en-de  Anne of Green Gables /Chapter XI Medium
KAPITEL XI. ANNES EINDRÜCKE VON DER SONNTAGSSCHULE. "Nun, wie gefallen sie dir?" sagte Marilla.

Anne stand im Giebelraum und schaute feierlich auf die drei neuen Kleider, die auf dem Bett ausgebreitet waren. Eines davon war aus zimtfarbenem Baumwollstoff, den von einem Krämer zu kaufen Marilla im vorigen Sommer verleitet worden war, weil er so zweckmäßig aussah; eines war aus schwarz-weiß kariertem Satin, den sie im Winter von einem Sonderangebotstisch mitgenommen hatte; und eines war aus einem steif bedruckten Stoff in hässlichem blauen Farbton, den sie in dieser Woche in einem Carmody-Laden erworben hatte. ...

Sie hatte sie selbst geschneidert und sie waren alle ähnlich gemacht - schlichte Kittel mit eng zulaufender Taille, mit Ärmeln so gerade wie Taille und Rock und so eng, wie Ärmel nur sein können.

"Ich werde mir vorstellen, dass ich sie mag", sagte Anne nüchtern.

"Ich will nicht, dass du es dir vorstellst", sagte Marilla gekränkt. "Oh, ich kann sehen, dass du die Kleider nicht magst! Was ist damit los? Sind sie nicht ordentlich, sauber und neu?"

"Ja."

"Warum magst du sie dann nicht?"

"Sie sind - sie sind nicht - hübsch," sagte Anne zögernd.

"Hübsch!" Marilla rümpfte die Nase. "Ich habe mich nicht dafür angestrengt, dir hübsche Kleider zu besorgen. Ich glaube nicht, dass man Eitelkeit fördern soll, Anne, das sage ich dir gleich. Diese Kleider sind gut, vernünftig und brauchbar, ohne Schnickschnack oder Firlefanz und sie sind alles, was du in diesem Sommer bekommst. Der braune Baumwollstoff und der blau bedruckte Stoff werden für die Schule genügen, wenn du da anfängst. Der Satin ist für die Kirche und die Sonntagsschule. Ich erwarte, dass du sie ordentlich und sauber hältst und sie nicht zerreißt. Ich denke, du solltest dankbar dafür sein, nach solch dürftigen, engen Sachen, die du getragen hast, das Bestmögliche zu bekommen.

"Oh, ich bin dankbar", protestierte Anne. "Aber ich wäre noch viel dankbarer, wenn - wenn du auch nur eins mit Puffärmeln gemacht hättest. Puffärmel sind jetzt so modern. Es würde mir so viel Spaß machen, Marilla, nur ein Kleid mit Puffärmeln zu tragen."

"Nun, du musst auf deinen Spaß verzichten. Ich hatte kein Material, das ich für Puffärmel vergeuden konnte. Ich finde, das sind sowieso lächerlich aussehende Sachen. Ich bevorzuge die einfachen, zweckmäßigen."

"Aber ich würde lieber wie alle anderen gleich lächerlich aussehen, als ganz alleine schlicht und vernünftig," beharrte Anne traurig.

"Das sieht dir ähnlich! Also, häng diese Kleider sorgfältig in deinen Schrank und dann setzt dich hin und lern die Sonntagsschullektion. Ich habe von Mr. Bell ein Vierteljahresheft für dich bekommen und du wirst morgen in die Sonntagsschule gehen," sagte Marilla, während sie aufgebracht nach unten verschwand.

Anne verschränkte ihre Hände und betrachtete die Kleider.

"Ich hatte gehofft, es gäbe ein Weißes mit Puffärmeln," flüsterte sie niedergeschlagen. Ich hatte um eins gebetet, aber ich hatte nicht viel erwartet bei dieser Anforderung. Ich hatte nicht erwartet, dass Gott Zeit haben würde, sich um das Kleid eines kleinen Waisenmädchens zu kümmern. Ich wusste, dass ich mich nur auf Marilla verlassen musste. Nun, zum Glück kann ich mir vorstellen, dass eins von ihnen aus schneeweißem Musselin mit hübschen Spitzenrüschen und dreifach gepufften Ärmeln ist."

