by Mark Twain
ITALIAN WITH GRAMMAR
I found that a person of large intelligence could read this beautifullanguage with considerable facility without a dictionary, but Ipresently found that to such a person a grammar could be of use attimes. 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 anduncertainties can arise. He can get the idea that a thing is going tohappen next week when the truth is that it has already happened weekbefore last. Even more previously, sometimes. Examination and inquiryshowed me that the adjectives and such things were frank and fair-mindedand straightforward, and did not shuffle; it was the Verb that mixed thehands, it was the Verb that lacked stability, it was the Verb that hadno permanent opinion about anything, it was the Verb that was alwaysdodging the issue and putting out the light and making all the trouble.
Further examination, further inquiry, further reflection, confirmed thisjudgment, and established beyond peradventure the fact that the Verb wasthe storm-center. This discovery made plain the right and wise course topursue in order to acquire certainty and exactness in understanding thestatements which the newspaper was daily endeavoring to convey to me: Imust catch a Verb and tame it. I must find out its ways, I must spotits eccentricities, I must penetrate its disguises, I must intelligentlyforesee and forecast at least the commoner of the dodges it was likelyto try upon a stranger in given circumstances, I must get in on its mainshifts and head them off, I must learn its game and play the limit.
I had noticed, in other foreign languages, that verbs are bred infamilies, and that the members of each family have certain features orresemblances that are common to that family and distinguish it from theother families--the other kin, the cousins and what not. I had noticedthat this family-mark is not usually the nose or the hair, so to speak,but the tail--the Termination--and that these tails are quite definitelydifferentiated; insomuch that an expert can tell a Pluperfect from aSubjunctive by its tail as easily and as certainly as a cowboy can tella cow from a horse by the like process, the result of observation andculture. I should explain that I am speaking of legitimate verbs, thoseverbs which in the slang of the grammar are called Regular. There areothers--I am not meaning to conceal this; others called Irregulars, bornout of wedlock, of unknown and uninteresting parentage, and naturallydestitute of family resemblances, as regards to all features, tailsincluded. But of these pathetic outcasts I have nothing to say. I do notapprove of them, I do not encourage them; I am prudishly delicate andsensitive, and I do not allow them to be used in my presence.
But, as I have said, I decided to catch one of the others and break itinto harness. One is enough. Once familiar with its assortment of tails,you are immune; after that, no regular verb can conceal its specialtyfrom you and make you think it is working the past or the future or theconditional or the unconditional when it is engaged in some other lineof business--its tail will give it away. I found out all these things bymyself, without a teacher.
I selected the verb _amare, to love._ Not for any personal reason, forI am indifferent about verbs; I care no more for one verb than foranother, and have little or no respect for any of them; but in foreignlanguages you always begin with that one. Why, I don't know. It ismerely habit, I suppose; the first teacher chose it, Adam was satisfied,and there hasn't been a successor since with originality enough to starta fresh one. For they _are _a pretty limited lot, you will admit that?Originality is not in their line; they can't think up anything new,anything to freshen up the old moss-grown dullness of the languagelesson and put life and "go" into it, and charm and grace andpicturesqueness.
I knew I must look after those details myself; therefore I thought themout and wrote them down, and sent for the _facchino _and explained themto him, and said he must arrange a proper plant, and get together agood stock company among the _contadini_, and design the costumes, anddistribute the parts; and drill the troupe, and be ready in three daysto begin on this Verb in a shipshape and workman-like manner. I told himto put each grand division of it under a foreman, and each subdivisionunder a subordinate of the rank of sergeant or corporal or somethinglike that, and to have a different uniform for each squad, so that Icould tell a Pluperfect from a Compound Future without looking at thebook; the whole battery to be under his own special and particularcommand, with the rank of Brigadier, and I to pay the freight.
I then inquired into the character and possibilities of the selectedverb, and was much disturbed to find that it was over my size, it beingchambered for fifty-seven rounds--fifty-seven ways of saying I _love_without reloading; and yet none of them likely to convince a girl thatwas laying for a title, or a title that was laying for rocks.
