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THE LAST LESSON
(Continued)
My last lesson in French! I hardly knew how to write, and I never should learn now. How I regretted the hours wasted in the woods and fields, the days when I had played and should have studied!
My books that a short time ago had seemed so tiresome, so heavy to carry, now seemed to me like old friends.
I was thinking of this when I heard my name called. It was my turn to recite. What would I not have given to be able to say the rules without a mistake! But I could not say a word, and stood at my bench without daring to lift my head. Then I heard the master speaking to me.
"I shall not scold you, little Franz. You are punished enough now. Every day you have said to yourself, 'I have plenty of time. I will learn my lessons tomorrow.' Now you see what has happened."
Then he began to talk to us about the French language, saying that it was the most beautiful tongue in the world, and that we must keep it among us and never forget it.
Finally he took the grammar and read us the lesson. I was surprised to see how well I understood. Everything seemed easy. I believed, too, that I had never listened so attentively; and it almost seemed as if the good man were trying to teach us all he knew at this last lesson.
When the lesson in grammar was over we began our writing. For that day the master had prepared some cards on which were written, "Alsace, France; Alsace, France."
They seemed like so many little flags dotted about the schoolroom. How we worked! Nothing was heard but the voice of the master and the scratching of pens on paper. There was no time for play now. On the roof of the schoolhouse some pigeons were softly cooing, and I said to myself, "Will they, too, be obliged to sing in German?"
From time to time, when I looked up from my page, I saw the master looking about him as if he wished to impress upon his mind everything in the room.
After writing, we had a history lesson. Next, the little ones recited in concert their "Ba, be, bi, bo, bu".
Oh, I shall always remember that last lesson!
Suddenly the church clock struck twelve. The master rose from his chair. "My friends," said he, "my friends, ... I ... I ..."
But something choked him; he could not finish the sentence. He returned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters, "VIVE LA FRANCE."
Then he stood leaning against the wall, unable to speak. He signed to us with his hand. "The lesson is over. You are dismissed."