Die ersten Anzeichen eines Kopfschmerzes hinderten Marilla am nächsten Morgen daran, mit Anne zur Sonntagsschule zu gehen.

"Du musst runtergehen und Mrs. Lynde abholen, Anne", sagte sie "Sie wird dafür sorgen, dass du in die richtige Klasse kommst. Aber benimm dich anständig. Bleib hinterher zur Predigt und bitte Mrs. Lynde, dir unsere Kirchenbank zu zeigen. Hier ist ein Cent für die Sammlung. Starre die Leute nicht an und zappele nicht herum. Ich erwarte von dir, dass du mir den Inhalt erzählst, wenn du nach Hause kommst."

Anne startete tadellos, mit steifem, schwarz-weißen Satin herausgeputzt, der, während korrekt in Bezug auf die Länge und bestimmt nicht die Knappheit berechnend, es fertigbrachte, jede Ecke und jeden Winkel ihrer dünnen Figur zu betonen. Ihr Hut war eine kleine, flache, glänzende, neue Matrosenmütze, deren extreme Schlichtheit Anne ebenfallls sehr enttäuschte, die sich geheime Vorstellungen von Bändern und Blumen erlaubt hatte. Letzteres wurde jedoch geliefert, bevor Anne die Hauptstraße erreichte, weil auf halbem Weg mit einem goldenen Taumel von aufgewirbelten Ranunkeln und einer Pracht von wilden Rosen konfrontiert, Anne ihren Hut sofort und großzügig mit einem dichten Gebinde daraus bekränzte. Was auch immer andere Leute von dem Ergebnis gedacht haben mochten, es stellte Anne zufrieden und sie trippelte fröhlich die Straße hinunter, ihren rötlichen Kopf mit seinem rosa und gelben Schmuck sehr stolz aufgerichtet.

Als sie Mrs. Lyndes Haus erreichte, stellte sie fest, dass diese Dame fortgegangen war. Unverzagt ging Anne allein weiter zur Kirche. In der Vorhalle traf sie eine Menge kleiner Mädchen, alle mehr oder weniger farbenfroh in Weiß und Blau und Rosa gekleidet und alle blickten mit neugierigen Augen auf die Fremde in ihrer Mitte mit ihrem außergewöhnlichen Kopfschmuck. Die kleinen Mädchen von Avonlea hatten schon seltsame Geschichten über Anne gehört; Mrs. Lynde sagte, sie habe ein schreckliches Temperament; Jerry Buote, der angestellte Junge von Green Gables, sagte, sie würde die ganze Zeit mit sich selbst sprechen oder zu den Bäumen und Blumen wie ein übergeschnapptes Mädchen. Sie schauten sie an und tuschelten sich hinter ihren Quartalsheftchen zu. Keine machte anschließend irgendwelche freundlichen Annäherungsversuche, oder nachher, als die Eröffnungsübungen vorbei waren und Anne sich in Miss Rogersons Klasse einfand.
Miss Rogerson war eine Dame im mittleren Alter, die zwanzig Jahre lang eine Sonntagsschulklasse unterrichtet hatte. Ihre Lehrweise bestand darin, die gedruckten Fragen aus dem Quartals-Heftchen zu stellen und streng über den Rand zu schauen, auf das kleine Mädchen, von dem sie meinte, dass es die Frage beantworten sollte. Sie sah sehr oft zu Anne und Anne antwortete Dank Marillas Drill prompt; aber es war zweifelhaft, ob sie von Frage oder Antwort sehr viel verstand.
Sie glaubte nicht, dass sie Miss Rogerson mochte, und sie fühlte sich sehr elend; jedes andere kleine Mädchen in der Klasse hatte Puffärmel. Anne hatte das Gefühl, dass das Leben ohne Puffärmel wirklich nicht lebenswert ist.

"Nun, wie hat dir die Sonntagsschule gefallen?" wollte Marilla wissen, als Anne nach Hause kam. Ihr Kranz war welk geworden, Anne hatte ihn auf dem Weg weggeworfen, so blieb Marilla die Kenntnis davon vorübergehend erspart.