It seemed to me that with my inexperience it would be foolish to go intoaction with this mitrailleuse, so I ordered it to the rear and told thefacchino to provide something a little more primitive to start with,something less elaborate, some gentle old-fashioned flint-lock,smooth-bore, double-barreled thing, calculated to cripple at two hundredyards and kill at forty--an arrangement suitable for a beginner whocould be satisfied with moderate results on the offstart and did notwish to take the whole territory in the first campaign.
But in vain. He was not able to mend the matter, all the verbs beingof the same build, all Gatlings, all of the same caliber and delivery,fifty-seven to the volley, and fatal at a mile and a half. But he saidthe auxiliary verb _avere, to have_, was a tidy thing, and easy tohandle in a seaway, and less likely to miss stays in going about thansome of the others; so, upon his recommendation I chose that one,and told him to take it along and scrape its bottom and break out itsspinnaker and get it ready for business.
I will explain that a facchino is a general-utility domestic. Mine was ahorse-doctor in his better days, and a very good one.
At the end of three days the facchino-doctor-brigadier was ready. I wasalso ready, with a stenographer. We were in a room called the Rope-Walk.This is a formidably long room, as is indicated by its facetious name,and is a good place for reviews. At 9:30 the F.-D.-B. took his placenear me and gave the word of command; the drums began to rumble andthunder, the head of the forces appeared at an upper door, and the"march-past" was on. Down they filed, a blaze of variegated color, eachsquad gaudy in a uniform of its own and bearing a banner inscribed withits verbal rank and quality: first the Present Tense in Mediterraneanblue and old gold, then the Past Definite in scarlet and black, then theImperfect in green and yellow, then the Indicative Future in the starsand stripes, then the Old Red Sandstone Subjunctive in purpleand silver--and so on and so on, fifty-seven privates and twentycommissioned and non-commissioned officers; certainly one of the mostfiery and dazzling and eloquent sights I have ever beheld. I could notkeep back the tears. Presently:
"Halt!" commanded the Brigadier.
"Front--face!"
"Right dress!"
"Stand at ease!"
"One--two--three. In unison--_recite!_"
It was fine. In one noble volume of sound of all the fifty-sevenHaves in the Italian language burst forth in an exalting and splendidconfusion. Then came commands:
"About--face! Eyes--front! Helm alee--hard aport! Forward--march!" andthe drums let go again.
When the last Termination had disappeared, the commander said theinstruction drill would now begin, and asked for suggestions. I said:
"They say _I have, thou hast, he has_, and so on, but they don't say_what_. It will be better, and more definite, if they have something tohave; just an object, you know, a something--anything will do; anythingthat will give the listener a sort of personal as well as grammaticalinterest in their joys and complaints, you see."
He said:
"It is a good point. Would a dog do?"
I said I did not know, but we could try a dog and see. So he sent out anaide-de-camp to give the order to add the dog.
The six privates of the Present Tense now filed in, in charge ofSergeant Avere (_to have_), and displaying their banner. They formed inline of battle, and recited,
one at a time, thus:
"_Io ho un cane,_ I have a dog."
"_Tu hai un cane_, thou hast a dog."
_"Egli ha un cane, _he has a dog."
_"Noi abbiamo un cane_, we have a dog."
"_Voi avete un cane_, you have a dog."
"_Eglino hanno un cane,_ they have a dog."
No comment followed. They returned to camp, and I reflected a while. Thecommander said:
"I fear you are disappointed."
"Yes," I said; "they are too monotonous, too singsong, todead-and-alive; they have no expression, no elocution. It isn't natural;it could never happen in real life. A person who had just acquired a dogis either blame' glad or blame' sorry. He is not on the fence. I neversaw a case. What the nation do you suppose is the matter with thesepeople?"
He thought maybe the trouble was with the dog. He said:
"These are _contadini_, you know, and they have a prejudice againstdogs--that is, against marimane. Marimana dogs stand guard over people'svines and olives, you know, and are very savage, and thereby a grief andan inconvenience to persons who want other people's things at night. Inmy judgment they have taken this dog for a marimana, and have soured onhim."
I saw that the dog was a mistake, and not functionable: we must trysomething else; something, if possible, that could evoke sentiment,interest, feeling.
"What is cat, in Italian?" I asked.
