Kal. Mai.
Salvete, Amici et Amicae!
One of my favorite movies is Goodbye, Mr. Chips (the 1939 version starring Robert Donat and Greer Garson, perhaps needless to say). And my favorite scene in that movie is when, during World War I, the Germans are bombing near the boys’ school Brookfield, but the aging schoolmaster Arthur Chipping nonetheless carries on with his Latin class—even though the students are understandably frightened and inattentive.
The ’39 film is quite faithful to James Hilton’s 1934 novella, Latin and all. It is through the Latin that we come to recognize that Chips in this particular scene is being neither devil-may-care nor unfeelingly strict in asking the boys, despite the clear and present danger, to take out their Caesars:
It may possibly seem to you, Robertson—at this particular moment in
the world's history—umph—that the affairs of Caesar in Gaul some two
thousand years ago—are— umph—of somewhat secondary importance—
and that—umph —the irregular conjugation of the verb tollo is—umph—
even less important still. But believe me—umph—my dear Robertson—that
is not really the case.
Then, forging ahead, Chips asks if anyone is willing to construe a particular passage, “begin[ning] at the bottom line of page 40,” and the “chubby, dauntless, clever, and impudent” Maynard volunteers. He then reads and translates:
Genus hoc erat pugnae—this was the kind of fight—quo se Germani exercuerant—
in which the Germans busied themselves.
At once Maynard gets Chips’ allusive humor:
Oh, sir, that's good—that's really very funny indeed, sir—one of your very best—
And immediately:
Laughing began, and Chips added: "Well—umph—you can see —now—that these
dead languages—umph—can come to life again—sometimes—eh? Eh?"
I’ve loved this scene ever since I first saw the movie decades ago (cinematic Latin classes with actual Latin aren’t that common, surprisingly!, but the idea that a classical text could help the students confront their immediate situation—that knowledge of the past is not simply a nicety but indeed a necessary tool—has hit hard the last couple years. Will any of us (could any of us) teach references to plague in an ancient work (be it the Iliad, or Oedipus, or Thucydides or Lucretius, et alia) quite the same as we did before? Or a war?
I don’t think so, and I would hope not.
I continue to be inspired by all of you who, masked or not, in-person or hybrid or virtual, continue to do what you do for your students . . . and to do it so well. That said (and I know I’m preaching to the choir), I have but one thing to ask on behalf of your students and your schools and our state and our nation:
Be like Chips.
Valeas,
Gil Gigliotti