Stuck in the Late Middle
by Bill Humleker
We Liberal Arts graduates sometimes wonder if our studies really contributed much to our lives. The Empress (TE … my very artistic roommate) was an art student who has done very little with her degree since college. I will parse that to the degree that TE did raise two very artistically inclined daughters. I, on the other hand, speak French to our cat. “Bonjour Chérie! Voici ton petit déjeuner!” Yes. I really do, and she seems to appreciate it. I mean: “Hi Sweetie. Here’s your breakfast!” just doesn’t sound as … appetizing? I do this for the elegant Lady Bentley (Countess Vole), our inherited “Torby” Maine Coon kitty who lives in our garage and via her cat flap reigns over our property. She keeps the small rodent population and the yard guy under strict control. As I serve her meal, Bentley will look up at me as if to say “Merci bien … et maintenant laisse-moi manger!” “Bien sûr, of course you may eat!” I reply.
Both my mother and my mother-in-law were French Majors, you see, and I had just enough credits to claim a Minor in French (I majored in American History), but that’s it. I have never done a thing with it apart from ordering tickets, ordering meals, and a few brief, very tentative conversations when I have been in France or Morocco (yes … Morocco. French is their primary language, and Moroccans parlez more beautifully and patiently than the actual French!). You might wonder why I don’t include my visits to Québec … the nasal patois spoken by our Québécois neighbors is not truly French. Just ask any real Frenchman. They will tell you that our Canadian friends are little more than a province of sad wannabees, and what they speak is de mauvais goût (vulgar) and beneath notice by le vrai Français. These latter are not very polite.
My mother remained quite fluent throughout her long life by reading such as Paris Match and Le Monde whenever she could get her hands on a copy, and by reading such as Jean de Brunhoff’s stories of Babar the Elephant King to her children first in the original French, and then in English. By the time I studied the language, thanks to Mom, I already had a pretty good ear. Mom also did French crossword puzzles in ink. Imagine.
My mother-in-law, who earned her Masters Degree in French, was proud of her fluency and kept it up by attending Alliance Française gatherings in Milwaukee; there are AF chapters in most major cities. She studied in Switzerland for a year during her college days and maintained her Swiss friendships throughout her life. And she would listen to Edith Piaf records as she did some very occasional housework and amused (?) her daughters by “singing” along in very atonal French à la Piaf.
My own daughters studied the language and used it when they traveled. Princess II spent a post-college year teaching English in French in France. That sounds confusing, but indeed it was not, and I know she will always have good memories of the experience. Princess, I will exchange a few words with me, but I don’t think she has time to parlez à ses enfants.
I, on the other hand, speak French to mon chat … and I am just sure that she likes to hear it. Her indoor brethren are completely unappreciative when I try to parlez-leur, but as I said, I really think that Bentley apprécie ma consideration. Who says Liberal Arts are a waste? Pas moi! And “meow” in French is “miaou” in case you are wondering.