"Gatto."
"Is it a gentleman cat, or a lady?"
"Gentleman cat."
"How are these people as regards that animal?"
"We-ll, they--they--"
"You hesitate: that is enough. How are they about chickens?"
He tilted his eyes toward heaven in mute ecstasy. I understood.
"What is chicken, in Italian?" I asked.
"Pollo, _Podere._" (Podere is Italian for master. It is a title ofcourtesy, and conveys reverence and admiration.) "Pollo is one chickenby itself; when there are enough present to constitute a plural, it is_polli._"
"Very well, polli will do. Which squad is detailed for duty next?"
"The Past Definite."
"Send out and order it to the front--with chickens. And let themunderstand that we don't want any more of this cold indifference."
He gave the order to an aide, adding, with a haunting tenderness in histone and a watering mouth in his aspect:
"Convey to them the conception that these are unprotected chickens." Heturned to me, saluting with his hand to his temple, and explained, "Itwill inflame their interest in the poultry, sire."
A few minutes elapsed. Then the squad marched in and formed up, theirfaces glowing with enthusiasm, and the file-leader shouted:
"_Ebbi polli_, I had chickens!"
"Good!" I said. "Go on, the next."
"_Avest polli_, thou hadst chickens!"
"Fine! Next!"
"_Ebbe polli_, he had chickens!"
"Moltimoltissimo! Go on, the next!"
"_Avemmo polli,_ we had chickens!"
"Basta-basta aspettatto avanti--last man--_charge_!"
"_Ebbero polli_, they had chickens!"
Then they formed in echelon, by columns of fours, refused the left, andretired in great style on the double-quick. I was enchanted, and said:
"Now, doctor, that is something _like_! Chickens are the ticket, thereis no doubt about it. What is the next squad?"
"The Imperfect."
"How does it go?"
"_Io Aveva_, I had, _tu avevi_, thou hadst, _egli aveva_, he had, _noiav_--"
"Wait--we've just _had _the hads. What are you giving me?"
"But this is another breed."
"What do we want of another breed? Isn't one breed enough? _Had_ is_had_, and your tricking it out in a fresh way of spelling isn't goingto make it any hadder than it was before; now you know that yourself."
"But there is a distinction--they are not just the same Hads."
"How do you make it out?"
"Well, you use that first Had when you are referring to something thathappened at a named and sharp and perfectly definite moment; you use theother when the thing happened at a vaguely defined time and in a moreprolonged and indefinitely continuous way."
"Why, doctor, it is pure nonsense; you know it yourself. Look here: IfI have had a had, or have wanted to have had a had, or was in a positionright then and there to have had a had that hadn't had any chance to goout hadding on account of this foolish discrimination which lets one Hadgo hadding in any kind of indefinite grammatical weather but restrictsthe other one to definite and datable meteoric convulsions, and keeps itpining around and watching the barometer all the time, and liable toget sick through confinement and lack of exercise, and all that sort ofthing, why--why, the inhumanity of it is enough, let alone thewanton superfluity and uselessness of any such a loafing consumptivehospital-bird of a Had taking up room and cumbering the place fornothing. These finical refinements revolt me; it is not right, it is nothonorable; it is constructive nepotism to keep in office a Had that isso delicate it can't come out when the wind's in the nor'west--I won'thave this dude on the payroll. Cancel his exequator; and look here--"
"But you miss the point. It is like this. You see--"
"Never mind explaining, I don't care anything about it. Six Hads isenough for me; anybody that needs twelve, let him subscribe; I don'twant any stock in a Had Trust. Knock out the Prolonged and IndefinitelyContinuous; four-fifths of it is water, anyway."
"But I beg you, podere! It is often quite indispensable in caseswhere--"
"Pipe the next squad to the assault!"
But it was not to be; for at that moment the dull boom of the noongun floated up out of far-off Florence, followed by the usual softenedjangle of church-bells, Florentine and suburban, that bursts out inmurmurous response; by labor-union law the _colazione_ (1) must stop;stop promptly, stop instantly, stop definitely, like the chosen and bestof the breed of Hads.
1. Colazione is Italian for a collection, a meeting, a seance, asitting.--M.T.
