Tudor's The Last Lesson
I believe that everyone has read in the textbook, and the story borrows the self-narration of a child in Alsace, Little France, specifically describing the last French class in an elementary school. The writer avoids the frontal battlefield of the Franco-Prussian War, and turns his pen and ink to a very ordinary picture of life: primary school students are late, teachers give lectures, ask questions, learn words, practice pinyin, get out of class... The depiction is extremely calm, objective, simple, but extremely contagious. Let's use the English translation of this famous article to understand:
I WAS very late for school that morning, and I was terribly afraid of being scolded[责骂], especially as Monsieur[法语:先生] Hamel had told us that he should examine us on participles[分词], and I did not know the first thing about them. For a moment I thought of staying away from school and wandering about the fields. It was such a warm, lovely day. I could hear the blackbirds whistling on the edge of the wood, and in the Rippert field, behind the sawmill[锯木厂], the Prussians going through their drill. All that was much more tempting to me than the rules concerning participles; but I had the strength to resist, and I ran as fast as I could to school.
That morning I went to school, very late, and I was so afraid of being scolded, especially since Mr. Amer had told us that he was going to take the participle rules, and I couldn't even say the first word. At this time, the idea of skipping school and going for a run in the field came to my mind. The weather is so warm and sunny! I heard crows chirping by the edge of the grove, and prussians practicing on the Ribel meadow behind the sawmill. All of this appealed me more than the participle rule, but I resisted the temptation and sped up and ran in the direction of the school.
As I passed the mayor’s office, I saw that there were people gathered about the little board on which notices were posted. For two years all our bad news had come from that board—battles lost, conscriptions[征兵], orders from headquarters; and I thought without stopping:
“What can it be now?”
As I passed in front of the village government, I saw many people standing in front of the small bulletin board. In the past two years, all the bad news, such as defeat, conscription, and orders issued by the Prussian occupation command, have come from there. I was running and thinking, "What's the matter?" ”
Then, as I ran across the square, Wachter the blacksmith, who stood there with his apprentice[学徒], reading the placard[布告], called out to me:
“Don’t hurry so, my boy; you’ll get to your school soon enough!”
I thought that he was making fun of me, and I ran into Monsieur Hamel’s little yard all out of breath.
As I ran through the square, the Waktel blacksmith, who was reading the notice with his apprentice in front of the bulletin board, shouted at me, "Little fellow, don't be in such a hurry; you won't be late if you go late!" I thought he was joking with me, so I ran out of breath into Mr. Amal's little classroom.
Usually, at the beginning of school, there was a great uproar[喧嚣] which could be heard in the street, desks opening and closing, lessons repeated aloud in unison[一致], with our ears stuffed in order to learn quicker, and the teacher’s stout ruler beating on the desk:
“A little more quiet!”
Usually, when the class began, there was always a chaotic noise, the sound of the switch of the beveled desk, and the sound of students covering their ears and reciting the texts loudly, which could be heard on the street. The gentleman's big ring ruler knocked on the desk: "Be quiet! ”
I counted on all this noise to reach my bench unnoticed; but as it happened, that day everything was quiet, like a Sunday morning. Through the open window I saw my comrades already in their places, and Monsieur Hamel walking back and forth[向前] with the terrible iron ruler under his arm. I had no open the door and enter, in the midst of that perfect silence. You can imagine whether I blushed[羞愧] and whether I was afraid!
I was going to take advantage of the noise and sneak into my seat. However, the day was different from usual, and everything was quiet, like a Sunday morning. Through the open window, I saw that the classmates were already seated neatly in their seats, and Mr. Amal was pacing back and forth with the terrible iron ring ruler under his armpits. You must push open the classroom door and enter the classroom in this silence. Think about it, how embarrassed and scared I was at that time!
But no! Monsieur Hamel looked at me with no sign of anger and said very gently:
“Go at once to your seat, my little Frantz; we were going to begin without you.”
