Förnya äldre noveller med AI

• Färdig text
• Svensk text, utkast
• Engelsk text, utkast
• Engelsk text, original

Med alla nya hjälpmedel som kommer i en aldrig sinande ström så finns numera möjligheten att relativt enkelt ta fram äldre texter där copyrighten förfallolit, skriva m dem med AI till ett språk mer likt vårt nutida för att sedan kunna använda texterna i undervisningen.

Här finns exemplet novellen "The Adventure Of The German Student" av Washington Irving från 1824. Den är bra på det viset att den tar upp händelser under franska revolutionen. Trots att det var så viktig period i historien finns det inte särskilt många texter som lämpar sig för dagens elever. Dessutom är den en spökhistoria som fått en hel del uppföljare.

Var finns det texter?

Det går att diskutera om det är rätt att skriva om en originaltext till någonting annat. Om syftet är att få elever att läsa texter från andra tider, tycker jag att det är motiverat. Så länge det finns en länk till originaltexten någonstans så har eleven en möjlighet att läsa ursprungstexten, om eleven vill.

Det finns en hel del fria noveller och texter att välja på I Sverige är det Runeberg som har största mängden ( https://runeberg.org/ ) och för den som är ute efter andra svenska texter finns även Wikisource: ( https://sv.wikisource.org/wiki/Wikisource:Huvudsida ).

Den som söker äldre engelska texter kan naturligtvis gå in på den engelska versionen av Wikisource: ( https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Main_Page ) men när det gäller noveller på engelska är Gutenberg den bästa platsen, och helst den version som finns i Australien eftersom deras copyrightregler är mer tillåtande än de i USA: ( https://gutenberg.net.au/ )

Skriva om texten?

Texter från 1800-talet är skrivna på ett speciellt sätt, och det måste skrivas om för att texten ska uppfattas som lättläst för dagens elever också:

• Show, don't tell - vi är så vana i dagens samhälle att berättande texter skrivs som filmmanus. Författaren beskriver vad personer i texten säger och gör, och vi tolkar handlingen efter det. Förr gällde istället motsatsen, Tell, don't show. Författaren har långa textstycken där den beskriver varför olika personer gör som de gör. Merparten av all Tell, don't show bör skrivas om så att texten följer det mer moderna sättet att skriva.
• Dialoger - vi är vana med många och långa dialoger som för handlingen framåt. På den tiden skrevs dialogerna som passiv anföring. Författaren beskrev vad som sas, utan att skriva någon egentlig dialog. Det innebär att i alla fall merparten av all passiv anföring måste skrivas om till riktiga dialoger så att beskrivningarna av vad som sägs uppfattas som om läsaren är en fluga på väggen bredvid de som samtalar.
• Inre monologer - texterna är fulla till brädden med samtal som huvudpersonen håller med sig själv och ofta är det monologerna som förklarar varför huvudpersonerna gör som de gör. Merparten av de inre monologerna bör arbetas bort och det som finns i dem bör istället synas som del i handlingen.
• Jesus, gud och antikens gudar - äldre texter är fulla av referenser till Jesus, Gud och Bibeln. Även när det är helt obefogat. Något som vi i vår tid tycker är tröttsamt att ta sig igenom. Om den typen av referenser inte behövs, ska de strykas eller skrivas om. Samma sak häller antikens gudar. Under 1700-1800-talen var antiken på modet bland författare och de skrev ofta in olika gudar eller händelser från antikens Grekland och Rom i texten. Något om även det bör tas bort.
• Drömsekvenser - även det är vanligt i äldre texter. Stora delar av handlingen utspelar sig i olika drömmar istället för att vara en del av spänningskurvan. Även de sekvenserna bör skrivas om så att de blir en del av det personerna verkligen säger eller gör, eller raderas helt.

Med det sagt, här följer "The Adventure Of The German Student" från originaltexten till den färdiga, elevanpassade texten.

Rubrik

Av FÖRFATTARE

Källa:

1: Ta reda på vad orden i texten betyder innan du läser texten så förstår du den bättre. Använd: svenska.se, ordbok, Wikipedia eller Wiktionary.

2; Att läsa på raderna innebär att söka information som finns tydligt angiven i texten:

A:

3: Att läsa mellan raderna innebär att man söker fram information som man förstår av textens sammanhang.

A:

4: Att läsa bortom raderna innebär att man kopplar ihop den kunskap man har sedan tidigare för att förstå sammanhanget i en text

A:

5: Öppna frågor saknar ett rätt svar, man kan bara diskutera kring dem.

A:

Originaltexten, efter att den körts genom Chat GPT 3,5 / gratisversionen. Prompten var enkel: "Rewrite this text to a more simple language suited for teenagers:". Det finns en poäng med att låta en engelsk AI bearbeta den engelska texten före den översätts. Jag förmodar att resultatet blir bättre då.

The Adventure Of The German Student

by

Washington Irving

---

Late at night, during a storm in the wild days of the French Revolution, a young German guy was heading back to his place in the old part of Paris. The lightning was flashing, and thunder was booming in the narrow streets. But before we get into the story, let me tell you a bit about this young German.

Gottfried Wolfgang came from a good family. He spent some time studying at Göttingen, but because he was a dreamy and passionate guy, he got into some wild and speculative ideas that often confuse German students. His secluded lifestyle, intense focus on studies, and the unique nature of what he was learning had an impact on both his mind and body. His health suffered, and his imagination went a bit haywire.

