The Last Class
文章來源: EnLearner2012-12-31 09:51:33

記得以前的語文課本裏有《最後一課》。印象裏該作品是法國人寫的。最近在網上看到有從法文翻成英文的。以下便是從網上找到的中英文版。


The Last Class
From Contes du Lundi by Alphonse Daudet

Told by a little Alsatian

This morning I was very late getting to school and I was afraid of being scolded because M. Hamel had said he would be quizzing us on the participles and I didn’t know the first word.  It occurred to me that I might skip class and run afield.  The day was warm and bright, the blackbirds were whistling at the edge of the woods, and in the meadow behind the sawmill the Prussians were practicing.  Everything seemed much nicer than the rule of participles; but I resisted the urge and hurried toward school.

Passing the town hall, I saw a group of people gathered in front of the notice board.  For the past two years that has been where we’ve gotten all the bad news, the battles lost, the demands, the commands; and I thought without stopping: “What now?”  Then as I ran by, the blacksmith Wachter, who was there with his apprentice reading the postings, called to me:  “Don’t rush, boy; you have plenty of time to get to school!”  I thought he was teasing me, and I was out of breath as I reached M. Hamel’s.

Normally, when class starts, there is noise enough to be heard from the street as desks are opened and shut, students repeat lessons together and loudly with hands over ears to learn better, and the teacher’s big ruler knocking on the tables:  “Let’s have some quiet!”  I was hoping to use the commotion to sneak into place unnoticed, but today all was silent, like a Sunday morning.  Through the open window I saw my classmates already in their seats and M. Hamel, who went back and forth with his terrible iron ruler under his arm.  I had to open the door and enter amidst this great calm.  You can imagine how flushed and fearful I was!

But no, M. Hamel looked at me evenly and said gently:  “Take your seat quickly, little Franz, we were starting without you.”  I hopped the bench and sat at my desk right away.  Only after I had settled in did I notice our teacher had on his fancy green coat, his ruffled shirt and the embroidered silk cap he only wore on inspection or award days.  Also, the whole room seemed oddly solemn.  But what surprised me most was at the back of the room where the benches were always empty now sat people of the village, quietly like us:  the old Hauser with his tricorn, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and some others.  Everyone looked sad; and Hauser had brought his old primer, worn at the edges, which he held open on his knees with his glasses resting on the pages.

While I was taking all this in, M. Hamel stood by his chair and in the same grave, gentle voice with which he had welcomed me told us:  “Children, this is the last time I will teach the class.  Orders from Berlin require that only German be taught in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine … the new teacher arrives tomorrow.  Today is your last French lesson.  I ask for your best attention.”  These words hit me hard.  Ah!  Those beasts, that’s what they had posted at the town hall.  My last French lesson …

Yet I hardly knew how to write!  I had learned nothing!  And I would learn no more!  I wished now to have the lost time back, the classes missed as I hunted for eggs or went skating on the Saar!  My books that I had always found so boring, so heavy to carry, my grammar text, my history of the saints—they seemed to me like old friends I couldn’t bear to abandon.  It was the same with M. Hamel.  The idea that he was leaving made me forget his scolding and the thumps of his ruler.  Poor man!

It was in honor of this final class that he had worn his best Sunday outfit, and now I understood why the old men from the village were gathered at the rear of the class.  They were there to show that they too were sorry for neglecting to attend school more.  It was also a way to thank our teacher of forty years for his fine service, and to show their respect for the country that was disappearing.

I was pondering these things when I heard my name called.  It was my turn to recite.  What wouldn’t I have given to say that vaunted rule of participles loudly, clearly, flawlessly?  Instead I tangled the first words and stood, hanging onto my desk, my heart pounding, unable to raise my head.  I heard M. Hamel say:  “I won’t scold you, my little Franz, you must already feel bad …  That’s how it is.  We always say:  ‘Bah!  I have time.  I’ll learn “tomorrow.”’  And now you see it has come …  Ah!  It is Alsace’s great trouble that she always puts off learning until tomorrow.  Now people will be justified in saying to us:  ‘How come you pretend to be French and yet don’t know how to read or write your language!”  You are not the most guilty of this, my poor Franz.  We all have good reason to blame ourselves.

