. But every day I pretended that I had met the little laundress and that I had spoken to her about him, so that in the end he believed me, and sent her ardent and earnest kisses."
“She loves you, Monsieur Piquedent, and I believe her to be a decent girl. It is not right to lead her on and then abandon her.” He replied in a firm tone: “I hope I, too, am a decent man, my friend.” I confess I had at the time no plan. I was playing a practical joke a schoolboy joke, nothing more. I had been aware of the simplicity of the old usher, his innocence and his weakness. I amused myself without asking myself how it would turn out. I was eighteen, and I had been for a long time looked upon at the lycee as a sly practical joker."
"It was thus that these two silly creatures promised marriage to each other through the trick of a young scamp. But I did not believe that it was serious, nor, indeed, did they, perhaps."
“What business could we set up in? That would not do, for all I know is Latin!” She reflected in her turn, passing in review all her business ambitions. “You could not be a doctor?” “No, I have no diploma.” “Or a chemist?” “No more than the other.” She uttered a cry of joy. She had discovered it. “Then we’ll buy a grocer’s shop! Oh! what luck! we’ll buy a grocer’s shop. Not on a big scale, of course; with five thousand francs one does not go far.” He was shocked at the suggestion. “No, I can’t be a grocer. I am — I am — too well known: I only know Latin, that is all I know.” But she poured a glass of champagne down his throat. He drank it and was silent."
"Six months later I took my degree of Bachelor of Arts. Then I went to study law in Paris, and did not return to my native town till two years later. At the corner of the Rue de Serpent a shop caught my eye. Over the door were the words: “Colonial Products — Piquedent”; then underneath, so as to enlighten the most ignorant: “Grocery.” I exclaimed: “‘Quantum mutatus ab illo!’” Piquedent raised his head, left his female customer, and rushed toward me with outstretched hands. “Ah! my young friend, my young friend, here you are! What luck! what luck!” A beautiful woman, very plump, abruptly left the cashier’s desk and flung herself on my breast. I had some difficulty in recognizing her, she had grown so stout. I asked: “So then you’re doing well?” Piquedent had gone back to weigh the groceries. “Oh! very well, very well, very well. I have made three thousand francs clear this year!” “And what about Latin, Monsieur Piquedent?” “Oh, good heavens! Latin, Latin, Latin — you see it does not keep the pot boiling!”
The student finds his teacher not too happy with his profession and a working girl begins to notice them with a friendly exchange. The student tells both the teacher and girl separately their professed love for each other though it was not proclaimed. He has them speaking marriage on a date which after the school finds out and fires the teacher. Years later the student a lawyer now sees his teacher married to the girl and prospering in their shop.
Story in short- A young student plays a trick on his Latin teacher.
"But his love for Latin did not leave him and harassed him like an unhealthy passion. He continued to read the poets, the prose writers, the historians, to interpret them and penetrate their meaning, to comment on them with a perseverance bordering on madness."
"One day, the idea came into his head to oblige all the students in his class to answer him in Latin only; and he persisted in this resolution until at last they were capable of sustaining an entire conversation with him just as they would in their mother tongue.
Now my father, allured by these successes, sent me as a day pupil to Robineau’s — or, as we called it, Robinetto or Robinettino’s and made me take special private lessons from Pere Piquedent at the rate of five francs per hour, out of which the usher got two francs and the principal three francs. I was then eighteen, and was in the philosophy class. These private lessons were given in a little room looking out on the street. It so happened that Pere Piquedent, instead of talking Latin to me, as he did when teaching publicly in the institution, kept telling me his troubles in French. Without relations, without friends, the poor man conceived an attachment to me, and poured out his misery to me. He had never for the last ten or fifteen years chatted confidentially with any one."
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌
"And I have nothing of my own, nothing except my trousers and my frock-coat, nothing, not even my mattress and my pillow! I have not four walls to shut myself up in, except when I come to give a lesson in this room. Do you see what this means — a man forced to spend his life without ever having the right, without ever finding the time, to shut himself up all alone, no matter where, to think, to reflect, to work, to dream? Ah! my dear boy, a key, the key of a door which one can lock — this is happiness, mark you, the only happiness!"
“I have no rest in life except in the hours spent with you. Don’t be afraid! you’ll lose nothing by that. I’ll make it up to you in the class-room by making you speak twice as much Latin as the others.”
