But what I do know is that never, never since, has the question found
place in the Matriculation papers of the University of London.
* * * * *
A boy, having to give the etymology of the French word _dimanche_, and
explain why "book" and "pound" are expressed by the same French word
_livre_, perpetrated the following:
"_Dimanche_ is a compound word, formed from _di_ (twice), and _manche_
(to eat), because you take two meals on that day (Sunday)."[8]
[8] _Dear boy! he probably was a weekly boarder, and the Sunday
fare at home had left sweet recollections in his mind. This beats
Swift's etymology of "cucumber," which he once gave at a dinner
of the Philological Society: "King Jeremiah, Jeremiah King,
Jerkin, Gherkin, Cucumber."_
"_Livre_ stands for 'book' as well as for 'pound,' because the accounts
of 'pounds' are kept in 'books.'"
It was the same boy who, being asked for the meaning of _cordon bleu_,
answered "a teetotaler."
* * * * *
A young Briton, having to derive the French word _tropique_,
wrote:
"This word comes from _trop_ (too much), and _ique_ (from Latin _hic_
which means _here_), with the word _heat_ understood, that is to say:
_Tropique_, it is too hot here."
* * * * *
Another boy, with a great deal of imagination and power of deduction,
having to give the derivation of the French word _cheval_, wrote the
following essay:
"_Cheval_ comes from the Latin _equus_. The letter _u_ was written _v_,
which gave
_equus_ = _eqvus_ = quevus.
"This word became _quevalus_, which finally gave _cheval_."
We might exclaim with d'Aceilly:
"_Cheval_ vient d'_equus_, sans doute;
Mais il faut convenir aussi
Qu'a venir de la jusqu'ici,
Il a bien change sur la route."[9]
[9] "_'Cheval' comes from 'equus' no doubt; but it must be
confessed that, to come to us in that state, it has sadly altered
on the way._"
* * * * *
This boy's method is, after all, a return to the old methods. If we
consult Menage's Etymological Dictionary, we see that he easily derives
_rat_ from _mus_, and _haricot_ from _faba_, to take only two instances
of the method.
"The Latin _mus_," he says, "became _muratus_, and then _ratus_, which
gave us _rat_."
He deals no less successfully with _haricot_, viz:
"The Latin _faba_ became by corruption _fabaricus_, which altered into
_fabaricotus_, and finally into _aricotus_, which gave us _haricot_."
After this we may appreciate Voltaire's remark that "philologists take
no account of vowels, and very little notice of consonants."
Nor do boys.
* * * * *
If the answers given by candidates at examinations are often
remarkable, the questions asked by the examiners are often more
wonderful still. Here are a few which have been seriously asked,
and--_proh pudor!_--published:
"Define, with reference to passages in the _Lettres Provinciales_,
'grace suffisante,' 'grace efficace,' 'grace actuelle,' '_casuisme_,'
'pouvoir prochain,' 'probabilisme.' Also explain what is meant by
'casuistry.' What can be said in its defence?"
"Give some account of Escobar."
"What are the principal differences between the Latin and the French
languages?"
Well might an eminent _confrere_ exclaim one day:
"Is not all this printed and published to discourage the study of
French?"
* * * * *
I once heard an examiner ask a dear little fellow, aged eleven, the
following poser:
"Give me the derivations of all the words of the French sentence you
have just read aloud."
Poor little boy! He took the examiner for a wonderful man.
So he was.
* * * * *
English examinations consist of so many papers to be taken up; the
"viva voce" does not play an important part in England, as it does in
France.
A "viva voce" examination very often gives the examiner a better idea
of the candidate's abilities and knowledge than a written one, but it
has many drawbacks. It favors babblers and the self-assured, and does
not enable the timid to show themselves at their best.
The more learned the examiner, the more kind and indulgent is he to the
candidates.
Sainte-Claire Deville, the famous French chemist, had to be declined by
the authorities at the Sorbonne as an examiner, because he used to
answer his questions himself to save the candidates trouble.
"How do you prepare oxygen?" he would ask. "By heating chlorate of
potash, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You place the chlorate of potash in a thin glass flask, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now a small quantity of manganese bi-oxide, mixed with the chlorate of
potash, enables you to obtain the oxygen at a much lower temperature,
does it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good--now, another question."
And so forth.
* * * * *
On the other hand, there are examiners who make it a rule to bully the
candidates, or, worse still, to snub them. They will ask preposterous
questions with the mere object of disconcerting them.
"How long would it take the moon to fall to the earth?" I once heard an
examiner ask a candidate to the _baccalaureat es-sciences_.
A facetious examiner once got his due from a young Parisian candidate.
After asking him a few "catches," and obtaining no answers he suddenly
said to him:
"Do you know how much cloth would be required to cover an ass?"
"I do not, sir," replied the lad, "but if you are anxious to know, I
will ask your tailor."
The audience laughed heartily, and the examiner, seeing that this time
the laughter was not on his side, congratulated the boy on his wit, and
immediately asked him a few sensible questions, which were answered
respectfully, and proved that the candidate had his subjects as ready
as his wit.
* * * * *
I was once asked to examine the French and German classes of an
important English school.
I wrote to "my lords and gentlemen," saying that my knowledge of German
was not such as to enable me to find fault with other people's.
The governors answered that it did not matter, and I was directed to
proceed to the Examination.
I got over the difficulty by sharing the work and the fees with an able
German, who prepared the questions and corrected the copies.