But no. Monsieur Amal looked at me, and instead of getting angry, he said to me very gently, "Hurry back to your seat, my little Franz; we are about to begin our lessons." ”
I stepped over the bench and sat down at once at my desk. Not until then, when I had partly recovered from my fright, did I notice that our teacher had on his handsome blue coat, his plaited ruff, and the black silk embroidered breeches, which he wore only on days of inspection or of distribution of prizes. Moreover, there was something extraordinary, something solemn about the whole class. But what surprised me most was to see at the back of the room, on the benches which were usually empty, some people from the village sitting, as silent as we were: old Hauser with his three-cornered hat, the ex-mayor, the ex-postman, and others besides. They all seemed depressed; and Hauser had brought an old spelling-book with gnawed edges, which he held wide-open on his knee, with his great spectacles askew.
I stepped over the stool and immediately sat down in my seat. I calmed down a little from my panic and noticed that our teacher was wearing his beautiful green dress, with a delicately folded bow tie at the neckline, and a small embroidered black silk round hat on his head, which he only wore when the superior sent someone to inspect the school or to give out awards to the school. In addition, there is an unusually solemn atmosphere throughout the classroom. But what surprised me most was the sight of the classroom, on the usually empty stools, sitting some of the village people who were as silent as we did, old man Oizer in a tricorne hat, former mayor, former postman, and others. All these men looked sad; Old Man Ozer also brought an old literacy textbook with broken corners, which was spread over his lap, and on which his large glasses were placed horizontally.
While I was wondering at all this, Monsieur Hamel had mounted his platform, and in the same gentle and serious voice with which he had welcomed me, he said to us:
“My children, this is the last time that I shall teach you. Orders have come from Berlin to teach nothing but German in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The new teacher arrives to-morrow. This is the last class in French, so I beg you to be very attentive.”
Just when I was amazed by all this, Mr. Amal sat down in his chair and said to us, in the gentle and solemn voice that he had just spoken to me, "Children, I have given you a lesson for the last time. Orders came from Berlin that schools in the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine were only allowed to teach German... The new teacher will arrive tomorrow. Today is your last French lesson, so I ask you to pay close attention to the lecture. ”
Those few words overwhelmed me. Ah! the villains! that was what they had posted at the mayor’s office.
These few words stunned me. yes! These villains, the news they posted on the village government bulletin board is this.
My last class in French!
And I barely knew how to write! So I should never learn! I must stop short where I was! How angry I was with myself because of the time I had wasted, the lessons I had missed, running about after nests, or sliding on the Saar! My books, which only a moment before I thought so tiresome, so heavy to carry—my grammar, my sacred history—seemed to me now like old friends, from whom I should be terribly grieved to part. And it was the same about Monsieur Hamel. The thought that he was going away, that I should never see him again, made me forget the punishments, the blows with the ruler.
My last French lesson! ...... I've just learned to write! I will never learn French in the future! That's it for French! How much I regret how much I have lost my time! Regret that you used to skip class to dig up bird nests and go ice skating on the Sal River! My books, my grammar textbooks, my sacred history books, which I still felt so obnoxious and heavy on my back, now like old friends, made me inseparable. And Mr. Amal. As soon as I thought he was leaving and never seeing him again, I forgot about the previous punishments and beatings.
Poor man! It was in honour of that last lesson that he had put on his fine Sunday clothes; and I understood now why those old fellows from the village were sitting at the end of the room. It seemed to mean that they regretted not having come oftener to the school. It was also a way of thanking our teacher for his forty years of faithful service, and of paying their respects to the fatherland which was vanishing.
Poor people! He dressed in a beautiful festive costume to celebrate this last lesson. Now, I understand why the old people in the village are sitting in the back of the classroom. It's like saying they regret not coming to school very often. It's also like a way of paying homage to our teachers for forty years of excellent teaching, to their future land that doesn't belong to them..."
