Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl

The room was warm and clean, the curtains were closed, the two table lamps were lit. Mary Maloney was waiting for her husband to come home from work. The clock said ten minutes to five, and a few moments later, as always, she heard the car tires, the car door closing, and the key turning in the lock. She put down her sewing, stood up, and went forward to kiss him as he entered.
"Hello, darling," she said.
"Hello," he answered.
She took his coat and hung it up. Then she made the drinks, a strong one for him and a weak one for herself; and sat back down in her chair with the sewing
For her, this was always a wonderful time of day. She loved the warmth that came out of him when they were alone together. She loved the shape of his mouth, and she especially liked the way he didn't complain about being tired.
"Tired, darling?"
"Yes," he said. "I'm tired. And as he spoke, he did an unusual thing. He lifted his glass and drank it down in one swallow although there was still half of it left.. He went to get himself another drink.
"I'll get it!" she cried, jumping up.
"Sit down," he said.
"I think it's a shame," she said, "that when someone has been a policeman as long as you have, he still has to walk around all day long." He didn't answer
"Darling," she said," If you're too tired to eat out tonight, as we had planned, I can fix you something. There's plenty of meat and stuff in the freezer." He didn't respond. "You must have supper. We can have lamb. Everything's in the freezer."
"Forget it," he said.
She stood up. "Sit down," he said. "Just for a minute, sit down." It was not until then that she began to get frightened.
"Go on," he said. "Sit down." "Listen, "I have something to tell you. This is going to be a big shock to you, I'm afraid, but I've thought about it a good deal and I've decided that the only thing to do is to tell you immediately."
And he told her. It didn't take long, four or five minutes at most, and she sat still through it all, watching him with puzzled horror.
"So there it is," he added. "And I know it's a bad time to be telling you thing, but there simply wasn't any other way. Of course, I'll give you money and see that you're taken care of. But there really shouldn't be any problem. I hope not, in any case. It wouldn't be very good for my job."
Her first instinct was not to believe any of it. "I'll fix some supper," she whispered. She did everything without thinking. She went downstairs to the freezer, put her hand inside and took hold of the first object she found. She lifted it out, and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at it again.
A leg of lamb.
All right, then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, held the thin end with both her hands. She went into the living room, saw him standing by the window with his back to her, and stopped.
"I've already told you," he said, hearing her, but not turning around. "Don't make supper for me. I'm going out."
At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him, swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head. She stepped back, waiting. He remained standing there for at least four or five seconds. Then he crashed onto the carpet.
The violence of the crash, the noise, helped to bring her out of the shock. She came out slowly, feeling surprised, and she stood for a few minutes, looking at the body, still holding the piece of meat tightly with both hands.
All right, she told herself. So I've killed him.
It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew what the punishment would be. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the baby? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they wait until the baby was born? What did they do? Mary Maloney did not know and she was not prepared to take a chance.
She carried the meat into the kitchen, placed it into a pan, turned the oven on, and put the pan inside. Then she ran upstairs to her bedroom, fixed her makeup and tried to smile.
The smile was rather peculiar. She tried again. "Hello, Sam, I want some potatoes." That was better. Both the smile and the voice sounded better now. She practiced them several times more. Then she ran downstairs and through the garden into the street.
The neighborhood grocery was still open.. "Hello, Sam," she said smiling at the shop owner.
"Good evening, Mrs. Maloney. How are you?"
"I want some potatoes, please, Sam. Patrick's decided he's tired and he doesn't want to eat out tonight," she told him. "We usually go out on Thursdays, you know, and now I don't have any vegetables in the house."
"Then how about some meat, Mrs. Maloney?
"No, I've got meat, thanks, I've got a nice leg of lamb, from the freezer."
The grocer turned his head to one side, looking at her. "How about dessert? What are you going to give him for dessert?"
"Well, what would you suggest, Sam?"
The man glanced around his shop. "How about a nice piece of cake? I know he likes cake."
"Perfect," she said. "He loves it."
And when she had paid, she gave her brightest smile and said, "Thank you, Sam. Good night."
And now, she told herself as she hurried back home, she was returning to her husband and he was waiting for his supper. She must cook it well and make it taste as good as possible, because the poor man was tired; and if she found anything unusual or terrible when she got home, then it would be a shock. Keep things absolutely natural and there'll be no need for acting at all.
She entered through the back door. "Patrick!" she called. "How are you, darling?"
When she went into the living room; and saw him lying on the floor, it really was a shock. All the old love for him came back to her, and she began to cry hard. It was eay. No acting was necessary.
A few minutes later, she got up and went to the phone. She knew the number of the police station. "Come quickly! Patrick's dead."
"Who's speaking?"
"Mrs. Maloney. Mrs. Patrick Maloney."
"Do you mean that Patrick's dead?"
"I think so, " she cried. "He's lying on the floor and I think he's dead."
"We'll be there immediately," the man said.
The car came very quickly, and when she opened the front door, two policemen walked in. She knew them both. She knew nearly all the men at the police station.
"Is he dead?" she cried.
"I'm afraid he is. What happened?"
She told her story about going to the grocer and coming back, when she found him on the floor.
The detectives kept asking her a lot of questions. She said that Patrick had come in, she was sewing, and he had been too tired to go out for dinner. She told them how she'd put the meat into the oven -- "it's there now"--and how she had gone to the grocer's for vegetables and how she came back to find him lying on the floor. One of the detectives went to interview the grocer.
After a while, everyone left but two detectives. They were exceptionally nice to her. They searched the house for the murder weapon.
"The murderer probably took it with him, but maybe he threw it away or hid it somewhere," they said. "It's the old story," he said. "Get the weapon, and you've got the murderer."
The search went on. It began to get late -- it was nearly nine o'clock. The men searching the rooms were getting tired.
"You must be extremely tired. Please, you've been very good to me," she said. She got them a drink. The detectives were uncomfortable with her and they tried to say cheering things to her.
One detective walked into the kitchen. "Look, Mrs. Maloney. Did you know that your oven is still on, and the meat is still inside?"
"Oh," she said. "So it is! I'd better turn it off." She returned with large, dark, tearful eyes.
"Would you do me a favor? Here you all are, all good friends of Patrick's, and you're helping to catch the man who killed him. You must be very hungry by now because it's long past your supper time, and I know that Patrick would never forgive me if I let you stay in the house without offering you anything to eat. Why don't you eat up the lamb in the oven? It'd be a favor to me if you ate it up. Then you can go on with your work."
The detectives were hungry, so they went into the kitchen and helped themselves to supper. The woman stayed where she was and listened to them through the open door. She could hear them speaking among themselves, and their voices were thick because their mouths were full of meat.
"Have some more, Charlie."
"No, we'd better not finish it."
"She wants us to finish it. She said so."
"That's a big bar the murderer must have used to hit poor Patrick. The doctor says the back of his head was broken to pieces.
"That's why the weapon should be easy to find."
"Whoever did it, he can't carry a weapon that big around with him."
"Personally, I think the weapon is somewhere near the house."
"It's probably right under our noses. What do you think, Jack?"
And in the other room, Mary Maloney began to laugh.

