SCENE VI.—PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY, MR. JOURDAIN, A SERVANT.
PROF. PHIL. (setting his collar in order). Now for our lesson.
MR. JOUR. Ah! Sir, how sorry I am for the blows they have given you.
PROF. PHIL. It is of no consequence. A philosopher knows how to receive things calmly, and I shall compose against them a satire, in the style of Juvenal, which will cut them up in proper fashion. Let us drop this subject. What do you wish to learn?
MR. JOUR. Everything I can, for I have the greatest desire in the world to be learned; and it vexes me more than I can tell that my father and mother did not make me learn thoroughly all the sciences when I was young.
PROF. PHIL. This is a praiseworthy feeling. Nam sine doctrina vita est quasi mortis imago. You understand this, and you have no doubt a knowledge of Latin?
MR. JOUR. Yes; but act as if I had none. Explain to me the meaning of it.
PROF. PHIL. The meaning of it is, that, without science, life is an image of death.
MR. JOUR. That Latin is quite right.
PROF. PHIL. Have you any principles, any rudiments of science?
MR. JOUR. Oh yes; I can read and write.
PROF. PHIL. With what would you like to begin? Shall I teach you logic?
MR. JOUR. And what may this logic be?
PROF. PHIL. It is that which teaches us the three operations of the mind.
MR. 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, &c.
MR. 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?
MR. JOUR. Moral philosophy?
PROF. PHIL. Yes.
MR. JOUR. What does it say, this moral philosophy?
PROF. PHIL. It treats of happiness, teaches men to moderate their passions, and….
MR. 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?
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.