A Diglot Weave Short Story

 

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Diglot Weave: French: Luck by Mark Twain

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Lvl 3 Nouns & Verbs

[Note—This est not a fancy sketch. I a obtenu it from a ecclésiastique who était an instructeur at Woolwich forty years ago, and who vouched for its vérité.—M.T.]

It était at a banquet in Londres in honor of one of the two or three conspicuously illustrious English militaires noms of this génération. For reasons which va presently appear, I va retenir his real nom and titles, and appeler him Lieutenant General Lord Arthur Scoresby, V.C., K.C.B., etc., etc., etc.

What a fascination there est in a renowned nom! There était assis the homme, in actual chair, whom I avait a entendu of so many thousands of times since that day, thirty years before, when his nom a tiré suddenly to the zenith from a Crimean champ de bataille, to rester forever célébré. It était nourriture and boisson to me to regarder, and regarder, and regarder at that demi-dieu; balayant, cherchant, notant: the quietness, the reserve, the noble gravity of his visage; the simple honesty that exprimé itself all over him; the sweet unconsciousness of his grandeur—unconsciousness of the hundreds of admiring yeux attaché upon him, unconsciousness of the deep, loving, sincere worship welling out of the breasts of those people and coulant toward him.

The ecclésiastique at my left était an old acquaintance of mine—ecclésiastique now, but avait spent the first half of his life in the camp and champ, and as an instructeur in the militaires school at Woolwich. Just at the moment I have été talking about, a veiled and singular light étincelé in his yeux, and he s'est penché down and a murmuré confidentially to me—indiquant the hero of the banquet with a gesture:

“Privately—he’s an absolute fool.”

This verdict était a great surprise to me. If its subject avait été Napoleon, or Socrate, or Salomon, my étonnement could not have été greater. Two things I était well aware of: that the Reverend était a homme of strict véracité, and that his jugement of men était good. Therefore I savait, beyond doubt or question, that the monde était mistaken about this hero: he était a fool. So I meant to find out, at a convenient moment, how the Reverend, all solitary and alone, avait discovered the secret.

Some days later the opportunity came, and this est what the Reverend told me.

About forty years ago I était an instructeur in the militaires academy at Woolwich. I était present in one of the sections when young Scoresby underwent his preliminary examen. I était touché to the quick with pitié; for the rest of the class answered up brightly and handsomely, while he—why, dear me, he didn’t savoir anything, so to speak. He était evidently good, and sweet, and lovable, and guileless; and so it était exceedingly painful to see him stand there, as serene as a graven image, and deliver himself of answers which étaient veritably miraculous for stupidity and ignorance.

All the compassion in me était aroused in his behalf. I said to myself, when he comes to être examined again, he va être flung over, of course; so it va être simply a harmless act of charité to ease his fall as much as I peut. I a pris him aside, and found that he savait a little of Cæsar’s history; and as he didn’t savoir anything else, I est allé to work and exercé him like a galley slave on a certain line of stock questions concerning Cæsar which I savait would être used. If you’ll believe me, he est allé through with flying colors on examen day! He est allé through on that purely superficial “cram,” and a obtenu compliments too, while others, who savait a thousand times more than he, a obtenu plucked. By some strangely lucky accident—an accident not likely to happen twice in a century—he était asked no question outside of the narrow limits of his exercice.

It était stupefying. Well, all through his course I stood by him, with something of the sentiment which a mother feels for a crippled child; and he always saved himself—just by miracle, apparently.

Now of course the thing that would expose him and kill him at last était mathematics. I resolved to make his death as easy as I could; so I exercé him and crammed him, and crammed him and exercé him, just on the line of questions which the examiners would être most likely to use, and then launching him on his fate. Well, sir, try to conceive of the résultat: to my consternation, he a pris the first prix! And with it he a obtenu a perfect ovation in the way of compliments.

Sleep? There était no more sommeil for me for a week. My conscience tortured me day and night. What I avait fait I avait fait purely through charité, and only to ease the poor youth’s fall—I never avait dreamed of any such preposterous résultat as the thing that avait happened. I felt as guilty and miserable as the creator of Frankenstein. Here était a woodenhead whom I avait put in the way of glittering promotions and prodigious responsibilities, and but one thing could happen: he and his responsibilities would all go to ruin together at the first opportunity.

The Crimean guerre avait just broken out. Of course there avait to être a guerre, I said to myself: we couldn’t have peace and give this donkey a chance to die before he est found out. I waited for the tremblement de terre. It came. And it a fait me reel when it did venir. He était actually gazetted to a captaincy in a marching régiment! Better men grow old and gray in the service before they climb to a sublimity like that. And who could ever have foreseen that they would go and put such a load of responsibility on such green and inadequate shoulders? I could just barely have stood it if they avait a fait him a cornet; but a captain—think of it! I pensée my hair would turn white.