Long Version




The room was warm, the curtains were closed, the two table lamps were lit. On the cupboard behind her there were two glasses and some drinks. Mary Maloney was waiting for her husband to come home from work.

Now and again she glanced at the clock, but without anxiety: She merely wanted to satisfy herself that each minute that went by made it nearer the time when he would come home. As she bent over her sewing, she was curiously peaceful. This was her sixth month expecting a child. Her mouth and her eyes, with their new calm look, seemed larger and darker than before.
When the clock said ten minutes to five, she began to listen, and a few moments later, punctually as always, she heard the car tires on the stones outside, the car door closing, footsteps passing the window, the key turning in the lock. She stood up and went forward to kiss him as he entered.
"Hello, darling," she said.
"Hello," he answered.
She took his coat and hung it up. Then she made the drinks, a strong one for him and a weak one for herself; and soon she was back again in her chair with the sewing, and he was in the other chair, holding the tall glass, rolling it gently so that the ice knocked musically against the side of the glass.
For her, this was always a wonderful time of day. She knew he didn't want to speak much until the first drink was finished, and she was satisfied to sit quietly, enjoying his company after the long hours alone in the house. She loved the warmth that came out of him when they were alone together. She loved the shape of his mouth, and she especially liked the way he didn't complain about being tired.
"Tired, darling?"
"Yes," he sighed. "I'm thoroughly exhausted. And as he spoke, he did an unusual thing. He lifted his glass and drank it down in one swallow although there was still half of it left. He got up and went slowly to get himself another drink.
"I'll get it!" she cried, jumping up.
"Sit down," he said.
When he came back, she noticed that the new drink was a very strong one. She watched him as he began to drink.

"I think it's a shame," she said, "that when someone's been a policeman as long as you have, he still has to walk around all day long." He didn't answer. "Darling," she said," If you're too tired to eat out tonight, as we had planned, I can fix you something. There's plenty of meat and stuff in the freezer." Her eyes waited to an answer, a smile, a nod, but he made no sign.
"Anyway," she went on. "I'll get you some bread and cheese."
"I don't want it," he said.
She moved uneasily in her chair. "But you have to have supper. I can easily fix you something. I'd like to do it. We can have lamb. Anything you want. Everything's in the freezer."
"Forget it," he said.
"But, darling, you have to eat! I'll do it anyway, and then you can have it or not, as you like."
She stood up and put placed her sewing on the table by the lamp. "Sit down," he said. "Just for a minute, sit down." It wasn't until then that she began to get frightened.
"Go on," he said. "Sit down." She lowered herself into the chair, watching him all the time with large, puzzled eyes. He had finished his second drink and was staring into the glass.
"Listen," he said. "I've got something to tell you."
"What is it, darling? What's the matter?"
He became absolutely motionless, and he kept his head down.
"This is going to be a big shock to you, I'm afraid," he said. "But I've thought about it a good deal and I've decided that the only thing to do is to tell you immediately." And he told her. It didn't take long, four or five minutes at most, and she sat still through it all, watching him with puzzled horror.
"So there it is," he added. "And I know it's a tough time to be telling you this, but there simply wasn't any other way. Of course, I'll give you money and see that you're taken care of. But there really shouldn't be any problem. I hope not, in any case. It wouldn't be very good for my job."
Her first instinct was not to believe any of it. She thought that perhaps she'd imagined the whole thing. Perhaps, if she acted as though she had not heard him, she would find out that none of it had ever happened.
"I'll fix some supper," she whispered. When she walked across the room, she couldn't feel her feet touching the floor. She couldn't feel anything except a slight sickness. She did everything without thinking. She went downstairs to the freezer and took hold of the first object she found. She lifted it out, and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at again --- a leg of lamb.
All right, then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, held the thin end with both her hands. She went into the living room, saw him standing by the window with his back to her, and stopped.
"I've already told you," he said. "Don't make supper for me. I'm going out."
At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pause, she swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head. She might as well have hit him with a steel bar.
She stepped back, waiting, and the strange thing was that he remained standing there for at least four or five seconds. Then he crashed onto the carpet.
The violence of the crash, the noise, the small table overturning, helped to bring her out of the shock. She came out slowly, feeling cold and surprised, and she stood for a few minutes, looking at the body, still holding the piece of meat tightly with both hands.

All right, she told herself. So I've killed him.
It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew what the punishment would be. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the baby? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they kill them both -- mother and child? Did they wait until the baby was born? What did they do? Mary Maloney didn't know and she wasn't prepared to take a chance.
She carried the meat into the kitchen, put it into a pan, turned on the oven, and put the pan inside. Then she washed her hands, ran upstairs, sat down in front of the mirror, fixed her makeup, and tried to smile.
The smile was rather peculiar. She tried again. "Hello, Sam" she said brightly, aloud. The voice sounded peculiar, too. "I want some potatoes, Sam. Yes, and perhaps a can of bean.s." That was better. Both the smile and the voice sounded better now. She practiced them several times more. Then she ran downstairs, took her coat, and went out the back door, through the garden into the street.