"Ich mochte sie überhaupt nicht. Sie war furchtbar."

"Anne Shirley!" sagte Marilla, zurechtweisend.

Anne setzte sich mit einem langen Seufzer auf den Schaukelstuhl, küßte eine von Bonny's Blättern und winkte einer blühenden Fuchsie.

"Sie könnten einsam gewesen sein, während ich weg war", erklärte sie. "Und nun über die Sonntagsschule. Ich habe mich gut benommen, genau wie du es mir gesagt hast. Mrs. Lynde war gegangen, also ging ich alleine hin. Ich bin mit vielen anderen kleinen Mädchen in die Kirche gegangen und saß auf der Ecke eines Kirchenbanks neben dem Fenster während die Anfangsübungen stattfanden. Mr. Bell betete ein schrecklich langes Gebet. Ich wäre schrecklich müde geworden, bevor er fertig gewesen wäre, wenn ich nicht an diesem Fenster gesessen hätte. Aber es ging direkt auf den See des leuchtenden Wassers hinaus, so starrte ich einfach darauf und stellte mir alle Arten von herrlichen Dingen vor."

"Du solltest so etwas nicht tun. Du solltest Mr. Bell zuhören."

Aber er sprach nicht zu mir", protestierte Anne. "Er sprach zu Gott und er schien auch nicht sehr daran interessiert zu sein. Ich denke, er dachte Gott ist zu weit weg, als dass es sich lohne. Ich sprach allerdings selbst ein kleines Gebet. Da war eine lange Reihe von weißen Birken, die über den See hingen und der Sonnenschein fiel durch sie tief, tief in das Wasser hinein. Oh, Marilla, es war wie ein schöner Traum! Ich war begeistert und sagte einfach zwei- oder dreimal: 'Danke dafür, Gott'. "

" Ich hoffe, nicht laut", sagte Marilla gespannt.

"Oh, nein, nur zu mir selbst. Nun Mr. Bell wurde endlich fertig und sie sagten mir, ich solle mit Miss Rogersons Klasse in den Klassenraum gehen. Darin waren neun weitere Mädchen. Sie hatten alle Puffärmel. Ich versuchte mir vorzustellen, meine wären auch gepufft, aber ich konnte es nicht. Warum konnte ich es nicht? Nichts leichter als das war es, sich vorzustellen, sie wären gepufft, solange ich allein im Ostgiebel war, aber es war furchtbar schwer dort unter den Anderen, die wirklich echte Puffärmel hatten."

"Du solltest in der Sonntagsschule nicht an deine Ärmel denken. Du solltest am Unterricht teilnehmen. Ich hoffe, du wusstest es."

"Oh, ja; und ich beantwortete eine Menge Fragen. Miss Rogerson fragte immer so viel. Ich glaube nicht, dass es fair von ihr war; all die Fragen zu stellen. Da war eine Menge, was ich sie fragen wollte, aber ich mochte es nicht, weil ich nicht dachte, dass sie eine Seelenverwandte war. Dann wiederholten die anderen kleinen Mädchen das Gehörte mit eigenen Worten. ... Sie fragte mich, ob ich eine kenne. Ich sagte ihr, ich wüsste keine, aber ich könnte 'Der Hund an dem Grab seines Herrn' aufsagen, wenn sie wolle. Das steht in dem Third Royal Reader. Es ist kein wirklich wahrhaftiges, religiöses, poetisches Stück, aber es ist so traurig und melancholisch, dass es das genauso gut sein könnte. Sie sagte, das würde nichts bringen und gab mir den 19. Psalm für den nächsten Sonntag auf. Ich las es danach in der Kirche durch und es ist großartig. Da sind besonders zwei Zeilen, die mich einfach begeistern.

'So schnell, wie die geschlachteten Schwadronen in Midians bösen Tagen fielen.'

