XIX (pp. 91—95)

1. That's a queer idea, to practise on the trapeze at this time of night! 2. Come up to my rooms; there is a fire there, and it is very comfortable. 3. My friend has been dismissed, which, by the way, is a great stroke of luck for him. 4. If you take my advice, you will start at once, without waiting till your week's notice is up. 5. I myself will lend you the money that you wanted to borrow from that scoundrel. 6. Now not one word more! I do not want you to thank me. 7. "How comfortable I am here!" he said, opening his eyes. 8. As soon as I began to thank him, he literally turned me out of doors. 9. The boys were not yet in the playground by the time I was already working hard in my room. 10. The good man was busy counting gold coins, which he carefully put in a row in little heaps. 11. My brother has not to draw lots for six years, and who knows what may happen between now and then? 12. I am much afraid you will be a child all your life. 13. What confidence can you have in him, half mad as he is? 14. Have you not your seat to book? Make haste, or you will be late. 15. The abb could not help casting a glance round the room, and what he saw made him shudder.

XX (pp. 96—103)

1. I really thought that they were going to seize me by the throat. 2. The two scowling faces cheered up as if by magic. 3. When they had pocketed my money, they launched out into protestations of friendship. 4. Do not allow yourself to be taken in by those compliments. 5. The more affable they showed themselves, the more they disgusted me. 6. What a pity you did not arrive in time to see them! 7. Those who are not satisfied will only have to come and tell me. 8. I looked around me for a long time, as if to carry away in my mind the image of the place I was never to see again. 9. Drawing the keys out from under my coat, I threw them down the well with all my might. 10. I should have liked to enjoy the sight a little longer, but I did not want the coach to start without me. 11. It is still too early for you to receive an answer. 12. For about twenty years he had been spending his time colouring illustrated newspapers. 13. Ah! the old fool! You should have seen with what a confident look he used to say that! 14. All these details about his uncle I only learnt afterwards. 15. As soon as I went into the house, I saw that, whatever she might say, my mother was not happy. 16. On hearing that I had a good situation, he opened his eyes wide. 17. The joy of seeing her son again had taken away the poor woman's appetite. 18. It is said that they have barely enough to live upon. 19. If only (do not use 'seulement') I could have spoken to him unreservedly! but we were not left alone one minute. 20. The moment for his departure came without their having been able to say anything to each other.

IV. PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION INTO FRENCH

I

When I think over my own expensive education, I can see quite clearly that the years which came between my departure from the school-room at home and the time I got into the top form at school were elaborately wasted. My time was mainly taken up with grammar, endless Latin proses, and verses that were not poetry; none of which exercises did me the slightest good. I forgot the grammar as soon as I conveniently could; I could never do Latin prose till I had read great chunks of Latin authors, or verses till I had studied the poets; and these accomplishments came to me by imitation and not by rules. Mean-while my imagination was simply starved. And yet there is so much in English literature to stimulate the imagination of children!—I know that from my pre-school experience; and I believe nearly all children have some imagination to start with, before it is smothered under the verbs in -i. Fortunately I was not a conscientious or hard-working boy, and so I escaped the mental paralysis which overtook some of my worthier companions.—-From G. F. BRADLY'S Dick.

II

Daudet is naturally an optimist, and that spontaneous optimism is his distinctive mark among all the novelists of the contemporary school. There are characters in his works quite as depraved as those in Flaubert and in Zola. But from the way in which he describes them one feels that he despises their ignominy, and that he is indignant at their baseness. Now the pessimist, in whose eyes baseness and ignominy are the very essence of man, is no longer capable of indignation or contempt. Nearly always Daudet's books present to us, if only incidentally, some favourite character which does credit to humanity. Out-and-out pessimists accuse him of distorting human nature by attributing to it imaginary graces and virtues: but does not their unbending pessimism distort it in another direction by showing to us, under the pretext of being truthful, only its meannesses and its horrors?—From PELLISSIER, Le Mouvement littraire au XIX^e sicle.