It wasn't six o'clock yet and the lights were still on in the neighborhood grocery. "Hello, Sam," she said brightly, smiling at the man in the shop.
"Good evening, Mrs. Maloney. How are you?"
"I want some potatoes, please, Sam. Yes, and perhaps a can of beans, too. Patrick's decided he's tired and he doesn't want to eat out tonight," she told him. "We usually go out on Thursdays, you know, and now I don't have any vegetables in the house."
"Then how about some meat, Mrs. Maloney?" asked the grocer.
"No, I've got meat, thanks, I've got a nice leg of lamb, from the freezer."
"Do you want these potatoes, Mrs. Maloney?
"Oh, yes, they'll be fine. Two pounds, please."
"Anything else?" The grocer turned his head to one side, looking at her. "How about dessert? What are you going to give him for dessert? How about a nice piece of cake? I know he likes cake."
"Perfect," she said. "He loves it."
And when she had bought and paid for everything, she gave her brightest smile and said, "Thank you, Sam. Good night."
And now, she told herself as she hurried back home, she was returning to her husband and he was waiting for his supper. She had to cook it well and make it taste as good as possible, because the poor man was tired; and if she found anything unusual or terrible when she got home, then it would be a shock and she would have to react with grief and horror. Of course, she was not expecting to find anything unusual at home. She was just going home with the vegetables on Thursday evening to cook dinner for husband.
That's the way, she told herself. Do everything normally. Keep things absolutely natural and there'll be no need for acting at all. As she entered the kitchen by the back door, she was quietly singing to herself.
"Patrick!" she called. "How are you, darling?"
She put the package on the table and went into the living room; and when she saw him lying there on the floor, it really was a shock. All the old love for him came back to her, and she ran over to him, knelt down beside him, and began to cry hard. It was easy. No acting was necessary.
A few minutes later, she got up and went to the phone. She knew the number of the police station, and when the man at the other end answered, she cried to him. "Quick! Come quickly! Patrick's dead."
"Who's speaking?"
"Mrs. Maloney. Mrs. Patrick Maloney."
"Do you mean that Patrick's dead?"
"I think so, " she cried. "He's lying on the floor and I think he's dead."
"We'll be there immediately," the man said.
The car came very quickly, and when she opened the front door, two policemen walked in. She knew them both. She knew nearly all the men at the police station. She fell into Jack Noonan's arms, crying uncontrollably. He put her gently into a chair.
"Is he dead?" she cried.
"I'm afraid he is. What happened?"
In a few words she told her story about going to the grocer and coming back, when she found him on the floor. While she was crying and talking, Noonan found some dried blood on the dead man's head. He hurried to the phone.
Some other men began to arrive -- a doctor, two detectives, a police photographer, and a man who knew about fingerprints. The detectives kept asking her a lot of questions. They always treated her kindly. She told them how she'd put the meat into the overn -- "it's there now"--and how she had gone to the grocer's for vegetables and how she came back to find him lying on the floor.
The two detectives were exceptionally nice to her. They searched the house. Sometimes Jack Noonan spoke to her gently. He told her that her husband had been killed by a blow to the back of the head. They were looking for the weapon. The murderer might have taken it with him, but he might have thrown it away or hidden it. --- "It's the old story," he said. "Get the weapon, and you've got the murderer."
Later, one of the detectives sat down beside her. Did she know, he asked, of anything in the house that could have been used as a weapon? Would she look around to see if anything was missing.
The search went on. It began to get late -- it was nearly nine o'clock. The men searching the rooms were getting tired. "Jack," she said, "Would you like a drink? You must be extremely tired."
"Well," he answered. "It's not allowed by police rules, but since you're a friend."
They stood around with drinks in their hands. The detectives were uncomfortable with her and they tried to say cheering things to her. Jack Noonan walked into the kitchen, came out quickly, and said, "Look, Mrs. Maloney. Did you know that your oven is still on, and the meat is still inside?"
"Oh," she said. "So it is! I'd better turn it off." She returned with tearful eyes. "Would you do me a favor? Here you all are, all good friends of Patrick's, and you're helping to catch the man who killed him. You must be very hungry by now because it's long past your supper time, and I know that Patrick would never forgive me if I let you stay in the house without offering you anything to eat. Why don't you eat up the lamb in the oven?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Noonan said.
"Please," she begged. "Personally, I couldn't eat a thing, but it'd be a favor to me if you ate it up. Then you can go on with your work."
The detectives hesitated, but they were hungry, and in the end, they went into the kitchen and helped themselves to supper. The woman stayed where she was and listened to them through the open door. She could hear them speaking among themselves, and their voices were thick because their mouths were full of meat.
"Have some more, Charlie."
"No, we'd better not finish it."
"She wants us to finish it. She said we ought to eat it up."
"That's a big bar the murderer must have used to hit poor Patrick. The doctor says the back of his head was broken to pieces.
"That's why the weapon should be easy to find."
"Exactly what I say."
"Whoever did it, he can't carry a weapon that big around with him."
"Personally, I think the weapon is somewhere near the house."
"It's probably right under our noses. What do you think, Jack?"
And in the other room, Mary Maloney began to laugh.

The Bet- by Anton Chekhov

Translated by Constance Garnett, from "The Schoolmistress and Other Stories," 1921.

The Bet

By Anton Chekhov

I


IT WAS a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interesting conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment. The majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual men, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment out of date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life.

"I don't agree with you," said their host the banker. "I have not tried either the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge à priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?"

"Both are equally immoral," observed one of the guests, "for they both have the same object--to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to."

Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. When he was asked his opinion, he said:

"The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at all."

A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table with his fist and shouted at the young man:

"It's not true! I'll bet you two millions you wouldn't stay in solitary confinement for five years."

"If you mean that in earnest," said the young man, "I'll take the bet, but I would stay not five but fifteen years."

"Fifteen? Done!" cried the banker. "Gentlemen, I stake two millions!"

"Agreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!" said the young man.

And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and frivolous, with millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet. At supper he made fun of the young man, and said:

"Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two millions are a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or four, because you won't stay longer. Don't forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole existence in prison. I am sorry for you."

And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked himself: "What was the object of that bet? What is the good of that man's losing fifteen years of his life and my throwing away two millions? Can it prove that the death penalty is better or worse than imprisonment for life? No, no. It was all nonsensical and meaningless. On my part it was the caprice of a pampered man, and on his part simple greed for money. . . ."

Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest supervision in one of the lodges in the banker's garden. It was agreed that for fifteen years he should not be free to cross the threshold of the lodge, to see human beings, to hear the human voice, or to receive letters and newspapers. He was allowed to have a musical instrument and books, and was allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and to smoke. By the terms of the agreement, the only relations he could have with the outer world were by a little window made purposely for that object. He might have anything he wanted--books, music, wine, and so on--in any quantity he desired by writing an order, but could only receive them through the window. The agreement provided for every detail and every trifle that would make his imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the young man to stay there exactly fifteen years, beginning from twelve o'clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at twelve o'clock of November 14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break the conditions, if only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the obligation to pay him two millions.

For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from his brief notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression. The sounds of the piano could be heard continually day and night from his lodge. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, excites the desires, and desires are the worst foes of the prisoner; and besides, nothing could be more dreary than drinking good wine and seeing no one. And tobacco spoilt the air of his room. In the first year the books he sent for were principally of a light character; novels with a complicated love plot, sensational and fantastic stories, and so on.

In the second year the piano was silent in the lodge, and the prisoner asked only for the classics. In the fifth year music was audible again, and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him through the window said that all that year he spent doing nothing but eating and drinking and lying on his bed, frequently yawning and angrily talking to himself. He did not read books. Sometimes at night he would sit down to write; he would spend hours writing, and in the morning tear up all that he had written. More than once he could be heard crying.

In the second half of the sixth year the prisoner began zealously studying languages, philosophy, and history. He threw himself eagerly into these studies--so much so that the banker had enough to do to get him the books he ordered. In the course of four years some six hundred volumes were procured at his request. It was during this period that the banker received the following letter from his prisoner:

"My dear Jailer, I write you these lines in six languages. Show them to people who know the languages. Let them read them. If they find not one mistake I implore you to fire a shot in the garden. That shot will show me that my efforts have not been thrown away. The geniuses of all ages and of all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in them all. Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels now from being able to understand them!"

The prisoner's desire was fulfilled. The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden.

Then after the tenth year, the prisoner sat immovably at the table and read nothing but the Gospel. It seemed strange to the banker that a man who in four years had mastered six hundred learned volumes should waste nearly a year over one thin book easy of comprehension. Theology and histories of religion followed the Gospels.

In the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an immense quantity of books quite indiscriminately. At one time he was busy with the natural sciences, then he would ask for Byron or Shakespeare. There were notes in which he demanded at the same time books on chemistry, and a manual of medicine, and a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or theology. His reading suggested a man swimming in the sea among the wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching first at one spar and then at another.


II


The old banker remembered all this, and thought:

"To-morrow at twelve o'clock he will regain his freedom. By our agreement I ought to pay him two millions. If I do pay him, it is all over with me: I shall be utterly ruined."

Fifteen years before, his millions had been beyond his reckoning; now he was afraid to ask himself which were greater, his debts or his assets. Desperate gambling on the Stock Exchange, wild speculation and the excitability which he could not get over even in advancing years, had by degrees led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless, self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middling rank, trembling at every rise and fall in his investments. "Cursed bet!" muttered the old man, clutching his head in despair "Why didn't the man die? He is only forty now. He will take my last penny from me, he will marry, will enjoy life, will gamble on the Exchange; while I shall look at him with envy like a beggar, and hear from him every day the same sentence: 'I am indebted to you for the happiness of my life, let me help you!' No, it is too much! The one means of being saved from bankruptcy and disgrace is the death of that man!"

It struck three o'clock, the banker listened; everyone was asleep in the house and nothing could be heard outside but the rustling of the chilled trees. Trying to make no noise, he took from a fireproof safe the key of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his overcoat, and went out of the house.

It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting wind was racing about the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest. The banker strained his eyes, but could see neither the earth nor the white statues, nor the lodge, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the lodge stood, he twice called the watchman. No answer followed. Evidently the watchman had sought shelter from the weather, and was now asleep somewhere either in the kitchen or in the greenhouse.

"If I had the pluck to carry out my intention," thought the old man, "Suspicion would fall first upon the watchman."

He felt in the darkness for the steps and the door, and went into the entry of the lodge. Then he groped his way into a little passage and lighted a match. There was not a soul there. There was a bedstead with no bedding on it, and in the corner there was a dark cast-iron stove. The seals on the door leading to the prisoner's rooms were intact.

When the match went out the old man, trembling with emotion, peeped through the little window. A candle was burning dimly in the prisoner's room. He was sitting at the table. Nothing could be seen but his back, the hair on his head, and his hands. Open books were lying on the table, on the two easy-chairs, and on the carpet near the table.

Five minutes passed and the prisoner did not once stir. Fifteen years' imprisonment had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped at the window with his finger, and the prisoner made no movement whatever in response. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals off the door and put the key in the keyhole. The rusty lock gave a grating sound and the door creaked. The banker expected to hear at once footsteps and a cry of astonishment, but three minutes passed and it was as quiet as ever in the room. He made up his mind to go in.

At the table a man unlike ordinary people was sitting motionless. He was a skeleton with the skin drawn tight over his bones, with long curls like a woman's and a shaggy beard. His face was yellow with an earthy tint in it, his cheeks were hollow, his back long and narrow, and the hand on which his shaggy head was propped was so thin and delicate that it was dreadful to look at it. His hair was already streaked with silver, and seeing his emaciated, aged-looking face, no one would have believed that he was only forty. He was asleep. . . . In front of his bowed head there lay on the table a sheet of paper on which there was something written in fine handwriting.

"Poor creature!" thought the banker, "he is asleep and most likely dreaming of the millions. And I have only to take this half-dead man, throw him on the bed, stifle him a little with the pillow, and the most conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let us first read what he has written here. . . ."

The banker took the page from the table and read as follows:

"To-morrow at twelve o'clock I regain my freedom and the right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. With a clear conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds me, that I despise freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is called the good things of the world.

"For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have loved women. . . . Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl. In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds' pipes; I have touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God. . . . In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms. . . .

"Your books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my brain. I know that I am wiser than all of you.

"And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe.

"You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you.

"To prove to you in action how I despise all that you live by, I renounce the two millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise and which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall go out from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the compact. . . ."

When the banker had read this he laid the page on the table, kissed the strange man on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping. At no other time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock Exchange, had he felt so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on his bed, but his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping.

Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him they had seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the garden, go to the gate, and disappear. The banker went at once with the servants to the lodge and made sure of the flight of his prisoner. To avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the writing in which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up in the fireproof safe.



