The Question of Latin Page #3

"The Question of Latin" by Guy de Maupassant is a short story that explores themes of language, identity, and societal norms. Through the interactions of its characters, the story delves into the complexities of communication and the cultural implications of language use. Maupassant’s sharp wit and keen observations provide a humorous yet thought-provoking commentary on the importance of language in shaping human connections and societal expectations. The narrative captures the tensions between tradition and modernity, making it a reflective piece on the role of language in personal and collective identity.

• Short story

								


“In what business?”

“What do I know? We shall see. With five thousand francs we could do many things. You don't want me to go and live in your boarding school, do you?”

He had not looked forward so far as this, and he stammered in great perplexity:

“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.

We got back into the boat. The night was dark, very dark. I saw clearly, however, that he had caught her by the waist, and that they were hugging each other again and again.

It was a frightful catastrophe. Our escapade was discovered, with the result that Pere Piquedent was dismissed. And my father, in a fit of anger, sent me to finish my course of philosophy at Ribaudet's school.

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!”
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