Consider what I did—I who so loved repose and inaction. I said to myself, I am responsible to the pays for this, and I must go along with him and protect the pays against him as far as I peut. So I a pris my poor little capital that I avait saved up through years of work and grinding economy, and est allé with a sigh and bought a cornette in his régiment, and away we est allé to the champ.

And there—oh dear, it était awful. Blunders? Why, he never did anything but erreur. But, you see, nobody était in the fellow’s secret—everybody avait him focused wrong, and necessarily misinterpreted his performance every time—consequently they a pris his idiotic erreurs for inspirations of genius; they did, honestly! His mildest erreurs étaient enough to make a homme in his right mind cry; and they did make me cry—and rage and rave too, privately. And the thing that kept me always in a sweat of apprehension était the fact that every fresh erreur he a fait increased the lustre of his réputation! I kept saying to myself, he’ll get so high, that when discovery does finally venir, it va être like the sun falling out of the sky.

He est allé right along up, from grade to grade, over the dead bodies of his superiors, until at last, in the hottest moment of the bataille of —– down est allé our colonel, and my heart jumped into my mouth, for Scoresby était next in rang! Now for it, said I; we’ll all atterrir in Sheol in ten minutes, sure.

The bataille était awfully hot; the allies étaient steadily giving way all over the champ. Our régiment occupied a position that était vital; a erreur now must être destruction. At this crucial moment, what does this immortal fool do but detach the régiment from its place and ordre a charge over a neighboring hill where there wasn’t a suggestion of an ennemi! “There you go!” I said to myself; “this est the end at last.”

And away we did go, and étaient over the shoulder of the hill before the insane movement could être discovered and stopped. And what did we find? An entire and unsuspected Russian army in reserve! And what happened? We étaient eaten up? That est necessarily what would have happened in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. But no, those Russians argued that no single régiment would venir browsing around there at such a time. It must être the entire English army, and that the sly Russian game était detected and blocked; so they turned tail, and away they est allé, pell-mell, over the hill and down into the champ, in wild confusion, and we after them; they themselves broke the solid Russian centre in the champ, and a déchiré through, and in no time there était the most tremendous rout you ever a vu, and the défaite of the allies était turned into a sweeping and splendid victoire! Marshal Canrobert a regardé on, dizzy with étonnement, admiration,and delight; and a envoyé right off for Scoresby, and a étreint him, and décoré him on the champ, in presence of all the armies!

And what était Scoresby’s erreur that time? Merely the mistaking his main droite for his left—that était all. An ordre avait venir to him to fall back and support our right; and instead, he est tombé forward and est allé over the hill to the left. But the nom he won that day as a marvelous militaires genius rempli the monde with his glory, and that glory va never s'estomper while history books last.

He est just as good and sweet and lovable and unpretending as a homme peut être, but he doesn’t savoir enough to venir in when it rains. Now that est absolutely true. He est the supremest ass in the univers; and until half an hour ago nobody savait it but himself and me. He a été poursuivi, day by day and year by year, by a most phenomenal and astonishing chance. He a été a shining soldat in all our wars for a génération; he a jonché his whole militaires life with erreurs, and yet a never committed one that didn’t make him a chevalier or a baronnet or a seigneur or something. Look at his poitrine; why, he est just clothed in domestique and foreign décorations. Well, sir, every one of them est the record of some shouting stupidity or other; and taken together, they are preuve that the very best thing in all this monde that peut befall a homme est to être lucky. I say again, as I said at the banquet, Scoresby’s an absolute fool.

Diglot Weave Lvl 3: Nouns & Verbs – Luck by Mark Twain

by | Mar 4, 2024 | 0 comments

冰箱 – Bīngxiāng



Phrase Dictionary

  1. 冰箱 (Bīngxiāng) – Refrigerator
  2. 冰箱里有水果。 (Bīngxiāng lǐ yǒu shuǐguǒ.)
    • 冰箱 (Bīngxiāng) – Refrigerator
    • 里 (Lǐ) – In
    • 有 (Yǒu) – There is / Have
    • 水果 (Shuǐguǒ) – Fruit
  3. 冰箱很冷。 (Bīngxiāng hěn lěng.)
    • 冰箱 (Bīngxiāng) – Refrigerator
    • 很 (Hěn) – Very
    • 冷 (Lěng) – Cold

Phrases and Translations

    1. 冰箱里有水果。
      • Pinyin: Bīngxiāng lǐ yǒu shuǐguǒ.
      • English: There is fruit in the refrigerator.
    2. 冰箱很冷。
      • Pinyin: Bīngxiāng hěn lěng.
      • English: The refrigerator is very cold.



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