-1889-

Return to the Chautauqua Homepage .

Classic Science Fiction Literature Background Questions

Classic Science Fiction Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

Please refer to the “The Future Future” section and answer the following questions:

1. In the Victorian Age, what were people most curious about regarding science?



2. In the 19th century, what question were the Verian writers (those most like Jules Verne) pondering?



3. What question were the Wellsian writers (those most like H.G. Wells) considering?



4. What two world events had the greatest impact on science fiction literature and how did they impact this genre?

Event one - Impact –



Event two - Impact –




5.. What was Jules Verne’s main interest? What did he ignore in his writing?




6. What was H.G. Wells’ main interest? What was his weakness as a writer?



7. What was Hugo Gernsback’s opinion of machines?




8. What did John W. Campbell believe was the purpose of science fiction?



Now complete the chart using the other sections of the history. Please note that most of the information you need can be found in the first or last page of each section. For each of the following eras of science fiction, please do the following:
1. List the years for this era
2. Name one important writer and one thing he/she accomplished during this time
3. One event that affected the literature
4. Answer any additional questions in the 3rd column
Writer &
Years Accomplishment Event

Wood & Feathers
Millenniums:



What’s considered the earliest ‘genuine science fiction story’?





Iron Age:





The Steel Generation:



What’s a pulp?



The Silver Years:




The Golden Years:




The Uranium Decade:





The Plastic Zenith:





Isotopic Moments:




What is fandom?




What two (2) things make up the literature of the young?




The Alloy Now:

Gothic Literature Background Questions

Gothic Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. What was the Industrial Revolution? How did Romantic writers react to these changes?






2. What unrest was occurring around the world from the time of 1750-1837? How did this inspire “revolutionary” authors?






3. What was the Enlightenment? What did the thinkers of this time believe?






4. Who was Jean-Jacques Rousseau and what were his ideas surrounding the “state of nature”?







5. What was “sensibility” during romantic times? How were emotions valued in society? Why would this inspire Gothic works?





6. How was the imagination valued during the romantic era?






7. What were the Romantics’ views on how people should interact with nature? Why did they feel this way? What were they reacting to?






8. Why were Romantics so interested with the lives of children?





9. How did the idea of sleep and dreams inspire Gothic writers?





10. What places and time periods were Gothic writers especially obsessed with? Why were they interested in these?








11. How did Gothic and Romantic writers influence our views of the Middle Ages?





12. Who was the first “Gothic” author? Why were his works considered “Gothic”?




13. What are the key elements of a Gothic story or novel?








14. What is an “Anti-Hero”? Give an example of one from Gothic Literature? What makes this character an “anti hero”?




15. How did vampires and monsters emerge in Gothic Literature? Who were some famous ones and why?







16. How were women portrayed in Gothic Literature?







17. What was a “tradebook” or “chapbook”? How did these help spread Gothic literature to the masses?

Literature of the WWI and WWII Background Questions

Literature of the WWI and WWII Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit
World War I
1. How did World War I begin?




2. What was trench warfare? How and why did it evolve?




3. What were some of the effects of WWI on soldiers?



4. How did the air become a battlefield in World War I?



5. How was gas used in World War I?



6. How and why did the World War I spread to the desert?



7. How and why did the US become involved in World War I?




8. What was the final outcome of World War I?



9. How did all these factors and events at this time affect and reflect your literary movement?



World War II
10. What led up to World War II?



11. What were the Axis Countries? What were the Ally countries?
12. What methods, including the “blitzkrieg”, were used by armies during World War II to achieve victory?



13. How did bombing affect all of Europe during World War II?



14. How did Russia play a role in the outcome of World War II?



15. How was propaganda used during World War II?




16. What was the Holocaust?



17. How was the war finally brought to an end?




18. How were women involved in the World War I and World War II?




19. What is “modernism” and how did it rise out of these two wars?





20. What were common themes in literature dealing with World War I and World War II?

Shakespearean Literature Background Questions

Shakespearean Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit
1. What was the Renaissance (the Rebirth), when did it start, and why did it start?








2. How did the Renaissance give rise to great literature?







2. What was humanism? How would Shakespearean plays have fit into this idea?




3. Who were some great artists working during Shakespeare’s time? What did they create? List at least four and give some background.

a.

b.

c.

d.



4. How was “the spread of ideas” in Europe connected to Guttenberg’s invention? What did it achieve?





5.What was the Globe theatre and what were some interesting things about the structure? What were some interesting things that happened there?



6. How did religion in England change during the time Shakespeare was alive?





7. How were boys and girls treated differently in Elizabethan England? Give specific examples.
Boys-



Girls-




8. Invent a fictional neighbor for Shakespeare. What would their life have been like?
Employment-



Standard of living-


Home-


Family-


Recreational activities-




10. Who was Queen Elizabeth? What was she like? How was she different than other rulers?





11. How did all these factors and events at this time affect and reflect your literary movement?

Medieval Literature Background Questions

Medieval Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. How did the Medieval Age get it’s name? Why was it called this?




2. What was the feudal system? Explain its hierarchy and how it worked.






3. What would daily life be like for a peasant?
Work:


Food:


Home:


4. What would daily life be like for a Lord?
Work:


Food:


Home:


5. What would daily life be like for a Baron:
Work:


Food:


Home:

6. What would daily life be like for a Bishop:
Work:

Food:


Home:


7. What would daily life be like for a King:
Work:


Food:


Home:



8. What church was the most powerful? How did it dictate people’s lives?





9. What was the “War of the Roses”? Who were the white and red roses? How did this affect Medieval Europe?






10. What was life if you were a woman in Medieval times?





11. What would daily life be like for a monk?
Work:


Food:


Home:


12. Who were pilgrims (we’re not talking Mayflower here)? What did they do?




13. Who was Chaucer, why is he so famous and how does he help explain pilgrims?


14. What were Chaucer’s three estates? Explain each one of them.
A.


B.


C.



15. Explain Chaucer’s writing style? What was it and why was it so popular (HINT: You need to know what “Iambic pentameter is)?





16. How did plays and literature play a part in daily life for people in Medieval Europe?






17. What plagues surged through Medieval Europe? What were some of the defenses people took against these?





18. How do we define the end of Medieval Europe?





19. How did all these factors and events at this time affect and reflect your literary movement?

Existentialist Literature Background Questions

Existentialist Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. What were some of the breakthroughs in technology and science that were occurring in the first half of the 20th century that affected existentialists?





