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."