III

Doctor Strong's was an excellent school: as different from Mr. Creakle's as good is from evil. It was very gravely and decorously ordered, and on a sound system with an appeal, in everything, to the honour and good faith of the boys, and an avowed intention to rely on their possession of those qualities, unless they proved unworthy of it, which worked wonders. We all felt we had a part in the management of the place, and in sustaining its character and dignity. Hence we soon became warmly attached to it, and learned with a good will, desiring to do it credit. We had noble games out of hours, and plenty of liberty; but even then, as I remember, we were well spoken of in the town, and rarely did any disgrace, by our appearance or manner, to the reputation of Doctor Strong and Doctor Strong's boys. The Doctor himself was the idol of the whole school; and it must have been a badly composed school if he had been anything else, for he was the kindest of men; with a simple faith in him that might have touched the stone hearts of the very urns upon the wall. —From DICKENS'S David Copperfield.

IV

His style, created from moment to moment, subordinates the form of the language to the need of expressing the immediate sensation in its original vividness. He multiplies ellipses, anastrophes, words unexpectedly connected; he takes from every vocabulary its most expressive terms; he models himself upon the very appearance of things as they are; he knows no other rhythm than that of successive impressions. He is perpetually on the move. His agility occasionally seems a little feverish. We feel some anxiety; we are afraid that the sentence may not find its balance. A few lines from his works can be recognized at a glance, for he has only had clumsy imitators, his style being, moreover, in the language of Montaigne, of one substance with the author, being the author himself. And yet one could hardly say that this style breaks with tradition. He stops short just at the point at which his idiosyncrasies would degenerate into faults.—From PETIT DE JULLEVILLE, Histoire de la littrature franaise, vol. viii.

V

But the pupils — the young noblemen! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, children with countenances of old men, deformities with irons upon their limbs, boys of stunted growth, and others whose long meagre legs would hardly bear the stooping bodies, all crowded on the view together. There was every ugliness or distortion that told of unnatural aversion conceived by parents for their offspring, or of young lives which, from the earliest dawn of infancy, had been one horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. There were little faces which should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. There was childhood with the light of its eye quenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness alone remaining; there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with leaden eyes, like malefactors in jail; and there were young creatures on whom the sins of their frail parents had descended, weeping even for the mercenary nurses they had known, and lonesome even in their loneliness. With every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in its birth, with every young and healthy feeling flogged and starved down, with every revengeful passion that can fester in swollen hearts, eating its evil way to their core in silence, what an incipient Hell was breeding here!—From DICKENS'S Nicholas Nickleby.

VI

It is not only his nerves which are sensitive, it is also his heart, and the keenness of his sensations is equalled by that of his sympathies. He is interested in his characters, and it is by loving them that he makes us love them. If the figures he paints give us a life-like impression, it is because they lived not only in his imagination but also in his heart.... Daudet can feel in his heart that love which Dickens felt towards those who are ill-favoured or poor. His favourite heroes are especially those who are sensitive, and who are made wretched by their sensitiveness. In order to create Jack he left the Nabab, which he had already begun, and wrote in less than a year that book which is at the same time tender and cruel, but in which cruelty is only another form of tenderness, and which so oppressed the heart of George Sand that after reading it she, the indefatigable worker, remained for three whole days without being able to produce anything at all.—From PELLISSIER, Le Mouvement littraire au XIX^e sicle.

VII

It was not very large certainly, being about six feet long by four broad. It could not be called light, as there were bars and a grating to the window. But it was uncommonly comfortable to look at. The space under the window at the farther end was occupied by a square table covered with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue tablecloth; a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff occupied one side; and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat for another boy, so that three could sit and work together. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on each side book-cases with cupboards at the bottom; shelves and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with school-books, a cup or two, a mouse-trap and brass candlesticks, leather straps, and some curious-looking articles which puzzled Tom not a little, until his friend explained that they were climbing-irons, and showed their use. A cricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one corner.—From HUGHES'S Tom Brown's School-days.

VIII

Daudet's imagination does not consist in the invention of facts or characters: he pictures to himself with extraordinary vividness what has passed before his eyes. Though they are marvellously real, his scenes have not that precise and strict perfection which Flaubert used to give to his. He catches in mid-flight the faintest details and holds fast their very movement. The vibration is still there, and one can feel the tremor in the air and the play of the light.

