Peer.  Yes, I suppose he can talk a lot of Cloister-Latin.

Nille.  Cloister-Latin?  That must be the best Latin, just as cloister-linen is the best linen.

Peer.  Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Jeppe.  What are you laughing at, Peer?

Peer.  At nothing at all, Jeppe Berg.  Just another drop!  Your health, mother!  It’s true, as you say:  cloister-linen is good linen, but—­

Nille.  If that linen isn’t made in a cloister, why is it called cloister-linen?

Peer.  Yes, that’s right enough, ha, ha, ha!  But won’t you give me a bite to eat with my brandy?

Nille.  Here’s a little bread and cheese already cut, if you will eat it. (Gets a plate from the house.)

Peer.  Thank you, mother.  Do you know what bread is in Latin?

Nille.  No, indeed, I don’t.

Peer (eating and talking at the same time).  It’s called panis; genitive, pani; dative, pano; vocative, panus; ablative, pano.

Jeppe.  Goodness, Peer!  That language is long-winded.  What is coarse bread in Latin?

Peer.  That’s panis gravis; and fine bread is panis finis.

Jeppe.  Why, that’s half Danish!

Peer.  True.  There are many Latin words that were originally Danish.  I’ll tell you why:  there was once an old rector at the school in Copenhagen, called Saxo Grammatica, who improved Latin in this country, and wrote a Latin grammar, and that’s why he was called Saxo Grammatica.  This same Saxo greatly enriched the Latin language with Danish words, for in his day Latin was so poor that a man couldn’t write one sentence which people could understand.

Jeppe.  But what does that word “Grammatica” mean?

Peer.  The same as “Donat.”  When it is bound in a Turkish cover it is called “Donat,” but when it’s in white parchment it’s called “Grammatica,” and declined just like ala.

Nille.  I never shall see how people can keep so much in their head.  My head swims just from hearing them talk about it.

Jeppe.  That’s why learned folk usually aren’t quite right in their heads.

Nille.  What nonsense!  Do you think our son Rasmus Berg isn’t quite right?

Jeppe.  It only seems a little queer, mother, that he should write a Latin letter to me.

Peer.  Jeppe’s right there, certainly.  That was a little foolish.  It is just as if I were to talk Greek to the bailiff, to show him that I understood the language.

Jeppe.  Do you know Greek, Peer?

Peer.  Why, twenty years ago I could repeat the whole Litany in Greek, standing on one foot.  I still remember that the last word was “Amen.”

Jeppe.  Oh, Peer, it will be splendid, when my son comes back, to get you two together!