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Updated: May 6, 2025
She was the irruptive heroine of that witty and delightful sonnet on the Iliad: Je veux lire en trois jours l'Iliade d'Homère, Et pour ce, Corydon, ferme bien l'huis sur moi; Si rien me vient troubler, je t'assure ma foi, Tu sentiras combien pesante est ma colère.
Then, addressing her with the single word which constituted the strength of his French vocabulary, and holding up one finger in a manner which appeared to him to illuminate his meaning, "Combien?" he abruptly demanded. The artist stared a moment, gave a little pout, shrugged her shoulders, put down her palette and brushes, and stood rubbing her hands. "How much?" said our friend, in English.
Ce maitre pretendu qui leur donne des loix, Ce roi des animaux, combien a-t'il de rois?" "Yet, pleased with idle whimsies of his brain, And puffed with pride, this haughty thing would fain Be think himself the only stay and prop That holds the mighty frame of Nature up.
"monsieur monsieur c'est chere le fromage?" "Very," we tell him truthfully. He smiles, blissfully astonished. Then, with extreme delicacy and the utmost timidity conceivable "monsieur, combien ca coute, monsieur?" We tell him. He totters with astonishment and happiness. Only now, as if we had just conceived the idea, we say carelessly "en voulez-vous?"
All the arts blend in art: "rien ne fait mieux entendre combien un faux sonnet est ridicule que de s'imaginer une femme ou une maison faite sur ce modele-la."
"That's the strongest wine I ever drank," said Grossbeck. "How much is it?" asked Lynch. "Let's see combien?" "Un franc cinquante centimes," replied the waiter, after he had glanced at a gauge on the decanter which indicated the quantity of the fiery fluid that had been consumed. Neither of them could understand the answer, and Grossbeck handed the garçon a franc.
His reflections quickened his good-humor, and he was on the point of approaching the young man with another "Combien?" Two or three facts in this relation are noticeable, although the logical chain which connects them may seem imperfect. He knew Mademoiselle Nioche had asked too much; he bore her no grudge for doing so, and he was determined to pay the young man exactly the proper sum.
Diderot's own reflection comes back to us, Combien cette maudite métaphysique fait des fous! We are abruptly plunged from a Baconian into a Leibnitzian atmosphere.
We went to jeer a group of enthusiasts that willingly forfeit all delights of the world in the hope of realising a new æstheticism; we went insolent with patent leather shoes and bright kid gloves and armed with all the jargon of the school. "Cette jambe ne porte pas"; "la nature ne se fait pas comme ça"; "on dessine par les masses; combien de têtes?" "Sept et demi." "Si j'avais un morceau de craie je mettrais celle-l
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