jeanflop/post_ocr_correction2 huggingface dataset:
le banquet, le gala au théâtre, la promenade sur le Rhin, la musique, tout cela était compris dans les dix mark! — Et puisque nous parlons finances, savez-vous que la cotisation que l'on paie comme membre du Deutschen NeuphilologenVerband est de 1 mark 50 ? Peut-être le Secrétaire de la Société des Langues Vivantes ne devrait-il point trahir de pareils secrets. Mettons, si vous le voulez, l'indiscrétion commise au compte du Président du bureau international de renseignements. Les congressistes méritent de leur côté des éloges pour l'ordre et la bonne tenue de leurs séances. Les communications dépassent rarement les trente minutes attribuées par le règlement, on écoute dans le plus grand silence, on n'interrompt jamais, on discute s'il y a lieu, mais avec calme, chacun parlant à son tour et ainsi les séances se président presque automatiquement. Ce respect de la parole et de l'opinion d'autrui est une belle forme de la tolérance. Je veux noter la part qu'a prise l'Administration, comme nous dirions, aux délibérations du Congrès. Un coup d'œil sur le programme montre que non seulement les directeurs d'établissements scolaires, mais aussi les inspecteurs de toutes catégories, Schulinspektion, Provinzial- und Oberinspektion se sont associés aux débats du Congrès et y ont joué un rôle très actif: nul doute que ces assemblées, où administrateurs et professeurs ont ainsi l'occasion d'exposer leurs idées, ne soient du plus grand profit. Il est clair que nous devrions essayer de créer en France des réunions de ce genre, où nous convierions nos chefs hiérarchiques. Nous savons que leur concours bienveillant ne nous ferait pas défaut. Le contact des professeurs de l'enseignement supérieur et de l'enseignement secondaire qui forment le personnel du höheren Unterricht en Allemagne est également un grand bienfait. Malgré de très loyaux efforts faits de côté et d'autre en vue d'une action commune, le supérieur et le secondaire restent encore séparés chez nous; les barrières qui les séparent ne semblent pas de sitôt prêtes à tomber, et — si l'on n'y prend garde — le mal deviendra irrémédiable. Si l'on songe que l'enseignement supérieur prépare les professeurs de l'enseignement secondaire de
et y ont joué un rôle très actif: nul doute que ces assemblées, où administrateurs et professeurs ont ainsi l'occasion d'exposer leurs idées, ne soient du plus grand profit. Il est clair que nous devrions essayer de créer en France des réunions de ce genre, où nous convierions nos chefs hiérarchiques. Nous savons que leur concours bienveillant ne nous ferait pas défaut. Le contact des professeurs de l'enseignement supérieur et de l'enseignement secondaire qui forment le personnel du höheren Unterricht en Allemagne est également un grand bienfait. Malgré de très loyaux efforts faits de côté et d'autre en vue d'une action commune, le supérieur et le secondaire restent encore séparés chez nous; les barrières qui les séparent ne semblent pas de sitôt prêtes à tomber, et — si l'on n'y prend garde — le mal deviendra irrémédiable. Si l'on songe que l'enseignement supérieur prépare les professeurs de l'enseignement secondaire de demain, on ne peut que trouver fâcheux le divorce qui en fait existe le plus souvent entre la faculté et le lycée. Il y a là, comme souvent en France, manque de concert dans l'effort, éparpillement de forces. Le pouvoir central, le conseil supérieur de l'Instruction publique ne peuvent à eux seuls établir l'harmonie désirable; en dehors de toute prescription administrative, la volonté et la bonne volonté des maîtres sont indispensables. Quant au combat pour la méthode, il existe là-bas, et personne ne songera à s'en étonner. Mais en réalité l'accord est bien près de se faire. S'il y a des représentants ardents de la méthode directe, j'ai en vain cherché à lui découvrir des adversaires. Aujourd'hui la question ne se pose plus comme elle se posait autrefois. On ne conteste plus que la « possession effective » de la langue étrangère ne puisse être acquise à l'école; on a accepté partout le principe et il n'est plus question que de déterminer la place exacte que prendra la traduction dans les classes supérieures. C'est désormais un tout petit débat, qui se terminera de lui-même; en réalité la cause est entendue là-bas, comme elle l'est chez nous. En revanche, nos collègues
eux seuls établir l'harmonie désirable; en dehors de toute prescription administrative, la volonté et la bonne volonté des maîtres sont indispensables. Quant au combat pour la méthode, il existe là-bas, et personne ne songera à s'en étonner. Mais en réalité l'accord est bien près de se faire. S'il y a des représentants ardents de la méthode directe, j'ai en vain cherché à lui découvrir des adversaires. Aujourd'hui la question ne se pose plus comme elle se posait autrefois. On ne conteste plus que la « possession effective » de la langue étrangère ne puisse être acquise à l'école; on a accepté partout le principe et il n'est plus question que de déterminer la place exacte que prendra la traduction dans les classes supérieures. C'est désormais un tout petit débat, qui se terminera de lui-même; en réalité la cause est entendue là-bas, comme elle l'est chez nous. En revanche, nos collègues allemands réclament avec beaucoup plus de décision que nous le droit de donner aux élèves la culture intellectuelle au même titre que les professeurs de langues anciennes. Il est vrai que par le mot d'Allgemeinbildung ils n'entendent pas quelque chose d'aussi étroit ni d'aussi formel que ce que nous appelons la culture littéraire. Mais les rivalités qui existent chez nous entre anciens et modernes se retrouvent chez eux, tout aussi courtoises d'ailleurs et sans plus d'amertume. En même temps, la culture moderne s'affirme de plus en plus; une place se fait dans l'enseignement, à côté de la littérature proprement dite, aux sciences morales et sociales et à l'étude des peuples étrangers. A mesure que les programmes se précisent et que l'on voit plus clair, les professeurs de langues modernes oublient les querelles qui les divisaient naguère; ils trouvent à leur tâche, une joie nouvelle et prennent conscience du rôle qu'ils joueront dans l'école de demain. Maurice POTEL, Professeur au Lycée Voltaire et à l'École supérieure de Commerce. Réunion à Paris de l'Association des Langues Modernes (Suite et fin). La journée du vendredi 15 avril comportait pour la matinée deux conférences. M. Baret a parlé de l'organisation de notre enseignement secondaire.
la culture littéraire. Mais les rivalités qui existent chez nous entre anciens et modernes se retrouvent chez eux, tout aussi courtoises d'ailleurs et sans plus d'amertume. En même temps, la culture moderne s'affirme de plus en plus; une place se fait dans l'enseignement, à côté de la littérature proprement dite, aux sciences morales et sociales et à l'étude des peuples étrangers. A mesure que les programmes se précisent et que l'on voit plus clair, les professeurs de langues modernes oublient les querelles qui les divisaient naguère; ils trouvent à leur tâche, une joie nouvelle et prennent conscience du rôle qu'ils joueront dans l'école de demain. Maurice POTEL, Professeur au Lycée Voltaire et à l'École supérieure de Commerce. Réunion à Paris de l'Association des Langues Modernes (Suite et fin). La journée du vendredi 15 avril comportait pour la matinée deux conférences. M. Baret a parlé de l'organisation de notre enseignement secondaire. Nous ne surprendrons personne en disant qu'il a traité son sujet avec autant de bonne grâce que de clarté, qu'il a su égayer d'esprit ces graves questions, ces tableaux et ces statistiques austères. Nos visiteurs ont écouté avec le plus vif intérêt cet exposé si clair et si substantiel, particulièrement intéressant pour eux à un moment où l'organisation de l'enseignement secondaire est une des questions à l'ordre du jour en Angleterre. À onze heures, M. Storr, directeur du Journal of Education, prit la parole sur ce sujet : l'Enseignement du français en Angleterre. Nous reproduisons, en l'abrégeant seulement un peu, cette longue causerie, où l'humour se mêle aux observations les plus précises et à des considérations également fines et solides. Après s'être excusé de prendre la parole comme représentant des professeurs anglais, M. Storr débute par quelques souvenirs de sa vie d'écolier : ... My memory carries me back nearly fifty years to the school where my careless childhood strayed, the school on the hill which Charles II called the only visible church on earth. I see, as if it were yesterday, a spacious panelled chamber known as Speech Room. In the centre is an estrade with a master's desk,
intéressant pour eux à un moment où l'organisation de l'enseignement secondaire est une des questions à l'ordre du jour en Angleterre. À onze heures, M. Storr, directeur du Journal of Education, prit la parole sur ce sujet : l'Enseignement du français en Angleterre. Nous reproduisons, en l'abrégeant seulement un peu, cette longue causerie, où l'humour se mêle aux observations les plus précises et à des considérations également fines et solides. Après s'être excusé de prendre la parole comme représentant des professeurs anglais, M. Storr débute par quelques souvenirs de sa vie d'écolier : ... My memory carries me back nearly fifty years to the school where my careless childhood strayed, the school on the hill which Charles II called the only visible church on earth. I see, as if it were yesterday, a spacious panelled chamber known as Speech Room. In the centre is an estrade with a master's desk, and before and behind are tiers of benches, on which some forty boys are ranged. To the left is a small dark gallery like an organ loft. A class of forty, like Wordsworth's cattle, "forty feeding as one," all browsing on "Le Bourgeois gentilhomme," which they are supposed to be preparing. There are forty at starting; but mysteriously, as if by some magic cantrip, the numbers dwindle and melt away. Silence reigns—not a whisper, not a shuffle of feet. Perfect order, perfect discipline; it might be a Prussian regiment standing at attention. But now instead of forty there are only thirty, five minutes later there are only twenty. Still silence; pupils (what is left of them) are quiet as mice, the master buried in a black-letter folio. It is the calm before the storm. There is a crash like a distant clap of thunder, and Jones is discovered mopping up with his handkerchief a pool of ink. The master looks up from his folio and asks : "What is it, Jones?"—"Please, Sir, I dropped my dictionary by accident and upset the ink." "Then go on with your work." A minute later and there's another crash, and then another; the bolts
preparing. There are forty at starting; but mysteriously, as if by some magic cantrip, the numbers dwindle and melt away. Silence reigns—not a whisper, not a shuffle of feet. Perfect order, perfect discipline; it might be a Prussian regiment standing at attention. But now instead of forty there are only thirty, five minutes later there are only twenty. Still silence; pupils (what is left of them) are quiet as mice, the master buried in a black-letter folio. It is the calm before the storm. There is a crash like a distant clap of thunder, and Jones is discovered mopping up with his handkerchief a pool of ink. The master looks up from his folio and asks : "What is it, Jones?"—"Please, Sir, I dropped my dictionary by accident and upset the ink." "Then go on with your work." A minute later and there's another crash, and then another; the bolts fly fast and thick—it is a general melee... The master, roused at last to action, shuts his folio with a bang, girds his gown about his loins, and shouts : "Come down, you boys, from the gallery! Do not think I cannot see you. Smith! Come down, I say, or I will send you up to the Head Master!" The sharpshooters descend; peace is restored, and for the remaining quarter of an hour we construe, tant bien que mal, the masterpiece of Molière. One other scene fond memory brings before me. It is two years later, and I am in the Sixth (Rhetorique). A modest-sized classroom under the eaves, with lattice windows that did not open, and a blazing midsummer afternoon. Again there is stillness followed by a heavy thud that made all the windows rattle. By a concentrated effort of will, like table-turners, we had heaved up the solid oak bench. Again, "What is that?" cries the master, who had been nodding with the heat. Earthquake, Sir, earthquake-tremblement de terre!" rings out in tones of simulated terror from a score of voices, and the master rushes out, followed helter-skelter by the class. "Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avanti."
I will send you up to the Head Master!" The sharpshooters descend; peace is restored, and for the remaining quarter of an hour we construe, tant bien que mal, the masterpiece of Molière. One other scene fond memory brings before me. It is two years later, and I am in the Sixth (Rhetorique). A modest-sized classroom under the eaves, with lattice windows that did not open, and a blazing midsummer afternoon. Again there is stillness followed by a heavy thud that made all the windows rattle. By a concentrated effort of will, like table-turners, we had heaved up the solid oak bench. Again, "What is that?" cries the master, who had been nodding with the heat. Earthquake, Sir, earthquake-tremblement de terre!" rings out in tones of simulated terror from a score of voices, and the master rushes out, followed helter-skelter by the class. "Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avanti." Our English cleric was succeeded by a Frenchman, a charming gentleman of many accomplishments, whom in after years I had the honour of numbering among my friends, and whose memory still survives in many excellent editions of French classics—M. Masson. There were no earthquakes or battles of books in his reign—we respected and loved him too much—but I cannot honestly say that he taught us much more French than his predecessor. In Byron's epigram— "The world is a bundle of hay, And mankind are the asses who pull; Each pulls a different way, And the greatest of all is John Bull" —John Bull fils is like his father—only more so. So long as promotion and prizes and scholarships all go by Latin and Greek, and mathematics and modern languages are, like virtue, their own reward, they will take a back seat. "Laudatur et alget." Two slight reminiscences of my old 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
reign—we respected and loved him too much—but I cannot honestly say that he taught us much more French than his predecessor. In Byron's epigram— "The world is a bundle of hay, And mankind are the asses who pull; Each pulls a different way, And the greatest of all is John Bull" —John Bull fils is like his father—only more so. So long as promotion and prizes and scholarships all go by Latin and Greek, and mathematics and modern languages are, like virtue, their own reward, they will take a back seat. "Laudatur et alget." Two slight reminiscences of my old 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 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.'" 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
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.'" 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 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 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
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 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 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 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 time and is still the most sweeping indictment of our
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 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 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 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, 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