1 The Last Lesson

About the author

Alphonse Daudet (1840-1897) was a French novelist and short-
story writer. The Last Lesson is set in the days of the Franco-
Prussian War (1870-1871) in which France was defeated by
Prussia led by Bismarck. Prussia then consisted of what now
are the nations of Germany, Poland and parts of Austria. In this
story the French districts of Alsace and Lorraine have passed
into Prussian hands. Read the story to find out what effect this
had on life at school.

Notice these expressions in the text.

Infer their meaning from the context
 in great dread of  in unison
 counted on  a great bustle
 thumbed at the edges  reproach ourselves with

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 sawmill
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,

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 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

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 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 tomorrow. This is your
last French lesson. I want you to be very attentive.”
What a thunderclap 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 honour 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.

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 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 tomorrow.’ And now
you see where we’ve come out. Ah, that’s the great trouble with
Alsace; she puts off learning till tomorrow. 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
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 France
1870-71
Sketch map not to scale

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 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. 1. What was Franz expected to
Once some beetles flew in; but nobody be prepared with for school
paid any attention to them, not even the that day?
2. What did Franz notice that
littlest ones, who worked right on tracing
was unusual about the school
their fish-hooks, as if that was French,
that day?
too. On the roof the pigeons cooed very 3. What had been put up on the
low, and I thought to myself, “Will they bulletin-board?
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
hopvine 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
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 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 1. What changes did the order
from Berlin cause in school
head against the wall, and, without a
that day?
word, he made a gesture to us with his 2. How did Franz’s feelings
hand — about M. Hamel and school
“School is dismissed — you may go.” change?

Understanding the text

1. The people in this story suddenly realise how precious their language is
to them. What shows you this? Why does this happen?
2. Franz thinks, “Will they make them sing in German, even the pigeons?”
What could this mean?
(There could be more than one answer.)

Talking about the text

1. “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.”
Can you think of examples in history where a conquered people had their
language taken away from them or had a language imposed on them?
2. What happens to a linguistic minority in a state? How do you think they
can keep their language alive? For example:   
Punjabis in Bangalore

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