As to his human figures, I question whether Daudet has ever had his equal in the picturesque truthfulness of his portraits, in the capacity of reproducing the expression of a face, an attitude or dress. And it does not follow that, as certain "psychological" writers have hinted, Daudet was deficient in "psychology." We cannot find in him that cold, pedantic psychology which consists of the authors's own reflections; and if, to be a "psychologist," it is necessary to explain minutely every step and every gesture, or to put wearisome commentaries in the place of action, Daudet does not deserve the name. But perhaps there is a distinction to be made between a novel and an anatomical treatise. —From PETIT DE JULLEVILLE, Hist. de la litt. fr. vol. viii.

IX

The founders and arbiters of the public-school system who ordained that life in these institutions should be one incessant round of activity from the beginning of term to its end have perhaps proved to be the children of wisdom. To a healthy boy who can manage to keep his place in the crowd without undue straining, there is a tonic effect in the absence of leisure; and the sense of being a lively part in a great and ever-moving body is an admirable enemy to stagnation of mind. It is only the special case, the variant from the type, who suffers when he is included in masses that move by rule; and if we are inclined to admit the dangerous premise that any suffering can be good for a young soul, we may cheerfully conclude that the rough process is justified if it turns the variant into a solid, ordinary person; or, if he is a hopeless rebel, at least teaches him that the thorns of life are not tender to him who kicks. —From The First Round, by ST. JOHN LUCAS.

X

Much of the influence he gained over his scholars was attributable to his knowledge of the individual characteristics of boys. He is said to have known every boy in the school, his appearance, his habits, and his companions. It cannot be said that he was always genial in manner; the youngest boys especially regarded him with awe, and his own sense of the intense seriousness of life and duty gave a sternness and austerity to his aspect which made many of his pupils afraid of him. His conception of a school was that it should be first of all a place for the formation of character, and next a place for learning and study, as a means for the attainment of this higher end. Discipline and guidance were in his view still more prominently the business of a schoolmaster than the impartation of knowledge. His influence was stimulative rather than formative, the secret of his power consisting not so much in the novelty of his ideas or methods as in his commanding and magnetic personality. —From Thomas Arnold, by SIR JOSHUA FITCH.

XI

He was contented, in a dull kind of way, with the even monotony of his days. Life at school, he felt, would be always the same; he would attain no distinctions, but at least he would suffer no violent agonies. If you could not be brilliant and wonderful it was as well to be completely insignificant. Defiant eccentricity led to much discomfort, unless you possessed invincible contempt for ordinary popularity; and the way of the harmless imbecile was hard at a public school. When you were at school all the old standards did seem to alter most strangely. After all, why bother about standards? Why think at all? School was really pleasanter when you did not think but just drifted. Yet, could a place where it was better not to think except about everyday events be really right? All boys were either beasts or worms or geese. The geese were most numerous, and usually followed and applauded the beasts. Oh monstrous, stale, unprofitable world!—From The First Round, by ST. JOHN LUCAS.

XII

At present those who pursue philosophy at all are mere striplings just emerged from boyhood, who take it up in the intervals of business; and, after just dipping into the most abstruse part of the study, abandon the pursuit altogether.

And pray what is the right plan?

Just the opposite. In youth and boyhood they ought to be put through a course of instruction carefully suited to their years; and while their bodies are growing up to manhood, especial attention should be paid to them, as a serviceable acquisition in the cause of philosophy. At the approach of that period during which the mind begins to attain its maturity, the mental exercises ought to be rendered more severe. Finally, when their bodily powers begin to fail, and they are released from public duties and military service, from that time forward they ought to consecrate themselves altogether to the study of philosophy, if they are to live happily on earth, and after death to crown the life they have led with a corresponding destiny in another world. —From PLATO'S Republic, bk. vi.

V. SUJETS DE RDACTION

I

Le soir, aprs souper, je relisais mon Robinson, je l'apprenais par c[oe]ur; le jour, je le jouais, je le jouais avec rage, et tout ce qui m'entourait, je l'enrlais dans ma comdie (voir p. 6).