I was at that point in my reflections, when I heard my name called. It was my turn to recite. What would I not have given to be able to say from beginning to end that famous rule about participles, in a loud, distinct voice, without a slip! But I got mixed up at the first words, and I stood there swaying against my bench, with a full heart, afraid to raise my head. I heard Monsieur Hamel speaking to me:
I was in the midst of contemplation when suddenly I heard my name called. It's my turn to memorize the participle rules. If I could take this important word breaker rule loudly, clearly, and accurately from head to back, what price would I not pay? But I couldn't even figure out the words at the beginning. I stood in front of the stool, shaking left and right, feeling so uncomfortable that I didn't dare to look up. I heard Mr. Al-Amar speak:
“I will not scold you, my little Frantz; you must be punished enough; that is the way it goes; every day we say to ourselves: ‘Pshaw! I have time enough. I will learn to-morrow.’ And then you see what happens. Ah! it has been the great misfortune of our Alsace always to postpone its lessons until to-morrow. Now those people are entitled to say to us: ‘What! you claim to be French, and you can neither speak nor write your language!’ In all this, my poor Frantz, you are not the guiltiest one. We all have our fair share of reproaches to address to ourselves.
"I don't blame you, my little Franz, you may have had enough of punishment... That's the way it is. Every day, we say to ourselves: Forget it! What I have is time. I'll learn again tomorrow. Now, you know what happened... alas! The greatest misfortune of us in Alsace is to delay education until tomorrow. Now, those people have the right to say to us: 'What!' You claim to be French, but you can't speak or write your language! ’...... I poor Franz, the greatest responsibility for all this is not you. Each of us has many places to blame ourselves.
“Your parents have not been careful enough to see that you were educated. They preferred to send you to work in the fields or in the factories, in order to have a few more sous. And have I nothing to reproach myself for? Have I not often made you water my garden instead of studying? And when I wanted to go fishing for trout, have I ever hesitated to dismiss you?”
"Your parents didn't do their best to get you to study. They would rather send you to work in the fields or in a spinning mill in order to make a few more dollars. As for myself, don't I have any place to blame myself? Don't I always let you go to my garden to water it instead of studying? When I want to fish for trout, don't I just give you a vacation? ”
Then, passing from one thing to another, Monsieur Hamel began to talk to us about the French language, saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world, the most clear, the most substantial; that we must always retain it among ourselves, and never forget it, because when a people falls into servitude, “so long as it clings to its language, it is as if it held the key to its prison.” Then he took the grammer and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how readily I understood. Everything that he said seemed so easy to me, so easy. I believed, too, that I had never listened so closely, and that he, for his part, had never been so patient with his explanations. One would have said that, before going away, the poor man desired to give us all his knowledge, to force it all into our heads at a single blow.
Mr. Amal went from one thing to another, and then began to speak French to us, saying that French is the most beautiful language in the world, the clearest language, the most rigorous language, and we should master it and never forget it, because when a people is reduced to slavery, as long as it preserves its own language well, it is as if it has the key to open the prison... Then he took a grammar book and we began to recite the text. I was amazed at how well I understood. Everything he said seemed easy and easy to me. I also feel that I have never listened to a lecture so carefully, and he has never been so patient in explaining it. This poor man, as if he wanted to instill all his knowledge in us before he left here, so that we could grasp it at once.
When the lesson was at an end, we passed to writing. For that day Monsieur Hamel had prepared some entirely new examples, on which was written in a fine, round hand: “France, Alsace, France, Alsace.” They were like little flags, waving all about the class, hanging from the rods of our desks. You should have seen how hard we all worked and how silent it was! Nothing could be heard save the grinding of the pens over the paper. At one time some cock-chafers flew in; but no one paid any attention to them, not even the little fellows who were struggling with their straight lines, with a will and conscientious application, as if even the lines were French. On the roof of the schoolhouse, pigeons cooed in low tones, and I said to myself as I listened to them:
“I wonder if they are going to compel them to sing in German too!”