Your parents did not press you to learn your lessons.  They’d prefer to have you work in the fields or at the mill to earn some more money.  Myself, I am not blameless.  Haven’t I sent you to water my garden instead of work?  And when I wanted to go fishing, didn’t I give you the day off?"

Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel spoke of the French tongue, saying it was the most beautiful language in the world, the most clear, the most sensible.  That we must keep it ourselves and never forget it, because when a people if they hold onto their language it is like holding the prison key …

Then he took a grammar text and read us our lesson.  I was stunned to realize how well I understood it.  Everything he said seemed so easy, easy!  I believe also that I had never listened so well and that he had never explained to us so patiently.  One might think that the poor man wished to give us all his knowledge, to fill our heads in a single try.

After grammar, we moved on to writing.  For this day, M. Hamel had prepared new examples, written in beautiful, round script:  France, Alsace, France, Alsace.  They looked like little flags floating about the classroom, hung from the rods atop our desks.  It was something to see everyone set to our work, and so silently!  The only sound was the scratching of pens on paper.  Once some beetles flew in but no one paid them any attention, not even the little ones who were assiduously tracing their figures with one heart, one mind, as if this also were French …  On the roof the pigeons cooed softly.  When I heard them I said to myself:  “Will they be forced to sing in German, too?”  From time to time when I’d raise my eyes from my writing I would see M. Hamel still in his chair staring at the objects around him as if he wanted to memorize exactly how things were in the little schoolhouse.

Imagine!  For forty years, he’d been in the same place with his yard before him and all the class likewise.  The benches and desks were polished, worn with use; the walnut trees had grown, and the hops he’d planted himself now climbed around the windows to the roof.  How heart-breaking it must be for the poor man to leave all these things, to hear his sister packing their things in the room above.

They would have to leave the country the next day, forever.

All the same, he bravely kept class to the very end.  After writing, we had a history lesson, then the little ones sang together their BA BE BI BO BU.  At the rear of the room, old Hauser put on his glasses and, holding his primer in both hands, chanted the letters with them.  It was obviously a great effort for him; his voice trembled with emotion and it was so funny to hear him that we wanted to laugh and cry.  Ah!  I do remember that last class…

Suddenly the church clock struck noon.  During the Angelus we could hear the Prussians’ trumpets beneath the windows as they returned from their exercises… M. Hamel rose, colorless, from his chair.  Never had he appeared so large.

“My friends, say, my, I … I…” But something choked him.  He couldn’t say it.

He turned to the board, took a piece of chalk and, using all of his strength, he wrote as large as he could:

“VIVE LA FRANCE!”

He stayed there, his head resting on the wall, and wordlessly used his hand to motion to us:  “It’s over … you may go.”

Source:
http://www.ksbooks.com/thelastclass.html

最後一課

  都德

  那天早晨上學,我去得很晚,心裏很怕韓麥爾先生罵我,況且他說過要問我們分詞,可是我連一個字也說不上來。我想就別上學了,到野外去玩玩吧。

  天氣那麽暖和,那麽晴朗!

  畫眉在樹林邊宛轉地唱歌;鋸木廠後邊草地上,普魯士兵正在操練。這些景像,比分詞用法有趣多了;可是我還能管住自己,急忙向學校跑去。

  我走過鎮公所的時候,看見許多人站在布告牌前邊。最近兩年來,我們的一切壞消息都是從那裏傳出來的:敗仗啦,征發啦,司令部的各種命令啦。──我也不停步,隻在心裏思量:“又出了什麽事啦?”

  鐵匠華希特帶著他的徒弟也擠在那裏看布告,他看見我在廣場上跑過,就向我喊:“用不著那麽快呀,孩子,你反正是來得及趕到學校的!”