Ich weiß weder, was 'Geschwader' bedeutet noch 'Midian', aber es klingt so tragisch. Ich kann es kaum bis nächsten Sonntag erwarten, um es vorzutragen. Ich werde es die ganze Woche üben. Nach der Sonntagsschule bat ich Miss Rogerson - weil Mrs. Lynde zu weit weg war - mir deine Bank zu zeigen. Ich saß einfach so still, wie ich konnte und der Text war Offenbarungen, 3. Kapitel, 2. und 3. Vers. Es war ein sehr langer Text. Wenn ich Pfarrer wäre, würde ich was Kurzes, Zackiges aussuchen. Die Predigt war auch furchtbar lang. Ich schätze, der Pfarrer musste es dem Text anpassen. Ich fand ihn kein bisschen interessant. Das Problem mit ihm scheint zu sein, dass er nicht genug Fantasie hat. Ich habe ihm nicht viel zugehört. Ich ließ meinen Gedanken freien Lauf und ich dachte an die unerwartendsten Dinge."

Marilla fühlte machtlos, dass all dies streng getadelt werden sollte, aber sie war durch die unbestreitbare Tatsache gehemmt, dass einige der von Anne erwähnten Dinge, speziell über die Predigten des Pfarrers und Mr. Bells Gebete, das wiedergaben, was sie schon selbst jahrelang tief in ihrem Herzen gedacht hatte, was sie aber nie zum Ausdruck gebracht hatte. Es schien ihr beinahe so, als hätten diese geheimen, unausgesprochenen, kritischen Gedanken plötzlich in der Person dieses unverblümten Häppchens der vernachlässigten Menschheit Gestalt angenommen.
unit 1
CHAPTER XI ANNE'S IMPRESSIONS OF SUNDAY-SCHOOL "Well, how do you like them?"
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said Marilla.
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Anne was standing in the gable-room, looking solemnly at three new dresses spread out on the bed.
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"I'll imagine that I like them," said Anne soberly.
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"I don't want you to imagine it," said Marilla, offended.
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"Oh, I can see you don't like the dresses!
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What is the matter with them?
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Aren't they neat and clean and new?"
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"Yes."
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"Then why don't you like them?"
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"They're—they're not—pretty," said Anne reluctantly.
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"Pretty!"
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Marilla sniffed.
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"I didn't trouble my head about getting pretty dresses for you.
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I don't believe in pampering vanity, Anne, I'll tell you that right off.
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The brown gingham and the blue print will do you for school when you begin to go.
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The sateen is for church and Sunday-school.
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I'll expect you to keep them neat and clean and not to tear them.
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"Oh, I am grateful," protested Anne.
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"But I'd be ever so much gratefuller if—if you'd made just one of them with puffed sleeves.
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Puffed sleeves are so fashionable now.
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It would give me such a thrill, Marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves."
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"Well, you'll have to do without your thrill.
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I hadn't any material to waste on puffed sleeves.
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I think they are ridiculous-looking things anyhow.
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I prefer the plain, sensible ones."
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"Trust you for that!
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Anne clasped her hands and looked at the dresses.
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"I did hope there would be a white one with puffed sleeves," she whispered disconsolately.
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"I prayed for one, but I didn't much expect it on that account.
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I didn't suppose God would have time to bother about a little orphan girl's dress.
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I knew I'd just have to depend on Marilla for it.
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The next morning warnings of a sick headache prevented Marilla from going to Sunday-school with Anne.
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"You'll have to go down and call for Mrs. Lynde, Anne," she said.
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"She'll see that you get into the right class.
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Now, mind you behave yourself properly.
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Stay to preaching afterwards and ask Mrs. Lynde to show you our pew.
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Here's a cent for collection.
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Don't stare at people and don't fidget.
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I shall expect you to tell me the text when you come home."
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When she reached Mrs. Lynde's house she found that lady gone.
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Nothing daunted Anne proceeded onward to the church alone.
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They looked at her and whispered to each other behind their quarterlies.
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Miss Rogerson was a middle-aged lady who had taught a Sunday-school class for twenty years.