2. How did Freud’s analysis of human behavior shock the world?





3. Why would someone possibly describe the World War I as irrational?




4. Who were the Nazis and what did they do that made people question the capabilities of humans?





5. What were some of the aspects (at least three) of World War I and II that made people question their existence and purpose on earth?




6. What was modernism? How did it tie in with this era’s idea of irrationalism?






What were some of the artistic ideas that sprang up out of modernism (give examples)?









7. Who were the surrealists? What was their goal?



How did they accomplish this in art?



How did they accomplish this in literature?




8. How did artists, during this time, challenge the idea of reality?




9. Why did authors of this time period focus so much on the absurd?





10. What is, in your own words, existentialism (if your stuck, ponder the bonus questions for a while)?





11. Why would many people think of existentialism as depressing? Why, can it be argued, that it is not?





Explain the phrase, “existentialism is living”.






12. Who was Sartre? What questions did he concern himself with?





13. Who was Camus? What questions did he concern himself with?





Bonus Questions
Try your own handat answering these existential questions from the great thinkers:

1. If something worth living for is worth dying for, what about something not worth dying for (Camus)?






2. Did man create God to have a reason to live (Dostoevsky)?







3. Does society make men and women different or do we choose our roles (Beauvoir)?






4. Would living forever add meaning to life (Heidegger)?







5. How do you really act in private (Sartre)?






6. Without love, without people, what is a person (Kafka)?

Early Detective Literature Background Questions

Early Detective Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. What are some reasons detective stories have appealed to readers since their start?




2. Who was the father of the detective story? What stories did he tell? What pattern did he establish?





3. What is a “Roman Policer”? What was unique about these books?




4. What were “Penny Bloods”? Why were they so popular? How are they different from detective books today?





5. What were “Railway fiction” and “Yellow Backs”? How did they get their name and how did they help popularize detective fiction?






6. Who wrote about Sherlock Holmes? Why did this particular detective become so popular?






7. In the late 1800’s, what countries were producing the most detective fiction?


8. Sherlock Holmes was very popular. What characters competed with him in the literary market? What is an “arm chair detective” and how did these authors give rise to this?





9. What is an “arch villain”? Who were some of the most famous ones and what did they do? How did detective writers use stereotypes to create these? Why do you think this was done (hint: think about when these were written)? How do you feel about this?









10. How did women enter detective fiction?




11. What was the “golden age” of detective fiction? How did it get this name?






12. What was a “hardboiled dick”? Why did they become popular?





13. How did events from the time period of detective novels affect and reflect your literary movement?

Czarist Russian Literature Background Questions

Czarist Russian Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

THE BIG QUESTIONS
1. Compare and Contrast the life of a peasant with the life of a noble in Czarist Russia in the following categories:
Peasant Nobleman

a. Food and Drink




b. Clothing





c. Work/working conditions





d. Clothing





e. Land rights






2. Who were the czars?






3. Why were they eventually overthrown?


4. Describe the writer Alexander Pushkin’s impact on arts in Czarist Russia.





5. Compare and contrast Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy – how they used literature and what they wrote about (you might want to use a Venn diagram).













6. Describe at least one major change in all of the following forms of art during the time of the czars:
a. Writing




b. Music




c. Dance




d. Painting




e. Theater

Literature of the British and Dutch Empires Background Questions

Literature of the British and Dutch Empires Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. Where and when did imperialism begin for England? Who else was involved in imperialism at this time?





2. What was the “seven year” war? What was its outcome?





3. What was the second empire? How did the industrial revolution affect imperialism in England?




4. What was the “Origin of Species” and how did it affect people at this time?




5. What were women’s rights like during the time of Queen Victoria?





6. Who were Livingstone and Stanley? How did they contribute to the empires?





7. What was “the Irish question”? How did it affect the Irish?




8. Why was literature often focused on India during Victoria’s reign?



9. What was “the Eastern Question”? How did this affect England’s relationship with Europe?
10. Your history packet has many first hand accounts from Europeans living in India. What were some interesting observations made regarding the following. Please write down the author(s) with their observation.
Servants:


Indian Society:



The caste system:



The climate:



Sanitation:



Daily life for a European man:



Daily life of a European woman:



Children:



Animals:



11. What were some ways Europeans tried to remain “European” when in India?




12. What was the V.O.C.? How did it aid imperialism?

Victorian Literature Background Questions

Victorian Literature Name:__________________
Global Literature: Europe Unit

1. How were Britain and the British Empire changing throughout the Victorian age?





2. What areas of the world were considered British colonies during the Victorian era?





3. Who was Queen Victoria? What was her life like? What role did she play in society?




4. What was the Industrial Revolution? What were some of the main technological advances during the Victorian age?





5. What problems rose up in cities during this time period?





6. What was Marxism? How did Marx’s ideas affect this era?








7. Who was Charles Darwin? How did his discoveries affect the Victorians?






8. What were the three main values of the Victorian era and how did the people show these?





9. What is the “middle class”? What does an “aristocracy of merit” mean? How did this apply to the Middle class?





10. What roles did women have during this time period?




11. Why did democracy begin spreading during this time period? How were labor rights influential to this new democracy?




12. How did imperialism affect Great Britain during the Victorian era?





13. Why were more people becoming wealthy in England during the Victorian era?






14. What were some problems with Victorian society? Which groups were doing well; which groups were suffering?





15. Who was Thomas Carlyle? Why did he value work?



16. How did the novel emerge in England?




17. What is Realism? Why did Victorian writers move in the direction of Realism?





18. What was Naturalism? Why did writers in the Victorian era write in this style? How did Naturalism differ from Realism?







19. What was “decedent” mean? Why did some writers adopt these attitudes during this era?





20. Who were some artists and authors in the Victorian era? What themes did they deal with?
Author: Themes:

Author: Themes:

Author : Themes:

Artist: Themes:

Artist: Themes:

Artist: Themes:

21. Go to the back of your packet. Write some fun facts about this era:

Short Story/ Play Analysis

Global Literature Name:_________________________
Unit: Europe
Play/Short Story Analysis
Title:______________________________________
Author:____________________________________
1. What your literary movement?

