jeanflop/post-ocr-correction huggingface dataset:
master I may permit myself, as they are both significant. He was for many years an examiner in French to the University of London, and I asked him once how the matriculants had acquitted themselves. "Oh, they are a set of ignorants," he replied, "and I plucked them wholesale. I asked for the feminine of loup, and they wrote 'loupe.' Mais c'est impayable. Ce sont des fruits secs!" The chances are that an English boy, if asked the feminine of "stag," "colt," "earl," would not get all three right; yet we still continue in French examination papers to ask the
we still continue in French examination papers to ask the feminine of loup and the two plurals of travail, and to pluck as ignoramuses (Rhoda Broughton would say "ignorami") those who do not know the "she-wolf of France" or "frames for shoeing horses." The other reminiscence is a story that Masson told me against himself. He was visiting his Paris publisher, and asked : "Et comment va Mme Hachette?" To which inquiry the genial publisher answered, with a smile : "On voit bien, mon ami, que vous êtes en Angleterre depuis vingt ans; autrement vous n'auriez pas dit 'Mme Hachette.'"
depuis vingt ans; autrement vous n'auriez pas dit 'Mme Hachette.'" The moral of this anecdote is almost too obvious to point. None of us can aspire to be in the full sense of the word bilingual. Even the native-born Frenchman, if he denationalizes himself sufficiently to sympathize with and suit the insularity of the English schoolboy, is in danger of losing his own distinctive cachet, without necessarily acquiring en revanche the idiotisme of his adopted country... ... I pass on to a decade later, when I was myself an assistant master at Marlborough College, and I fear laid myself open
master at Marlborough College, and I fear laid myself open to the charge of doing unto others as they had done to me. I went as a classical master, and, to do myself justice, made no pretence of knowing or even knowing how to teach modern languages; but as a form master I found that I was expected as a matter of course to take the two French lessons a week. I remember a colleague of mine under similar conditions complaining to Mr. Bradley, afterwards the Dean of Westminster... He protested to the headmaster that he knew no French and
protested to the headmaster that he knew no French and could not teach it. "Rubbish," replied Mr. Bradley (he was a man who did not mince his words), "I'd undertake to teach them, if it was wanted, double Dutch; you can always be a lesson ahead of your form." You will naturally infer that this state of things was actually worse than at Harrow, where at least the teachers knew their subject; but this was not the case. There was indeed, no attempt to teach the living language, no attempt at conversation or even correct pronunciation, but the lessons, such
at conversation or even correct pronunciation, but the lessons, such as they were—construing, formal grammar, and exercises à l'appui of the grammar—were enforced. There was no malingering or tomfoolery. Modern Side boys passed with credit into Sandhurst and Woolwich; though even they would have found some difficulty in ordering a dinner at a French restaurant, or asking their way to the station... ... Of the modern language teaching at Merchant Taylors' School, to which the greater part of my scholastic life was devoted, it would not become me to speak. If I praised it, I should seem to be blowing
If I praised it, I should seem to be blowing my own trumpet; and, if I blamed it, as candour would rather compel me to do, I should seem to be fouling my own nest. I attempted, some three years ago—in the Modern Language Quarterly, the organ of our Association—to give impartially both sides, as a warning rather than an ensample—a sort of esoteric memorandum, like Mr. Balfour's second document on Tariff Reform—for the use of the initiated. I refer to it here only because it has been largely quoted in a book which made a considerable stir at the
in a book which made a considerable stir at the time and is still the most sweeping indictment of our whole system of modern language teaching in England : "Public Schools and Public Needs," by G. G. Coulton. My friend Mr. Coulton has taken all the darkest shadows from my picture and blended them with still blacker ones from his own experiences, and the foreigner who takes his book for gospel will, I fear, conceive of English public schools on their intellectual side as an Inferno of which the innermost circle is reserved for modern languages. I am not disputing
circle is reserved for modern languages. I am not disputing the truth of the picture... But, none the less, the picture. is partial. Moreover, in the short three years since his book appeared there have been reform and rapid progress. He is the Jeremiah of the Old Dispensation—a prophet of warning and lamentation and woe. I would fain play the John the Baptist of the New. The new method may not be the "Gospel light that dawned from Bolleyn's eyes," but it is, I firmly believe, a forerunner, sounding the knell of scholastic medievalism and announcing the advent of liberty,
knell of scholastic medievalism and announcing the advent of liberty, equality, and fraternity—liberty for the teacher of French to employ his own methods, equality as concerns the classical and modern curriculum, fraternity regarding the status and emoluments of the classical and modern master. It remains for me to set before you the grounds for my faith—to demonstrate that the present state of modern language teaching is a vast improvement on the past and gives promise of something still better in the near future. I took Harrow and Marlborough as my terminus a quo, and gave you fair samples of what
terminus a quo, and gave you fair samples of what modern language teaching was in the early sixties, because I hold it impossible to understand and appreciate the present without some knowledge of the past. Without a middle distance and a background all sense of perspective is lost. Or, to vary the metaphor, the man who comes to London with the proverbial half-crown in his pocket and has saved £1,000 by the time he is twenty-five is likely to be a richer man at fifty than the rentier who in the same time has increased a capital of £5,000 to
the same time has increased a capital of £5,000 to £6,000. We English modern language teachers (I speak of my own generation) started life as beggars. I will take the teachers first; for they are the pivot of the situation. It is still the rare exception, almost an anomaly, for a modern language teacher to attain to a headmastership. "But even here a change is slowly taking place. I can point to our former Secretary, Mr. Lipscomb, as a happy exception, and in the new middle-class schools which are being established by County Councils under the Act of 1902 I
established by County Councils under the Act of 1902 I have myself no doubt that modern language teachers will have their fair share of the headmasterships. At the same time the old type of distinguished amateurs, whom Mr. Coulton so justly gibbets—headmasters straight from the University, without any previous experience of boys, pure scholars who know nothing outside classical scholarship and whose only notion of education is to make scholars in their own image..., this type is fast disappearing, and the modern headmaster, as far as my experience goes, though he still counts classics the more excellent way, does his
he still counts classics the more excellent way, does his best to hold the balance true and to give modern languages a fair field. When we pass to assistant masters the advance of modern languages is far more marked, more rapid, and more thorough. If we except the old survivals, all who teach profess to know their subject and most of them do know it always. Either they are Englishmen who have taken the Modern Languages Tripos or resided abroad, or sometimes both, or they are foreigners with some sort of credentials to show, if it be nothing higher than
of credentials to show, if it be nothing higher than the Baccalauréat. More and more the custom is obtaining for men who have not gained a First Class at the Universities to go abroad for a year or two years, and men so qualified are snatched up even by ultra-classical schools like Eton. Fortunately it does not fall within my brief to theorize, and I shall not even broach the vexed question of natives versus foreigners. As a chronicler I have only to record the fact that English teachers of French and German are on the increase and that foreign
French and German are on the increase and that foreign teachers are proportionately decreasing. On another vexed point of pedagogics—that of class teachers versus form teachers, or, in other words, of specialists for each subject—I need pronounce no judgment. And here even a generalization as to facts is risky; but, as far as my experience goes, the tendency is to classify the school in blocks for modern languages, as is universally the case for matriculation and generally for science. The weak point in this system, which will have to be remedied, is that often the lowest forms in the school
remedied, is that often the lowest forms in the school are left out of this classification, all their teaching being committed to the form master, on the mistaken principle that anyone knows French enough to teach beginners. Thus in schools I have recently inspected I found that the lowest forms were learning by heart du, de la, des; mon, ma, mes, etc., and writing exercises on grandmothers and cabbages, while oral instruction by the direct method, under specialists, began only in the third form from the bottom. A compromise is also not uncommon for which there would be much to
also not uncommon for which there would be much to be said were it properly worked, which it rarely is. The lessons are divided between the form master, who takes the construing and formal grammar, and the foreign master, who devotes himself to pronunciation and conversation. The weak point of this division of labour is that the two parts are rarely dovetailed; there is no proper coordination, and I have sometimes discovered that one of the pair of teachers did not even know what was the scheme of work or what were the books his partner was using. I may
what were the books his partner was using. I may contrast with this concordia discors an admirable plan which my friend Mr. Eve adopted when he was Head Master of University College School. I will give it in his own words. "A Frenchman or German gives a lecture to the class in the presence of the teacher, who is always on the alert to check him if he goes too fast, and to write up unfamiliar names, etc., on the blackboard. Both teacher and class take notes. Next day they go over their notes together, comparing their impressions, correcting misunderstandings,
go over their notes together, comparing their impressions, correcting misunderstandings, and filling up missing details. Then the class have to reproduce the lecture on paper. The only drawback," Mr. Eve adds, "is that it takes some hours to correct their performances." There is, it seems to me, another greater drawback. Few schools can or will afford to pay for a pair of masters working in double harness—a competent lecturer and a competent repetiteur. One other movement I must notice which has done something to raise the efficiency of modern language masters, and will do more in the future—the holiday courses
masters, and will do more in the future—the holiday courses instituted by the Teachers' Guild. We English owe a debt of gratitude to the educational authorities at Honfleur, Tours and other French towns, who have put their buildings at our disposal during the summer vacation, and to the French professors who have so zealously collaborated. On our side several of the more progressive County Councils have offered bursaries to teachers in their schools which cover the expenses of the course, and it is astonishing how much progress may be made in a month avec de la bonne volonté by an
in a month avec de la bonne volonté by an adult student who brings with him some literary knowledge of the tongue. It is the souffle of the prophet: the dry bones live. Mr. Longsdon, who has done so much to organize these holiday courses, tells us that in a county school which he inspected not a word of French was spoken, either by masters or pupils. The master, as far as French was concerned, was a sourd-muet, and communicated by means of the blackboard. The class helped themselves out by spelling. Thus the master would ask "The present of
by spelling. Thus the master would ask "The present of [writing it on the board] être?" and the class would repeat their litany: "Je suis, tu es." I pass on from teachers, to time-tables, and here I can record demonstrable progress, capable of being shown in statistical form. There are indeed no published programmes or syllabuses of school work in England, and our Bureau of Information is only a decade old; but some twenty years ago I collected and tabulated the time-tables of all the leading public schools, and I have lately ascertained from most of these the hours now
have lately ascertained from most of these the hours now devoted to French and German. A comparison shows that there has been an average increase of more than 50 per cent. Roughly speaking, we may say that at present on classical sides three hours a week are given in school to French, and the same number to German; but the latter language is generally facultative, an alternative to science, or it may be Latin verse. On modern sides all average of five hours a week in school is given to either language. So far there is no serious ground for
either language. So far there is no serious ground for complaint, though modern language teachers may still not be quite content, and would like to see the three hours a week on the classical side raised to four, and better provision made for preparation out of school. But in the lower school, which is, in theory, a neutral zone bifurcating into classical and modern, the time-table is still far from satisfactory. We claim that pupils beginning a new foreign language should have a lesson a day, or six lessons a week—not of an hour: three-quarters or forty minutes will amply
week—not of an hour: three-quarters or forty minutes will amply suffice us. But so far is this claim from being allowed that I find on the average ten hours assigned to Latin against three hours to French... Now the axiom laid down by the American Committee of Fifteen is generally recognized—that no subject should be introduced into the school curriculum which is not taken seriously, which does not count as an integral factor of the pupil's education. This is now, in theory at least, conceded: but what seems to me the necessary corollary has still to be applied. We in
the necessary corollary has still to be applied. We in England have still to learn that it is a violation of pedagogical principles for a child of ten to be learning two foreign languages at once. If, as is generally admitted, the best foreign language for English children to begin with is French, it follows that the study of Latin should be postponed till the age of thirteen or fourteen. I know that I am treading on delicate ground, and head masters, were they present, would ban me for touching the Ark of the Covenant. I have not the time,
the Ark of the Covenant. I have not the time, nor is this a fit occasion, to argue the point. I will for the nonce accept the premises of the head masters, that Latin is one of the two sacraments ordained of God and generally necessary to salvation. Then, I would say to them, as a representative of modern language teachers, as the lesser of two evils we would choose that you should defer the study of French till the age of thirteen or fourteen. Then send us boys who know something of their mother tongue and of grammatical analysis
know something of their mother tongue and of grammatical analysis common to all languages; give us, then, for French and German the same number of hours that you assign to Latin and Greek, and we will guarantee that at seventeen our pupils will know as much French and German as they know Latin and Greek. Books and Apparatus.—The Direct Method has in the last five years— if 3 -01-1 will pardon the colloquialism—caught on and spread like wildfire. Wherever I have gone as an inspector in England, Scotland, and Wales I have found Holzel's wall-pictures in use; in the South
I have found Holzel's wall-pictures in use; in the South Prof. Rippmann's excellent edition of Alge; and in the North Messrs. Makay and Curtis's volume on similar but independent lines. I think that no one who has, like myself, had direct experience of the working of the old and new systems can hesitate for a moment in deciding between them. With a jury of French professors to decide, I would back a one-year-old under the new training against a three-year-old from the old classical stables. There is an excellent test in the Certificate Examination of the Scotch Board—the best, perhaps,
in the Certificate Examination of the Scotch Board—the best, perhaps, that could be devised in default of viva voce. A short story or historical narrative is read out twice in English, and pupils are required to give the substance of it in French. I have looked over myself, or supervised, thousands of such compositions, and can testify that at least half of the Scottish lads and lasses sent in, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen, are able to reproduce the story in such a way that the main point of it would be intelligible to a Frenchman. This is
of it would be intelligible to a Frenchman. This is more than most sixth-form boys could have accomplished under the ancien régime. Phonetics are still in the rudimentary stage, and it is the exception to find in schools the use of phonetic script or any systematic attempt to teach foreign sounds on physiological principles or by help of Lauttafeln. Repetition of simple poetry in chorus, and, better still, songs, are coming into vogue. I am bound to show the reverse of the shield, the seamy side of the canvas. 1. English masters and mistresses are still too much slaves to
English masters and mistresses are still too much slaves to the book. I have again and again had to complain that they stuck to the text of Algar as though he were an inspired writer, asked only questions out of the book in the words of the book, and thought I was taking an unwarrantable liberty if I varied them or asked: "Comment vous appelez-vous? Qu'avez-vous eu pour déjeuner ce matin?" Such uninspired adoption of the New Method has seemed to me as tedious and not much more profitable than the old orgue de Barbarie of Ollendorf and Noel et
the old orgue de Barbarie of Ollendorf and Noel et Chapsal. It is only a change of spoken ennui for written ennui. 2. We have not yet laid the spectre of examinations. It still haunts the schoolroom and paralyzes the teacher... These examinations consist wholly of written work, and even when they include dictation and free composition they afford a most imperfect and unsatisfactory test of oral methods. The consequence is that in many schools, as I found by inspection, though a good foundation had been laid in the lower forms and boys had been taught both to pronounce and
forms and boys had been taught both to pronounce and to talk, in the upper forms the direct method was abandoned, and all the French hours were absorbed in getting up the set book, learning irregular verbs, and doing catchy sentences on idioms and syntax... 3. The last plaint I have to bring to your notice may seem to contradict the text and to be opposed to the whole tenor of my paper. I tremble in my shoes. I see the wicked eye of our Secretary upon me, ready to denounce me as a wolf in sheep's clothing, a Balaam
denounce me as a wolf in sheep's clothing, a Balaam sent to bless who ends by cursing, the New Method. Well, "amicus Edwards, magis arma veritas," I testify that I have seen and must speak as a witness on oath. The New Method has its defects and its qualities. It gives, in Bacon's phrase, an entrance to the tongue, but it is apt (such is my experience) to leave the proselyte at the gate, and trust that he may at some future date enter in, because the door is open to him. To drop metaphor, I see a distinct danger
to him. To drop metaphor, I see a distinct danger that in our zeal for correct pronunciation, for knowledge of Realia, for ability to converse with our enemy (or rather our friend) at the gate, we should neglect what, in my judgment, are the weightier matters of the law—the ability to appreciate French thought, French sentiment, French netteté in a word, French culture and literature. In the old unregenerate days when I was a teacher I used (or flattered myself I used) to make my pupils master a play of Molière's or Racine's, La Fontaine's Fables, or a causerie of
Molière's or Racine's, La Fontaine's Fables, or a causerie of Ste.-Beuve's, with the same thoroughness as their fellow on the Classical Side mastered a play of Sophocles, or a book of Tacitus's "Annals," and I used to maintain that the literary culture thereby imparted was not inferior in quality, and superior in quantity, to that given on the Classical Side. "To translate into good English a page of Michelet, Taine, or Renan (to say nothing of Rabelais, Montaigne, St. Simon) is no less difficult than to translate a chapter of Thucydides or Livy, and taxes in as high degree the
Thucydides or Livy, and taxes in as high degree the powers of reason and imagination, demanding equal literary skill. And, if France and Germany cannot rival "the beauty that was Greece and the glory that was Rome," if modern literature lacks the statue-like repose of the antique world, yet in compensation it comes nearer home to men's business and bosoms. "We are the ancients of the earth," and, if we must elect between Aristotle and Goethe, between Plautus and Molière, between Horace and Victor Hugo, we shall assuredly, as educationists, choose the moderns."—So I wrote some ten years ago, and
choose the moderns."—So I wrote some ten years ago, and I am of the same opinion still; but I find in schools the masterpieces of French and German literature less and less studied. The modern novel and novelette have ousted the great French masterpieces. Molière and Racine are vieux jeu; Michelet and Thierry, Courier and Ste. Beuve have been ousted by About, Mérimée, et tous ces garçons-là. There are six rival English school editions of "Le Roi des Montagues," to my knowledge, and those of "Colomba" must be more numerous. No one here, I take it—myself least of all—would desire
No one here, I take it—myself least of all—would desire a return to the old régime when French was taught as a dead language... We must begin with objects of sense; we must begin with the spoken tongue. So far we are all agreed, but it may be that the pendulum has swung too far—that in our zeal to lay a sound foundation we have forgotten or neglected the superstructure. We are not prepared to acknowledge, all of us, that both as an educational discipline and as a practical utility the power to read a language is not of more
the power to read a language is not of more importance than the power to talk it—that, while few of us may have the occasion or opportunity to converse with living Frenchmen, yet may all of us and at all times hold converse with the immortals. A learned professor, examiner to seven Universities and countless other bodies, in a public report that I read the other day, lays down sans phrase that "Conversation is the most important aim, the crown of modern language teaching." Now it may very well be that, in his youthful zeal as a reformer, feeling himself