Short stories, French -- Translations into English
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!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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