a temporary suspension of hostilities by agreement of the warring parties; truce: World War I ended with the armistice of 1918.
Armistice comes via French from Latin armistitium, from Latin arma “tools, weapons, arms” and the element -stitium “a stop, stopping,” which appears also in solstice (from Latin solstitium “stopping of the sun”). Armistice first appears in the 17th century.
On November 6, Berlin dispatched envoys to carry an armistice proposal to Supreme Allied Commander Marshal Ferdinand Foch.
The armistice is coming soon, I believe it now too. Then we will go home.
Music. the act, process, or system of using certain syllables, especially the sol-fa syllables, to represent the tones of the scale.
Solmization comes from French solmization, a derivative of solmiser “to (sing) sol-fa.” The system of solmization is attributed to Guido of Arezzo (c995-1049), a Benedictine monk from Arezzo, Tuscany, who also invented the staff notation used in Western music. Solmization entered English in the 18th century.
The pupil seems to gain the knowledge of intervals with the power of making them. But surely it would facilitate the labour were the knowledge of distances first instilled by means of solmization.
Guido has been properly called the father of modern music, and the title is richly deserved for in addition to the so-called Guido scale, or hexachord, or solmization–or whatever you call his do-re-mi, plan or fancy–he also invented the staff lines and intervals in music, and many other methods of teaching music in use to this very day.
ornate or florid in speech, literary style, etc.
If any word looks Italian or Spanish, rococo certainly does. But in fact rococo is a French word meaning “out of style, old-fashioned” and is a humorous distortion of rocaille “pebble-work, shellwork,” which was done to excess in some 18th-century art, furniture, and architecture. The French word may have been influenced by the Italian adjective barocco “baroque.” Rococo entered English in the 19th century.
Should you contemplate purchasing a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez, a “mega-genius” according to Aaron (in private), he will tell you beforehand that García Márquez “is so rococo and torporific you’ll need an insulin shot every twenty pages.”
… such versions respond to perfectly legitimate concerns about what is comprehensible to a child, who might well feel ‘squashed by the words and strangled by the sentence’ … when faced by some of Kingsley’s more rococo passages …