After the text was explained, we began to practice writing. On this day, Mr. Amer prepared for us many brand new character cards, on which were written in beautiful round characters: France, Alsace, France, Alsace. These poster cards hang from the metal poles of our desks like many small flags flying in the classroom. You should know that everyone is so focused and the classroom is so silent! All you can hear is the rustle of the tip of the pen on the paper. Once, a few scarabs ran into the classroom, but no one paid attention to them, not even the youngest, and they were concentrating on practicing straight strokes, as if they were also French... On the roof of the school, the pigeons were grunting in a low voice, and as I listened, I wondered, "Should they force these pigeons to sing in German?" ”
From time to time, when I raised my eyes from my paper. I saw Monsieur Hamel sitting motionless in his chair and staring at the objects about him as if he wished to carry away in his glance the whole of his little schoolhouse. Think of it! For forty years he had been there in the same place, with his yard in front of him and his class just as it was! But the benches and desks were polished and rubbed by use; the walnuts in the yard had grown, and the hop-vine which he himself had planted now festooned the windows even to the roof. What a heart-rending thing it must have been for that poor man to leave all those things, and to hear his sister walking back and forth in the room overhead, packing their trunks! For they were to go away the next day—to leave the province forever.
From time to time I lifted my eyes from the book and saw Mr. Amal sitting motionless in his chair, staring at everything around him, as if to take everything in this little classroom into his eyes and take it away... Imagined! For forty years he had been in this place, guarding the courtyard opposite and the classroom that had never changed. Only the stools and desks in the classroom were polished smooth by the students; the walnut trees in the yard had grown taller, and the hops he had planted by his own hands now climbed all over the windows and climbed up to the roof. How sad and sad it was for this poor man to hear his sister packing her bags back and forth in her bedroom upstairs, thinking that she was about to say goodbye to everything in front of her! Because, they are going to leave tomorrow, leaving their hometown forever.
However, he had the courage to keep the class to the end. After the writing, we had the lesson in history; then the little ones sang all together the ba, be, bi, bo, bu. Yonder, at the back of the room, old Hauser had put on his spectacles, and, holding his spelling-book in both hands, he spelled out the letters with them. I could see that he too was applying himself. His voice shook with emotion, and it was so funny to hear him, that we all longed to laugh and to cry. Ah! I shall remember that last class.
He even had the courage to finish our class. After learning the words, we took a history class; then the little ones sang Ba Be Bi Bo Bu together. At the back of the classroom, old man Ozzell put on his glasses and held a literacy textbook in both hands, and spelled with us. I found himself as attentive as he was, his voice trembling with excitement, sounding comical and making us want to laugh and cry again. Oh! I will never forget this last lesson...
Suddenly the church clock struck twelve, then the Angelus rang. At the same moment, the bugles of the Prussians returning from drill blared under our windows. Monsieur Hamel rose, pale as death, from his chair. Never had he seemed to me so tall.
Suddenly, the church bells rang twelve times, followed by prayer bells. At the same time, the trumpets of the Prussian soldiers returning to the camp after their drills echoed under our windows... Mr. Amal got up from his chair, very pale. He had never looked so tall in my mind.
“My friends,” he said, “my friends, I—I—”
"My friends," he said, "my friends, I... I..."
But something suffocated him. He could not finish the sentence.
Thereupon he turned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and, bearing on with all his might, he wrote in the largest letters he could:
But something was blocking his throat. He couldn't finish his sentence. At this time, he turned around, picked up a piece of chalk, and with all his strength, wrote a few words on the blackboard as widely as possible:
"LONG LIVE FRANCE!"
Then he stood there, with his head resting against the wall, and without speaking, he motioned to us with his hand:
“That is all; go.”
"Long live France!"
Then he stayed there, his head against the wall, not saying a word, just signaling to us with his hand:
"The lesson is over... Let's go."