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Anne felt that life was really not worth living without puffed sleeves.
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"Well, how did you like Sunday-school?"
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Marilla wanted to know when Anne came home.
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"I didn't like it a bit.
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It was horrid."
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"Anne Shirley!"
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said Marilla rebukingly.
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"They might have been lonesome while I was away," she explained.
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"And now about the Sunday-school.
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I behaved well, just as you told me.
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Mrs. Lynde was gone, but I went right on myself.
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Mr. Bell made an awfully long prayer.
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I would have been dreadfully tired before he got through if I hadn't been sitting by that window.
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"You shouldn't have done anything of the sort.
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You should have listened to Mr.
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Bell."
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But he wasn't talking to me," protested Anne.
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"He was talking to God and he didn't seem to be very much interested in it, either.
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I think he thought God was too far off to make it worth while.
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I said a little prayer myself, though.
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Oh, Marilla, it was like a beautiful dream!
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It gave me a thrill and I just said, 'Thank you for it, God,' two or three times."
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"Not out loud, I hope," said Marilla anxiously.
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"Oh, no, just under my breath.
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There were nine other girls in it.
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They all had puffed sleeves.
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I tried to imagine mine were puffed, too, but I couldn't.
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Why couldn't I?
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"You shouldn't have been thinking about your sleeves in Sunday-school.
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You should have been attending to the lesson.
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I hope you knew it."
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"Oh, yes; and I answered a lot of questions.
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Miss Rogerson asked ever so many.
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I don't think it was fair for her to do all the asking.
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Then all the other little girls recited a paraphrase.
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She asked me if I knew any.
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I told her I didn't, but I could recite, 'The Dog at His Master's Grave' if she liked.
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That's in the Third Royal Reader.
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She said it wouldn't do and she told me to learn the nineteenth paraphrase for next Sunday.
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I read it over in church afterwards and it's splendid.
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There are two lines in particular that just thrill me.
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"'Quick as the slaughtered squadrons fell In Midian's evil day.'
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I don't know what 'squadrons' means nor 'Midian,' either, but it sounds so tragical.
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I can hardly wait until next Sunday to recite it.
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I'll practise it all the week.
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After Sunday-school I asked Miss Rogerson—because Mrs. Lynde was too far away—to show me your pew.
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I sat just as still as I could and the text was Revelations, third chapter, second and third verses.
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It was a very long text.
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If I was a minister I'd pick the short, snappy ones.
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The sermon was awfully long, too.
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I suppose the minister had to match it to the text.
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I didn't think he was a bit interesting.
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The trouble with him seems to be that he hasn't enough imagination.
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I didn't listen to him very much.
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I just let my thoughts run and I thought of the most surprising things."
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Update: Thank to Gaby and her watching the movie, we now know that:
1. Anne only use the formal form ("Sie") at the start, but later (we agreed for Chapter XI) she will say "du" to Marilla and Matthew, and the formal form with everybody else but her classmates. Marilla and Rachel are friends and they use "du".
2. She likes overstatements and superlatives.
3. We need to translate "green gables" as it is done in the movie.

