gloom, what a somber and pervading mystery, that word
sheds all over the whole Wallachian tragedy.
That is the charm of the thing, that is the delight
of it. This is where you begin, this is where
you revel. You can guess and guess, and have
all the fun you like; you need not be afraid there
will be an end to it; none is possible, for no amount
of guessing will ever furnish you a meaning for that
word that you can be sure is the right one. All
the other words give you hints, by their form, their
sound, or their spelling—this one doesn’t,
this one throws out no hints, this one keeps its secret.
If there is even the slightest slight shadow of a
hint anywhere, it lies in the very meagerly suggestive
fact that “spalleggiato” carries our word
“egg” in its stomach. Well, make
the most out of it, and then where are you at?
You conjecture that the spectator which was smoking
in spite of the prohibition and become reprohibited
by the guardians, was “egged on” by his
friends, and that was owing to that evil influence
that he initiated the revolveration in theater that
has galloped under the sea and come crashing through
the European press without exciting anybody but me.
But are you sure, are you dead sure, that that was
the way of it? No. Then the uncertainty
remains, the mystery abides, and with it the charm.
Guess again.
If I had a phrase-book of a really satisfactory sort
I would study it, and not give all my free time to
undictionarial readings, but there is no such work
on the market. The existing phrase-books are
inadequate. They are well enough as far as they
go, but when you fall down and skin your leg they
don’t tell you what to say.
ITALIAN WITH GRAMMAR
I found that a person of large intelligence could
read this beautiful language with considerable facility
without a dictionary, but I presently found that to
such a parson a grammar could be of use at times.
It is because, if he does not know the WERE’S
and the WAS’S and the MAYBE’S and the
has-BEENS’S apart, confusions and uncertainties
can arise. He can get the idea that a thing is
going to happen next week when the truth is that it
has already happened week before last. Even more
previously, sometimes. Examination and inquiry
showed me that the adjectives and such things were
frank and fair-minded and straightforward, and did
not shuffle; it was the Verb that mixed the hands,
it was the Verb that lacked stability, it was the Verb
that had no permanent opinion about anything, it was
the Verb that was always dodging the issue and putting
out the light and making all the trouble.
Further examination, further inquiry, further reflection,
confirmed this judgment, and established beyond peradventure
the fact that the Verb was the storm-center.
This discovery made plain the right and wise course
to pursue in order to acquire certainty and exactness
in understanding the statements which the newspaper
was daily endeavoring to convey to me: I must
catch a Verb and tame it. I must find out its
ways, I must spot its eccentricities, I must penetrate
its disguises, I must intelligently foresee and forecast
at least the commoner of the dodges it was likely to
try upon a stranger in given circumstances, I must
get in on its main shifts and head them off, I must
learn its game and play the limit.
Copyrights
The 30,000 Dollar Bequest and Other Stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.