"And each day a friendly intercourse was established between the working-women of the pavement and the idlers of the boarding school. Pere Piquedent was really a comical sight. He trembled at being noticed, for he might lose his position; and he made timid and ridiculous gestures, quite a theatrical display of love signals, to which the women responded with a regular fusillade of kisses."
“You would not believe it, Monsieur Piquedent, I met the little washerwoman! You know the one I mean, the woman who had the basket, and I spoke to her!” He asked, rather worried at my manner: “What did she say to you?” “She said to me — why, she said she thought you were very nice. The fact of the matter is, I believe, I believe, that she is a little in love with you.” I saw that he was growing pale. “She is laughing at me, of course. These things don’t happen at my age,” he replied. I said gravely: “How is that? You are all right.” As I felt that my trick had produced its effect on him, I did not press the matter. But every day I pretended that I had met the little laundress and that I had spoken to her about him, so that in the end he believed me, and sent her ardent and earnest kisses."
“She loves you, Monsieur Piquedent, and I believe her to be a decent girl. It is not right to lead her on and then abandon her.” He replied in a firm tone: “I hope I, too, am a decent man, my friend.” I confess I had at the time no plan. I was playing a practical joke a schoolboy joke, nothing more. I had been aware of the simplicity of the old usher, his innocence and his weakness. I amused myself without asking myself how it would turn out. I was eighteen, and I had been for a long time looked upon at the lycee as a sly practical joker."
"It was thus that these two silly creatures promised marriage to each other through the trick of a young scamp. But I did not believe that it was serious, nor, indeed, did they, perhaps."
“What business could we set up in? That would not do, for all I know is Latin!” She reflected in her turn, passing in review all her business ambitions. “You could not be a doctor?” “No, I have no diploma.” “Or a chemist?” “No more than the other.” She uttered a cry of joy. She had discovered it. “Then we’ll buy a grocer’s shop! Oh! what luck! we’ll buy a grocer’s shop. Not on a big scale, of course; with five thousand francs one does not go far.” He was shocked at the suggestion. “No, I can’t be a grocer. I am — I am — too well known: I only know Latin, that is all I know.” But she poured a glass of champagne down his throat. He drank it and was silent."
"Six months later I took my degree of Bachelor of Arts. Then I went to study law in Paris, and did not return to my native town till two years later. At the corner of the Rue de Serpent a shop caught my eye. Over the door were the words: “Colonial Products — Piquedent”; then underneath, so as to enlighten the most ignorant: “Grocery.” I exclaimed: “‘Quantum mutatus ab illo!’” Piquedent raised his head, left his female customer, and rushed toward me with outstretched hands. “Ah! my young friend, my young friend, here you are! What luck! what luck!” A beautiful woman, very plump, abruptly left the cashier’s desk and flung herself on my breast. I had some difficulty in recognizing her, she had grown so stout. I asked: “So then you’re doing well?” Piquedent had gone back to weigh the groceries. “Oh! very well, very well, very well. I have made three thousand francs clear this year!” “And what about Latin, Monsieur Piquedent?” “Oh, good heavens! Latin, Latin, Latin — you see it does not keep the pot boiling!”
The student finds his teacher not too happy with his profession and a working girl begins to notice them with a friendly exchange. The student tells both the teacher and girl separately their professed love for each other though it was not proclaimed. He has them speaking marriage on a date which after the school finds out and fires the teacher. Years later the student a lawyer now sees his teacher married to the girl and prospering in their shop.
August 30, 2023
3.5⭐
AKA: This Business of Latin, La question du Latin
The narrator remembers his Latin classes with Monsieur Piquedent, an usher who was an expert in the language of Latin and who was famous for the remarkable achievements of his boarding-school pupils in the local and national Latin competitions. The narrator had had lessons from the narrator in his flat in town, and they had become friendly, the usher finally revealing his distress at being isolated and penniless and incapable of doing anything but teach Latin. The narrator, already at eighteen a fairly gay bachelor, uses his charm and wits to find another future for the tutor.
AKA: This Business of Latin, La question du Latin
The narrator remembers his Latin classes with Monsieur Piquedent, an usher who was an expert in the language of Latin and who was famous for the remarkable achievements of his boarding-school pupils in the local and national Latin competitions. The narrator had had lessons from the narrator in his flat in town, and they had become friendly, the usher finally revealing his distress at being isolated and penniless and incapable of doing anything but teach Latin. The narrator, already at eighteen a fairly gay bachelor, uses his charm and wits to find another future for the tutor.
June 16, 2021
Strains credibility, or rather, credulity.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews