Whenever Franz looks up from his writing, he sees M. Hamel sitting motionless in his high-backed chair, gazing intently first at one object, then at another, as if trying to engrave every inch of that rustic schoolroom onto his memory forever. For forty dedicated years, he had lived and taught in that very room, looking out upon the identical garden:
- The wooden desks and benches had been worn silky-smooth by generations of village students.
- The walnut-trees he had planted in the garden had grown tall and mature.
- The fragrant hopvine he had personally sown had twined around the window-frames all the way to the cottage roof.
The Heartbreak of Exile
Above their heads, the students can hear M. Hamel’s sister walking back and forth across the ceiling, packing their travel trunks. They have received orders to leave their homeland forever on the following morning. Yet despite his shattered heart, M. Hamel displays monumental courage, hearing every single lesson through to the very end.
Following writing, the class takes up history, after which the smallest children chant their alphabet syllables: “ba, be, bi, bo, bu.” In the back of the room, Old Hauser puts on his spectacles, holds his primer in both trembling hands, and spells the letters alongside the toddlers. Tears stream down the old man’s weathered cheeks, and his voice quavers with such profound emotion that the children feel an overwhelming urge to laugh and weep at the same time.