by gaelle044 10 months, 2 weeks ago

Anne of Green Gables (1908)

Written for all ages, it has been considered a children's novel since the mid-twentieth century. It recounts the adventures of Anne Shirley, an 11-year-old orphan girl who is mistakenly sent to Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert, a middle-aged brother and sister who had intended to adopt a boy to help them on their farm in Prince Edward Island. The novel recounts how Anne makes her way with the Cuthberts, in school, and within the town. Since publication, Anne of Green Gables has sold more than 50 million copies and has been translated into 20 languages. It has been adapted as film, made-for-television movies, and animated and live-action television series. — Excerpted from Anne of Green Gables (1908) on Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Anne_of_Green_Gables_(1908)

by gaelle044 10 months, 2 weeks ago

CHAPTER XI

ANNE'S IMPRESSIONS OF SUNDAY-SCHOOL

"Well, how do you like them?" said Marilla.

Anne was standing in the gable-room, looking solemnly at three new dresses spread out on the bed. One was of snuffy coloured gingham which Marilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the preceding summer because it looked so serviceable; one was of black-and-white checked sateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the winter; and one was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased that week at a Carmody store.

She had made them up herself, and they were all made alike—plain skirts fulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirt and tight as sleeves could be.

"I'll imagine that I like them," said Anne soberly.

"I don't want you to imagine it," said Marilla, offended. "Oh, I can see you don't like the dresses! What is the matter with them? Aren't they neat and clean and new?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you like them?"

"They're—they're not—pretty," said Anne reluctantly.

"Pretty!" Marilla sniffed. "I didn't trouble my head about getting pretty dresses for you. I don't believe in pampering vanity, Anne, I'll tell you that right off. Those dresses are good, sensible, serviceable dresses, without any frills or furbelows about them, and they're all you'll get this summer. The brown gingham and the blue print will do you for school when you begin to go. The sateen is for church and Sunday-school. I'll expect you to keep them neat and clean and not to tear them. I should think you'd be grateful to get most anything after those skimpy wincey things you've been wearing."

"Oh, I am grateful," protested Anne. "But I'd be ever so much gratefuller if—if you'd made just one of them with puffed sleeves. Puffed sleeves are so fashionable now. It would give me such a thrill, Marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves."

"Well, you'll have to do without your thrill. I hadn't any material to waste on puffed sleeves. I think they are ridiculous-looking things anyhow. I prefer the plain, sensible ones."

"But I'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain and sensible all by myself," persisted Anne mournfully.

"Trust you for that! Well, hang those dresses carefully up in your closet, and then sit down and learn the Sunday-school lesson. I got a quarterly from Mr. Bell for you and you'll go to Sunday-school to-morrow," said Marilla, disappearing down-stairs in high dudgeon.

Anne clasped her hands and looked at the dresses.

"I did hope there would be a white one with puffed sleeves," she whispered disconsolately. "I prayed for one, but I didn't much expect it on that account. I didn't suppose God would have time to bother about a little orphan girl's dress. I knew I'd just have to depend on Marilla for it. Well, fortunately I can imagine that one of them is of snow-white muslin with lovely lace frills and three-puffed sleeves."

The next morning warnings of a sick headache prevented Marilla from going to Sunday-school with Anne.

"You'll have to go down and call for Mrs. Lynde, Anne," she said. "She'll see that you get into the right class. Now, mind you behave yourself properly. Stay to preaching afterwards and ask Mrs. Lynde to show you our pew. Here's a cent for collection. Don't stare at people and don't fidget. I shall expect you to tell me the text when you come home."

Anne started off irreproachably, arrayed in the stiff black-and-white sateen, which, while decent as regards length and certainly not open to the charge of skimpiness, contrived to emphasize every corner and angle of her thin figure. Her hat was a little, flat, glossy, new sailor, the extreme plainness of which had likewise much disappointed Anne, who had permitted herself secret visions of ribbon and flowers. The latter, however, were supplied before Anne reached the main road, for, being confronted half-way down the lane with a golden frenzy of wind-stirred buttercups and a glory of wild roses, Anne promptly and liberally garlanded her hat with a heavy wreath of them. Whatever other people might have thought of the result it satisfied Anne, and she tripped gaily down the road, holding her ruddy head with its decoration of pink and yellow very proudly.

When she reached Mrs. Lynde's house she found that lady gone. Nothing daunted Anne proceeded onward to the church alone. In the porch she found a crowd of little girls, all more or less gaily attired in whites and blues and pinks, and all staring with curious eyes at this stranger in their midst, with her extraordinary head adornment. Avonlea little girls had already heard queer stories about Anne; Mrs. Lynde said she had an awful temper; Jerry Buote, the hired boy at Green Gables, said she talked all the time to herself or to the trees and flowers like a crazy girl. They looked at her and whispered to each other behind their quarterlies. Nobody made any friendly advances, then or later on when the opening exercises were over and Anne found herself in Miss Rogerson's class.
Miss Rogerson was a middle-aged lady who had taught a Sunday-school class for twenty years. Her method of teaching was to ask the printed questions from the quarterly and look sternly over its edge at the particular little girl she thought ought to answer the question. She looked very often at Anne, and Anne, thanks to Marilla's drilling, answered promptly; but it may be questioned if she understood very much about either question or answer.
She did not think she liked Miss Rogerson, and she felt very miserable; every other little girl in the class had puffed sleeves. Anne felt that life was really not worth living without puffed sleeves.