  我想他在拿我開玩笑,就上氣不接下氣地趕到韓麥爾先生的小院子裏。

  平常日子,學校開始上課的時候,總有一陣喧鬧,就是在街上也能聽到。開課桌啦,關課桌啦,大家怕吵捂著耳朵大聲背書啦……還有老師拿著大鐵戒尺在桌子上緊敲著,“靜一點,靜一點……”

  我本來打算趁一陣喧鬧偷偷地溜到我的座位上去;可是那一天,一切偏安安靜靜的,跟星期日的早晨一樣。我從開著的窗子望進去,看見同學們都在自己的座位上了;韓麥爾先生呢,踱來踱去,胳膊底下挾著那怕人的鐵戒尺。我隻好推開門,當著大家的麵走進靜悄悄的教室。你們可以想像,我那時臉多麽紅,心多麽慌!

  可是一點兒也沒有什麽。韓麥爾先生見了我,很溫和地說:“快坐好,小弗郎士,我們就要開始上課,不等你了。”

  我一縱身跨過板凳就坐下。我的心稍微平靜了一點兒,我才注意到,我們的老師今天穿上了他那件挺漂亮的綠色禮服,打這皺邊的領結,戴著那頂繡邊的小黑絲帽。這套衣帽,他隻在督學來視察或者發獎的日子才穿戴。而且整個教室有一種不平常的嚴肅的氣氛。最使我吃驚的,後邊幾排一向空著的板凳上坐著好些鎮上的人,他們也跟我們一樣肅靜。其中有郝叟老頭兒,戴著他那頂三角帽,有從前的鎮長,從前的郵遞員,還有些旁的人。個個看來都很憂愁。郝叟還帶著一本書邊破了的初級讀本,他把書翻開,攤在膝頭上,書上橫放著他那副大眼鏡。

  我看見這些情形,正在詫異,

韓麥爾先生已經坐上椅子,像剛才對我說話那樣,又柔和又嚴肅地對我們說:“我的孩子們,這是我最後一次給你們上課了。柏林已經來了命令,阿爾薩斯和洛林的學校隻許教德語了。新老師明天就到。今天是你們最後一堂法語課,我希望你們多多用心學習。”

  我聽了這幾句話,心裏萬分難過,啊,那些壞家夥,他們貼在鎮公所布告牌上的,原來就是這麽一回事!

  我的最後一堂法語課!

  我幾乎還不會作文呢!我再也不能學法語了!難道這樣就算了嗎?我從前沒好好學習,曠了課去找鳥窩,到薩爾河上去溜冰……想起這些,我多麽懊悔!我這些課本,語法啦,曆史啦,剛才我還覺得那麽討厭,帶著又那麽重,現在都好像是我的老朋友,舍不得跟它們分手了。還有韓麥爾先生也一樣。他就要離開了,我再也不能看見他了!想起這些,我忘了他給我的懲罰,忘了我挨的戒尺。

  可憐的人!

  他穿上那套漂亮的禮服,原來是為了紀念這最後一課!現在我明白了,鎮上那些老年人為什麽來坐在教室裏。這好像告訴我,他們也懊悔當初沒常到學校裏來。他們像是用這種方式來感謝我們老師40年來忠誠的服務,來表示對就要失去的國土的敬意。

  我正想著這些的時候,忽然聽見老師叫我的名字。輪到我背書了。天啊,如果我能把那條出名難學的分詞用法從頭到尾說出來,聲音響亮,口齒清楚,又沒有一點兒錯誤,那麽任何代價我都願意拿出來的。可能開頭幾個字我就弄糊塗了,我隻好站在那裏搖搖晃晃,心裏挺難受,頭也不敢抬起來。我聽見韓麥爾先生對我說:

  “我也不責備你,小弗郎士,你自己一定夠難受的了。這就是了。大家天天都這麽想:‘算了吧,時間有的是,明天再學也不遲。’現在看看我們的結果吧。唉,總要把學習拖到明天,這正是阿爾薩斯人最大的不幸。現在那些家夥就有理由對我們說了:‘怎麽?你們還自己說是法國人呢,你們連自己的語言都不會說,不會寫!……’不過,可憐的小弗郎士,也並不是你一個人過錯,我們大家都有許多地方應該責備自己呢。”

  “你們的爹媽對你們的學習不夠關心。他們為了多賺一點錢,寧可叫你們丟下書本到地裏,到紗廠裏去幹活兒。我呢,我難道沒有應該責備自己的地方嗎?我不是常常讓你們丟下功課替我澆花嗎?我去釣魚的時候,不是幹脆就放你們一天假嗎?……”,韓麥爾先生從這一件事談到那一件事,談到法國語音上來了。他說,法國語言是世界上最美的語言,──最明白,最精確;又說,我們必須把它記在心裏,永遠別忘了它,亡了國當了奴隸的人民,隻要牢牢記住他們的語言,就好像拿著一把打開監獄大門的鑰匙,,說到這裏,他就翻開書講語法。真奇怪,今天聽講,我都懂。他講的似乎挺容易,挺容易。我覺得我從來沒有這樣細心聽講過,他也從來沒有這樣耐心講解過。這可憐的人好像恨不得把自己知道的東西在他離開之前全教給我們,一下子塞進我們的腦子裏去。

  語法課完了,我們又上習字課。那一天,韓麥爾先生發給我們新的字帖,帖上都是美麗的圓體字:“法蘭西”,“阿爾薩斯”,“法蘭西”,“阿爾薩斯”。這些字帖掛在我們課桌的鐵杆上,就好像許多麵小國旗在教室裏飄揚。個個人那麽專心,教室裏那麽安靜!隻聽見鋼筆在紙上沙沙地響。有時候一些金甲蟲飛進來,但是誰都不注意,連最小的孩子也不分心,他們正在專心畫“杠子”,好像那也算是法國字。屋頂上鴿子咕咕咕咕地低聲叫著,我心裏想:“他們該不會強迫這些鴿子也用德國話唱歌吧!”

  我每次抬起頭來,總看見韓麥爾先生坐在椅子裏,一動也不動,瞪著眼看周圍的東西,好像要把這小教室裏的東西都裝在眼睛裏帶走似的。隻要想想:40年來,他一直在這裏,窗外是他的小院子,麵前是他的學生;用了多年的課桌和椅子,擦光了,磨損了;院子裏的胡桃樹長高了;他親手栽的紫藤,如今也繞著窗口一直爬到屋頂了。可憐的人啊,現在要他跟這一切分手,叫他怎麽不傷心呢?何況又聽見他的妹妹在樓上走來走去收拾行李!──他們明天就要永遠離開這個地方了。

  可是他有足夠的勇氣把今天的功課堅持到底。習字課完了,他又教了一堂曆史,接著又教初級班拚他們的ba,be,bi,bo,bu。在教室後排座位上,郝叟老頭兒已經戴上眼鏡,兩手捧著他那本初級讀本,跟他們一起拚這些字母。他感情激動,連聲音都發抖了。聽見他古怪的聲音,我們又想笑,又難過。啊!這最後一課,我真永遠忘不了!

  突然教堂的鍾敲了12下。祈禱的鍾聲也響了。窗外又傳來普魯士兵的號聲──他們已經收操了。韓麥爾先生站起來,臉色慘白,我覺得他從來沒有這麽高大。

  “我的朋友們啊,”他說,“我──我──”

  但是他哽住了,他說不下去了。

  他轉身朝著黑板,拿起一支粉筆,使出全身的力量,寫了兩個大字:

  “法蘭西萬歲!”

  然後他呆在那兒,頭靠著牆壁,話也不說,隻向我們做了一個手勢:“散學了,──你們走吧。”

Source: http://www.thn21.com/teach/11198.html