The old, the Diurc and Marquis, holy trinity in the service of language  |
| Old Woman in the hen Bartome Esteban Murillo |
"She broods in her head, the melody, fear of forgetting . The climber, which occupies almost the whole front of the house is a river upside down, mouth biting the ground, and across its network of tributaries for the sources at the top of the wall. Here and there, a few leaves, black, scorched by days of snow. The old sings in his head, puts it in his memory alignment of notes. "
Deep in a remote valley of Poitou, the old has taken up residence. She lives in a garret where rudimentary devices blooming in the cottages of the housewife less than fifty years have not yet managed to clear a path. It is not short of ideas, compromise allowing just do not use these shells which distort the landscape of his home. It has its foibles of her own that characterize it, as to remove itself from her pussy worn by drowning in the pool of Father Andrew, or to slaughter chickens in his backyard then it will taste. The old has his little mannerisms that titillate the ear. I must say it has a way for her to pronounce certain consonants, some vowels, to appropriate in amount. The tone and distortion of palaver that come out of his mouth, the face of the old contracts and we can easily imagine the wrinkles that are growing or painful to the pronunciation of certain names pronounced unfit to appear in a dictionary. "Duke" (pronounced "Diurc") is the name of the bastard she received the evening of Christmas as he huddled in the manger of baby Jesus. Time and again, yet the four corners of the upper town where she lives, she had already crossed his path. For a few pats of the foot, redoubled some onomatopoeia which it has the secret, the dog and its stench decamped in the trough of a gutter where nested surely that old mutt. The vision that night, she needed to, more haunting than ever, she dazzled by its obviousness, the cursed "Diurc," the unrepentant wanderer, the mutt of misery, had to find refuge with her. To hell with avarice, it would take on his meager food enough to feed his new companion fortune.
Since then, she boasts that it is a wonderful dog, able to recite the Mass in Latin.
"Nothing is closed in his speech, on the contrary open to all the gloss. Cruid of Mr. is a man of reading, he has in mind more than one book. Those are his glasses, his eyes. Culture Has a purpose other than to orchestrate a vision, a diction of the world? "
Olivier Cruid is sixty years well rung. Marquis by its condition, a linguist of his condition. It is rather a passion cultivated with a tireless care livelihood itself. Annuities and real estate investments provide him the comfort of not having to bother with a task that would face his body. Sensitive to the melodies of this multitude of everyday objects that surround him, as well as to birds chirping, the pipe of a toad, the hiss of an owl, the lugubrious cawing of the crows that fly over his house, or murmurs gartempe of which carries in the course of time the mish-mash of the langue d'oc and langue d'oil. The Marquis is nostalgic for a time not so long ago when Latin was still considered the whim of a clergy ostentatious mired in tradition, the dead language was not considered quite as cute little lie scholars who stammer words misunderstood as others showing a distinctive mark. When, without warning, the fancy took you to some compounds of shelling by
Virgil or Horace
, you can not point as the most despised creatures retrograde. Language, strength to untie any-did-it will not finally removed from its original musical, it does not end point by being threatened its integrity and its original beauty?
He asks questions, the Marquis de Cruid in his ancestral castle, surrounded by treaties and books he once written in memory of a time endangered.
Despite the contrasts that dot their existence, the fate of these two characters coming together in the same sensitivity to listen to world music. Strayed into a solitude, which alone can revive the power of voices around them, the old and the Marquis spin toward one another, following routes that they ignore the disconcerting convergence.
Until the end of this crossover amazing, the story goes largely to the usual vicissitudes that mark usually a novel. Here, the deployment of prose, the picturesque situations and the uniqueness of the language used is enough to make reading exciting.
Lionel Edward Martin is a writer precious, a singer who gives the words their acclaim, inspiring weddings melodic unfolding in their wake a flood of reminiscences, each more delicious than the other.
In return, the text we present a dizzying density, requires attention at all times. Asides, enjoying a ubiquitous learning, highlight a particular combination of words, emphasizing pronunciation incongruous here or there, an obsolete use of language, sometimes going back to the etymology of the word. The influence of reading the Latin poets of antiquity is noticeable in many passages of text.
Original, dense, abundant ideas, this is a novel beneficial for Modern Languages and confirms the unique approach of the Vampire Active in the French publishing world.