2. Write a brief summary of the story:
Exposition (setting the scene):



Rising Action:



Climax:



Resolution:




3. List the main characters. Give a detailed description of the character you found most
interesting.





4. Describe the author's style (think about tone, word choice, voice, ect):




Use examples from the story (quotations etc) to illustrate your description:




5. What is the setting of the story (time period and place)?

How did the setting contribute to the theme and/or plot?


6. List two literary conflicts in the short story(person against nature, person, society, god/fate, self). Explain specifically what the conflict was and how these conflicts are important to plot/theme development.

Conflict 1: person vs ________________



Conflict 2: person vs ________________



6. What are the themes/questions explored in this story (what is this story about)? What is the author's opinion about the themes or questions? (Give specific examples to support your ideas).







Synthesis Questions:

1. What does this story tell you about the region or literary movement you are studying?








2. How is this story's message cross borders and time and thus remain relevant today?




Give at least one example of how this could connect to something that is happening today.

The Last Lesson- Alphonse Daudet

THE LAST LESSON

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET


I started for school very late that morning and was in great dread of a
scolding, especially because M. Hamel had said that he would question us
on participles, and I did not know the first word about them. For a moment
I thought of running away and spending the day out of doors. It was so
warm, so bright! The birds were chirping at the edge of the woods; and in
the open field back of the saw-mill the Prussian soldiers were drilling.
It was all much more tempting than the rule for participles, but I had the
strength to resist, and hurried off to school.

When I passed the town hall there was a crowd in front of the
bulletin-board. For the last two years all our bad news had come from
there--the lost battles, the draft, the orders of the commanding
officer--and I thought to myself, without stopping:

"What can be the matter now?"

Then, as I hurried by as fast as I could go, the blacksmith, Wachter, who
was there, with his apprentice, reading the bulletin, called after me:

"Don't go so fast, bub; you'll get to your school in plenty of time!"

I thought he was making fun of me, and reached M. Hamel's little garden
all out of breath.

Usually, when school began, there was a great bustle, which could be heard
out in the street, the opening and closing of desks, lessons repeated in
unison, very loud, with our hands over our ears to understand better, and
the teacher's great ruler rapping on the table. But now it was all so
still! I had counted on the commotion to get to my desk without being
seen; but, of course, that day everything had to be as quiet as Sunday
morning. Through the window I saw my classmates, already in their places,
and M. Hamel walking up and down with his terrible iron ruler under his
arm. I had to open the door and go in before everybody. You can imagine
how I blushed and how frightened I was.

But nothing happened, M. Hamel saw me and said very kindly:

"Go to your place quickly, little Franz. We were beginning without you."

I jumped over the bench and sat down at my desk. Not till then, when I had
got a little over my fright, did I see that our teacher had on his
beautiful green coat, his frilled shirt, and the little black silk cap,
all embroidered, that he never wore except on inspection and prize days.
Besides, the whole school seemed so strange and solemn. But the thing that
surprised me most was to see, on the back benches that were always empty,
the village people sitting quietly like ourselves; old Hauser, with his
three-cornered hat, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and several
others besides. Everybody looked sad; and Hauser had brought an old
primer, thumbed at the edges, and he held it open on his knees with his
great spectacles lying across the pages.

While I was wondering about it all, M. Hamel mounted his chair, and, in
the same grave and gentle tone which he had used to me, said:

"My children, this is the last lesson I shall give you. The order has come
from Berlin to teach only German in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine.
The new master comes to-morrow. This is your last French lesson. I want
you to be very attentive."

What a thunder-clap these words were to me!

Oh, the wretches; that was what they had put up at the town-hall!

My last French lesson! Why, I hardly knew how to write! I should never
learn any more! I must stop there, then! Oh, how sorry I was for not
learning my lessons, for seeking birds' eggs, or going sliding on the
Saar! My books, that had seemed such a nuisance a while ago, so heavy to
carry, my grammar, and my history of the saints, were old friends now that
I couldn't give up. And M. Hamel, too; the idea that he was going away,
that I should never see him again, made me forget all about his ruler and
how cranky he was.

Poor man! It was in honor of this last lesson that he had put on his fine
Sunday-clothes, and now I understood why the old men of the village were
sitting there in the back of the room. It was because they were sorry,
too, that they had not gone to school more. It was their way of thanking
our master for his forty years of faithful service and of showing their
respect for the country that was theirs no more.

While I was thinking of all this, I heard my name called. It was my turn
to recite. What would I not have given to be able to say that dreadful
rule for the participle all through, very loud and clear, and without one
mistake? But I got mixed up on the first words and stood there, holding on
to my desk, my heart beating, and not daring to look up. I heard M. Hamel
say to me:

"I won't scold you, little Franz; you must feel bad enough. See how it is!
Every day we have said to ourselves: 'Bah! I've plenty of time. I'll learn
it to-morrow.' And now you see where we've come out. Ah, that's the great
trouble with Alsace; she puts off learning till to-morrow. Now those
fellows out there will have the right to say to you: 'How is it; you
pretend to be Frenchmen, and yet you can neither speak nor write your own
language?' But you are not the worst, poor little Franz. We've all a great
deal to reproach ourselves with.

"Your parents were not anxious enough to have you learn. They preferred to
put you to work on a farm or at the mills, so as to have a little more
money. And I? I've been to blame also. Have I not often sent you to water
my flowers instead of learning your lessons? And when I wanted to go
fishing, did I not just give you a holiday?"

Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel went on to talk of the French
language, saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world--the
clearest, the most logical; that we must guard it among us and never
forget it, because when a people are enslaved, as long as they hold fast
to their language it is as if they had the key to their prison. Then he
opened a grammar and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how well I
understood it. All he said seemed so easy, so easy! I think, too, that I
had never listened so carefully, and that he had never explained
everything with so much patience. It seemed almost as if the poor man
wanted to give us all he knew before going away, and to put it all into
our heads at one stroke.

After the grammar, we had a lesson in writing. That day M. Hamel had new
copies for us, written in a beautiful round hand: France, Alsace, France,
Alsace. They looked like little flags floating everywhere in the
school-room, hung from the rod at the top of our desks. You ought to have
seen how every one set to work, and how quiet it was! The only sound was
the scratching of the pens over the paper. Once some beetles flew in; but
nobody paid any attention to them, not even the littlest ones, who worked
right on tracing their fish-hooks, as if that was French, too. On the roof
the pigeons cooed very low, and I thought to myself:

"Will they make them sing in German, even the pigeons?"