ROBINSON SAUVE VENDREDI

1. Un matin, il aperoit de loin une trentaine de sauvages, qui dbarquent dans son le et allument un grand feu. Ils ont avec eux deux prisonniers, et, pendant qu'ils en tuent un et le dcoupent pour le faire rtir, l'autre s'chappe.

2. Trois des sauvages se mettent sa poursuite, mais il court plus vite qu'eux et gagne une crique, qu'il traverse la nage. Un de ses ennemis s'arrte, ne sachant pas nager, et les deux autres n'atteignent le bord que longtemps aprs le fugitif, qui se dirige prcisment du ct de Robinson.

3. Celui-ci dcide de le sauver, prend son fusil, et, par un raccourci, arrive entre lui et ceux qui le poursuivent. Ne voulant pas faire feu de peur d'attirer l'attention du reste de la troupe, il s'lance sur le plus proche et l'abat d'un coup de crosse.

4. L'autre se dispose lui dcocher one flche. Il se rsout alors tirer, et le tue. Stupfaction du fugitif; faon dont il exprime sa reconnaissance.

5. Robinson le conduit dans sa caverne, lui donne manger et boire, et lui fait ensuite signe de se coucher et de dormir. (Placer le rcit dans la bouche de Robinson.)

II

— Mon perroquet, criai-je, mon perroquet!

— Il parle donc maintenant? dit Jacques.

S'il parlait, je crois bien; on l'entendait d'une lieue (voir. p. 12).

LES CAMBRIOLEURS ET LE PERROQUET

1. Dans une villa isole aux environs de Paris (en faire la description) demeure un vieillard fantasque, qu'on dit fort riche, bien qu'il n'ait pas de domestique.

2. Un cambrioleur, le sachant seul, conoit le projet de le dvaliser et s'en ouvre un camarade, qui accepte volontiers de l'aider dans une expdition aussi simple.

3. Les deux bandits s'introduisent la nuit dans le jardin, et pntrent sans bruit dans la maison.

4. Ils approchent de la chambre du vieillard, lorsque l'un d'eux laisse tomber sa lanterne sourde. Aussitt une voix perante crie: "Qui va l?"

5. Se voyant dcouverts et croyant avoir affaire a forte partie, ils prennent la fuite.

C'est un perroquet qui leur a fait peur!

III

C'est toujours la mme chanson, des larmes et de la misre! les affaires qui ne vont pas, des loyers en retard, des cranciers qui font des scnes, les diamants de la mre vendus, l'argenterie au mont-de-pit (voir p. 21).

DAVID COPPERFIELD CHEZ LES MICAWBER

1. Dolances de Mrs. Micawber l'arrive de David dans la maison. Elie tait bien loin de se douter, avant son mariage, qu'il lui faudrait jamais prendre un locataire, mais que faire dans sa position? Et elle lui explique les difficults du mnage.

2. Visite d'un crancier brutal; dsespoir de Mr. Micawber; son tonnante gaiet une demi-heure aprs.

3. Un jour, Mrs. Micawber confie David qu'elle n'a plus un sou et que, pour subvenir aux besoins de la famille, ii ne lui reste qu'un talon de fromage.

4. Il met sa disposition les deux ou trois schellings qu'il possde, mais elle les refuse avec dignit et le prie de porter une partie de son argenterie chez un prteur sur gages.

5. David s'acquitte de la commission, et le soir on festine sans souci du lendemain.

IV

— Monsieur Eyssette, conclut le principal, vous pouvez vous retirer. Pour ce soir encore, il faudra que vous couchiez l'htel.... Soyez ici demain huit heures (voir p. 34).

LE PETIT CHOSE CRIT SA MRE

1. Il vient de voir le principal, qui l'a trouv bien jeune, mais qui a pourtant consenti le prendre, grce la chaude recommandation du recteur.

2. Son chagrin d'tre loin de ses parents, mais sa joie de sentir qu'au lieu d'tre une charge pour eux, il gagnera dsormais sa vie et pourra bientt leur venir en aide.

3. Amabilit du recteur, qui lui a promis de ne pas le perdre de vue.

4. Son djeuner chez la vieille Annou.

5. Son arrive, le soir, Sarlande. Rues noires et dsertes. Il n'a pu se dfendre d'un sentiment de tristesse, mais il va tellement travailler qu'il n'aura pas le temps de s'ennuyer.

V

Quelquefois, quand ils avaient t bien sages, je leur racontais une histoire.... J'avais compos leur intention cinq ou six petits contes fantastiques: Les Dbuts d'une cigale, Les Infortunes de Jean Lapin, etc. (voir p. 43).

LE CHAT, LA BELETTE ET LE PETIT LAPIN

Raconter votre faon la fable suivante de La Fontaine. Du palais d'un jeune lapin Dame belette, un beau matin, S'empara: c'est une ruse. Le matre tant absent, ce lui fut chose aise. Elle porta chez lui ses pnates, un jour Qu'il tait all faire l'aurore sa cour Parmi le thym et la rose. Aprs qu'il eut brout, trott, fait tous ses tours, Jeannot lapin retourne aux souterrains sjours. La belette avait mis le nez la fentre. "O dieux hospitaliers! que vois-je ici paratre! Dit l'animal chass du paternel logis. Hol! madame la belette, Que l'on dloge sans trompette, Ou je vais avertir tous les rats du pays." La dame au nez pointu rpondit que la terre tait au premier occupant. C'tait un beau sujet de guerre Qu'un logis o lui-mme il n'entrait qu'en rampant! "Et quand ce serait un royaume, Je voudrais bien savoir, dit-elle, queue loi En a pour toujours fait l'octroi A Jean, fils ou neveu de Pierre ou de Guillaume, Plutt qu' Paul, plutt qu' moi." Jean lapin allgua la coutume et l'usage: "Ce sont, dit-il, leurs lois qui m'ont de ce logis Rendu matre et seigneur, et qui, de pre en fils, L'ont de Pierre Simon, puis moi Jean, transmis. Le premier occupant, est-ce une loi plus sage? — Or bien, sans crier davantage, Rapportons-nous, dit-elle, Raminagrobis." C'tait un chat vivant comme un dvot ermite, Un chat faisant la chattemite, Un saint homme de chat, bien fourr, gros et gras, Arbitre expert sur tous les cas. Jean lapin pour juge l'agre. Les voil tous deux arrivs Devant sa majest fourre. Grippeminaud leur dit: "Mes enfants, approchez, Approchez; je suis sourd, les ans en sont la cause." L'un et l'autre approcha, ne craignant nulle chose. Aussitt qu' porte il vit les contestants, Grippeminaud, le bon aptre, Jetant des deux cts la griffe en mme temps, Mit les plaideurs d'accord en croquant l'un et l'autre.

Ceci ressemble fort aux dbats qu'ont parfois Les petits souverains se rapportant aux rois.

VI

Le petit Chose rve aux yeux noirs toutes les nuits, il n'en dort plus (voir p. 60).

UN RVE

1. Les yeux noirs habitent, libres et heureux, dans un grand chteau avec leurs parents, dont ils sont toute la joie.

2. Arrive l'horrible fe aux lunettes, qui les force la suivre, les retient prisonniers au collge de Sarlande et les fait coudre d'un bout de l'anne l'autre.

3. Dsespoir des parents; leurs recherches inutiles. Ils finissent par annoncer qu'ils donneront leur fille en mariage celui qui la leur rendra.

4. Le petit Chose dlivre les yeux noirs et les ramne au chteau. Grandes rjouissances.

5. La mre informe sa fille de la promesse qu'on a faite de sa main. Celle-ci rougit et avoue tout bas qu'elle aimait dj son librateur avant qu'il la dlivrt.

VII

Quand il entrait dans l'tude brusquement, ses clefs la main, c'tait comme une pierre dans un tang de grenouilles (voir p. 65).

LE LIVRE ET LES GRENOUILLES

1. Une belle matine d't la campagne. Sur la lisire d'un bois s'arrte un livre, l'oreille au guet.

2. Est-il un tre plus malheureux que lui? se dit-il. Son naturel craintif l'empche de jouir de l'existence; toujours inquiet, il n'ose mme pas fermer les yeux pour dormir.