"Well, how did you like Sunday-school?" Marilla wanted to know when Anne came home. Her wreath having faded, Anne had discarded it in the lane, so Marilla was spared the knowledge of that for a time.

"I didn't like it a bit. It was horrid."

"Anne Shirley!" said Marilla rebukingly.

Anne sat down on the rocker with a long sigh, kissed one of Bonny's leaves, and waved her hand to a blossoming fuchsia.

"They might have been lonesome while I was away," she explained. "And now about the Sunday-school. I behaved well, just as you told me. Mrs. Lynde was gone, but I went right on myself. I went into the church, with a lot of other little girls, and I sat in the corner of a pew by the window while the opening exercises went on. Mr. Bell made an awfully long prayer. I would have been dreadfully tired before he got through if I hadn't been sitting by that window. But it looked right out on the Lake of Shining Waters, so I just gazed at that and imagined all sorts of splendid things."

"You shouldn't have done anything of the sort. You should have listened to Mr. Bell."

But he wasn't talking to me," protested Anne. "He was talking to God and he didn't seem to be very much interested in it, either. I think he thought God was too far off to make it worth while. I said a little prayer myself, though. There was a long row of white birches hanging over the lake and the sunshine fell down through them, 'way, 'way down, deep into the water. Oh, Marilla, it was like a beautiful dream! It gave me a thrill and I just said, 'Thank you for it, God,' two or three times."

"Not out loud, I hope," said Marilla anxiously.

"Oh, no, just under my breath. Well, Mr. Bell did get through at last and they told me to go into the class-room with Miss Rogerson's class. There were nine other girls in it. They all had puffed sleeves. I tried to imagine mine were puffed, too, but I couldn't. Why couldn't I? It was as easy as could be to imagine they were puffed when I was alone in the east gable, but it was awfully hard there among the others who had really truly puffs."

"You shouldn't have been thinking about your sleeves in Sunday-school. You should have been attending to the lesson. I hope you knew it."

"Oh, yes; and I answered a lot of questions. Miss Rogerson asked ever so many. I don't think it was fair for her to do all the asking. There were lots I wanted to ask her, but I didn't like to because I didn't think she was a kindred spirit. Then all the other little girls recited a paraphrase. She asked me if I knew any. I told her I didn't, but I could recite, 'The Dog at His Master's Grave' if she liked. That's in the Third Royal Reader. It isn't a really truly religious piece of poetry, but it's so sad and melancholy that it might as well be. She said it wouldn't do and she told me to learn the nineteenth paraphrase for next Sunday. I read it over in church afterwards and it's splendid. There are two lines in particular that just thrill me.

"'Quick as the slaughtered squadrons fell
In Midian's evil day.'

I don't know what 'squadrons' means nor 'Midian,' either, but it sounds so tragical. I can hardly wait until next Sunday to recite it. I'll practise it all the week. After Sunday-school I asked Miss Rogerson—because Mrs. Lynde was too far away—to show me your pew. I sat just as still as I could and the text was Revelations, third chapter, second and third verses. It was a very long text. If I was a minister I'd pick the short, snappy ones. The sermon was awfully long, too. I suppose the minister had to match it to the text. I didn't think he was a bit interesting. The trouble with him seems to be that he hasn't enough imagination. I didn't listen to him very much. I just let my thoughts run and I thought of the most surprising things."

Marilla felt helplessly that all this should be sternly reproved, but she was hampered by the undeniable fact that some of the things Anne had said, especially about the minister's sermons and Mr. Bell's prayers, were what she herself had really thought deep down in her heart for years, but had never given expression to. It almost seemed to her that those secret, unuttered, critical thoughts had suddenly taken visible and accusing shape and form in the person of this outspoken morsel of neglected humanity.