Whenever I looked up from my writing I saw M. Hamel sitting motionless in
his chair and gazing first at one thing, then at another, as if he wanted
to fix in his mind just how everything looked in that little school-room.
Fancy! For forty years he had been there in the same place, with his
garden outside the window and his class in front of him, just like that.
Only the desks and benches had been worn smooth; the walnut-trees in the
garden were taller, and the hop-vine, that he had planted himself twined
about the windows to the roof. How it must have broken his heart to leave
it all, poor man; to hear his sister moving about in the room above,
packing their trunks! For they must leave the country next day.

But he had the courage to hear every lesson to the very last. After the
writing, we had a lesson in history, and then the babies chanted their ba,
be, bi, bo, bu. Down there at the back of the room old Hauser had put on
his spectacles and, holding his primer in both hands, spelled the letters
with them. You could see that he, too, was crying; his voice trembled with
emotion, and it was so funny to hear him that we all wanted to laugh and
cry. Ah, how well I remember it, that last lesson!

All at once the church-clock struck twelve. Then the Angelus. At the same
moment the trumpets of the Prussians, returning from drill, sounded under
our windows. M. Hamel stood up, very pale, in his chair. I never saw him
look so tall.

"My friends," said he, "I--I--" But something choked him. He could not go
on.

Then he turned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and, bearing on
with all his might, he wrote as large as he could:

"Vive La France!"

Then he stopped and leaned his head against the wall, and, without a word,
he made a gesture to us with his hand; "School is dismissed--you may go."

TRC Worksheet

TRC Debrief (if absent)
1. What was the Truth and Reconciliation Committee? Why did some people praise this? Why were some people opposed to this? What did they hope to achieve?







2.. Many relatives of victims wanted to hear how their loved ones died. Why might this be? What does this achieve?




3. Is it better to discuss hurts out in the open, or should people just “let sleeping dogs lie”?



4. “ We make the mistakes of conflating all justice into the Retributive justice, when there is a thing called restorative justice. And this is the option we have chosen. But there is justice. The perpetrators don’t get off scot free. They have to confess publicly, in the full glare of television lights, that they did those ghastly things.” (Desmond Tutu). DO you agree with him? Is the public confession of acts enough to establish justice in South Africa?

Final Project Rubric

South Africa Name:__________________
Final Project

Theme:

5 points

A=Strongly connected to a quotation or central question/topic studied in the unit
B=Clearly connected to a quotation or central question/topic studied in the unit
C=Vaguely connected to a quotation or central question/topic studied in the unit
D=Not clearly connected to a quotation or central question/topic studied in the unit

Ideas and Content

40 points

A=Strong depth of thought and considerable effort shown through project and attached writing.
Project is creative and wows me! Completely connects with what we have been studying in class!
B=Clear depth of thought and considerable effort shown through project and attached writing.
Project is fairly creative and impressive.
Deals with clear issues surrounding Apartheid. Some depth of thought and some effort shown through project and attached writing.
C=Project demonstrates knowledge but does not go above and beyond.
Deals with vague issue surrounding Apartheid. Little depth of thought and some effort shown through project and attached writing.
D=Project demonstrates some knowledge but does not go above and beyond.
Apartheid connection is not clear or simplistic.

Class Connection

20 points

A=Includes at least three specific references to works we have studied in class.
The connection made is deep and thorough.
B=Includes clear references to works we have studied in class.
Connection is clear but may be missing 3 specific works or explanation.
C=Includes references to works studied in class.
Connections are vague.
D=Includes no references to works studied in class or includes references that are not connected.

Aesthetics

10 points

A=Beautiful at all times. (Typed or calligraphy where appropriate.)
Strong effort.
Conventions are correct throughout.
B=Overall beautiful, but lacking neatness in places.
Good effort.
Conventions are mostly correct.
C=Attractive project but lacking in places.
Fair effort.
Convention problems.
D=Project needs more care.
Some effort shown, but needs more.
Convention problems.


Final Grade:_____/75

Soweto Road Poem and Assignment

Below is the poem Soweto Road. Analyze this poem looking at form, sound, and meaning. Write a meaty paragraph telling the overall menaing of the poem. Use exmaples of form, sound, and poetic devices to show how you arrived at this conclusion. FOr an example of how to do this, see me for a handout in class next time.

Soweto road

On this spot rough
From cares of slow years
On these streets
muddy from torrents red
on these crooked roads
yawning for direction
here where like early spring
awaiting rain’s seeds
young voices stormed horizons
how yet like summer streams
young blood flowed over
flooded flower
in the dead of winter

On this road here
here this road here
tingles and shudders
from acid taste
the snakeskin snakestooth whiplash road
where snakes tongue flicker lick
broken glass children’s park
road school for shoeless feet…
olympic track perfected
by daily daring sprints
against passes
and barbed wire nakedness…
this road pressed soft
oozing like tear-falls
treeless show-ground for hard-ware
processions

all the June sixteen festivals
and their mad array of hippos
muffling contrary anthems
with machine-gun chatter
naked greed and lust for blood in camouflage
Soweto road drunk
from rich red wine
this sweet arterial blood
for choice Aryan folk…
battlefield road here yes

here
yes even here
where road-blocks to life pile
precariously
here we kneel
scoop earth raise mounds of hope
we oath
with our lives
we shall immortalize
each footprint left each grain of soil
that flesh shed here
each little globe of blood
dropped in our struggle
upon the zigzag path of revolution…
Soweto blood red road
will not dry up
until the fields of revolution
fully mellow tilled
always to bloom again

Lindiwe Mabuza.

Train (gumboots) poetry

Gumboots poetry

Write a poem about the trains in South Africa. Use rhyme, rhythm, and other poetic sound devices to imitate the sounds of the song and sound of the trains. However, this should not just be a collection of sounds. Create a poem that both imitates the sound AND conveys the significance and meaning of the song to the South African people.

Your poem must include:
Alliteration
Assonance
Onomatopoeia
Rhythm/ Meter

Label one example for each of these devices in your poem with colors and make a key.

Length : Minimum of 14 lines, typed
Due: Next class