3. Pendant qu'il songe ainsi, une abeille vient passer. Son bourdonnement soudain lui fait peur, et il dtale pour gagner son gte.

4. Il passe en courant sur le bord d'un tang, o une douzaine de grenouilles se reposent dans l'herbe. A sa vue, saisies d'effroi, elles se prcipitent dans l'eau.

5. Rentr chez lui, le livre se flicite de les avoir pouvantes. Il ne se trouve plus si malheureux la pense que lui aussi en fait trembler d'autres.

VIII

Vingt fois de suite on lui faisait raconter son histoire, et chaque fois le misrable inventait quelque nouveau dtail (voir p. 70).

BOUCOYRAN RACONTE SON HISTOIRE

1. Portrait fantaisiste du petit Chose.

2. Depuis longtemps en butte ses perscutions (en citer deux ou trois exemples), Boucoyran ne voulait pas se plaindre, mais l'autre jour il y a bien t forc.

3. Une boulette de papier mch tait venue s'aplatir contre la chaire. Accus de l'avoir lance et somm de prendre ses livres et de sortir, il a poliment rpondu qu'il n'avait rien fait, et tous les lves ont dclar que ce n'tait pas lui qui avait lanc la boulette.

4. Alors, furieux, le tyran s'est ru sur lui et l'a tran jusque dans la cour, o il l'a presque assassin (donner des dtails).

5. Boucoyran aurait aisment pu se dfendre, mais il a prfr n'en rien faire pour laisser tous les torts son bourreau, et s'il souffre encore des coups qu'il a reus, il se rjouit d'avoir, pan sa patience, dmasqu le tratre, qui n'osera plus en donner personne.

IX

Heureusement je pensai Jacques; quelle bonne ide sa lettre avait eue d'arriver prcisment le matin! (voir p. 81).

MADAME EYSSETTE AU PETIT CHOSE

Vous supposerez que l'aprs-midi le petit Chose reoit une autre lettre, cette fois de sa mre.

1. Madame Eyssette a cru s'apercevoir que la gaiet de sa dernire lettre tait factice, et elle craint qu'il ne soit au fond trs malheureux. Qu'il lui dise la vrit, cela le soulagera.

2. Elle le plaint de tout son c[oe]ur, mais qu'il ne se dcourage pas. Grce son travail acharn, il pourra dans deux on trois ans passer l'examen qui lui permettra d'tre professeur.

3. Son frre Jacques est Paris et parait trs content. Dtails sur son dpart, la position qu'il a trouve et son ambition littraire.

4. Quant son pre, il est toujours en voyage pour le compte d'une compagnie, de sorte qu'elle est maintenant toute seule. Cette solitude lui pse, mais elle va crire l'oncle Baptiste pour lui demander de la recevoir chez lui pendant quelques mois.

5. Les voil donc tous disperss, mais elle espre que la Providence rcompensera leurs efforts et qu'ils pourront avant longtemps reconstruire le foyer.

X

Si l'tude me parut longue, je n'ai pas besoin de vous le dire (voir p. 93).

LE PETIT CHOSE SON FRRE

Pour abrger la longueur de l'tude, le petit Chose crit son frre Jacques.

1. Plaisir que lui a caus sa lettre. Il le flicite chaudement d'avoir si bien russi.

2. La description qu'il lui fait de sa chambre l'a ravi, et il saura bientt s'il ne l'a pas trop embellie avec son imagination de pote, car il va partir lui aussi pour Paris et lui demander l'hospitalit!

3. Ce n'est pas l une plaisanterie, il part le jour mme. Impossible de rester plus longtemps au collge. Il lui est arriv une terrible histoire, qu'il lui contera de vive voix.

4. Dans un accs de dsespoir, il a mme voulu se tuer! L'abb Germane, dont il lui a dj parl, est arriv juste temps pour l'en empcher.

5. C'est au bon abb qu'il a emprunt l'argent pour le voyage. Il lui a promis de tcher d'tre un homme, et il entend tenir sa promesse. Il rougit maintenant de sa lchet et se sent plein de courage.

THE END