He started having these imaginative thoughts about spiritual stuff, creating a world of his own like Swedenborg. Then, for some unknown reason, he got it into his head that there was a bad influence hanging over him – some evil spirit trying to trap him and ruin his life. This idea, combined with his naturally gloomy personality, made him look all worn out and hopeless.

His friends noticed that something was seriously wrong with his mind, and they figured the best way to help him was to change his surroundings. So, off he went to Paris to finish his studies, hoping the city's glam and fun would do him some good.

Wolfgang got to Paris right when the revolution was starting. At first, he got caught up in the excitement like everyone else, getting all into the political and philosophical ideas of the time. But when things turned violent and there was a lot of bloodshed, it really bothered him. It made him disgusted with society and the world, pushing him even more into a life of being alone.

He locked himself away in a quiet place in the student quarter, Pays Latin. It was a gloomy street not too far from the Sorbonne's monastery walls, where he continued with his favorite deep thoughts. Sometimes, he spent hours in the big libraries of Paris, those places full of old books from long-gone authors. He was kind of like a literary ghoul, digging through the graves of ancient literature, searching for stuff to satisfy his weird interests.

Even though Wolfgang was a bit of a loner and liked being by himself, he had a passionate side to him. At first, this passion mainly played out in his imagination. He was too shy and didn't really know much about the world to approach girls, but he really admired their beauty. In his quiet room, he'd often daydream about the pretty faces and figures he'd seen, making them even more beautiful in his mind than they were in real life.

When Wolfgang's mind was all fired up and on another level, he had a really intense dream that shook him to the core. In the dream, he saw a super beautiful woman's face that left a lasting mark on him. He dreamt about her over and over again. The image stuck with him during the day and even when he slept at night. Eventually, he fell head over heels in love with this dreamlike figure. It went on for so long that it became one of those ideas that just won't leave the minds of sad guys, and sometimes people even think they're going crazy because of it.

Meet Gottfried Wolfgang – that's who we're talking about. This is what was going on with him at the time. Picture this: It's a stormy night, and he's walking home really late through some old, dark streets in the Marais, the ancient part of Paris. The thunder is super loud in the narrow streets with tall houses. He gets to the Place de Grève, a square where public executions happen. Lightning is flashing around the old Hôtel de Ville, lighting up the open space.

As Wolfgang is walking across the square, he suddenly freaks out because he's right next to the guillotine. This was during the worst part of the Reign of Terror, when this terrifying death machine was always ready, and the scaffold was always covered in the blood of good and brave people. On that very day, it had been used a lot, and now it's just sitting there in the dark, waiting for more victims.

Wolfgang's heart felt really heavy, and he couldn't help but shudder at the scary guillotine. Just as he's about to turn away from that dreadful machine, he notices a shadowy figure huddled at the bottom of the steps leading up to the scaffold. The lightning flashes make it easier to see. It's a woman, all dressed in black, sitting on one of the lower steps. She's leaning forward, hiding her face in her lap, and her long, messy hair is drenched in rain. Wolfgang stops in his tracks. There's something super sad about this lone symbol of sorrow.

The woman seems different from the usual crowd. Wolfgang knows the times are tough, and many once-happy people are now homeless. Maybe this lady is a grieving soul left all alone by the awful guillotine, sitting here heartbroken on the edge of life after everything dear to her has been taken away forever.

He went up to her and spoke to her with care and understanding. When she looked up, he was shocked to see the same face that had been in his dreams, illuminated by the bright lightning. Even though she looked pale and sad, she was incredibly beautiful.

Wolfgang, shaken by strong and mixed emotions, talked to her again. He mentioned how it wasn't safe for her to be out in such a storm at that late hour and offered to take her to her friends. Instead of answering, she pointed to the guillotine in a way that made it clear something awful was going on.

"I don't have a friend in the world!" she exclaimed.

"But you have a home," Wolfgang responded.

"Yes—in the grave!"

His heart sank at her words.

"If I may say something without being taken the wrong way," he began, "I'd offer my simple place as a refuge, and myself as a true friend. I'm alone here in Paris, a stranger in this land. But if my life could be of help, it's yours to use. I'd rather sacrifice myself than see any harm or disrespect come your way."

The young man's sincere and serious attitude made an impact. Plus, his foreign accent worked in his favor—it proved he wasn't just another person used to the ways of Paris. True enthusiasm has a kind of convincing power. The stranger without a home put her trust completely in the student's protection.

He helped her shaky steps across the Pont Neuf, passing the spot where the people had knocked down the statue of Henry the Fourth. The storm had calmed down, and the distant rumble of thunder lingered. Paris was quiet—like a big volcano of emotions taking a break before the next burst.

The student guided her through the old streets of the Latin Quarter and past the dark walls of the Sorbonne to the big, not-so-fancy hotel where he lived. The old lady at the door, who let them in, looked surprised to see the usually gloomy Wolfgang with a female companion.

When they stepped into his place, the student, for the first time, felt a bit embarrassed about how simple and unimpressive his home was. He only had one room—a classic-style living space—full of heavy, carved furniture that once looked fancy but now was just a reminder of its former glory. It was one of those old hotels in the noble quarter, now filled with books, papers, and the typical stuff you'd find in a student's place. His bed was tucked away in a corner.

Once they brought in some lights, Wolfgang had a better chance to really see the stranger, and he was even more captivated by her beauty. Her face was pale but strikingly fair, and she had a ton of glossy black hair falling around it. Her eyes were big and bright, with a kind of wild look to them. From what her black dress revealed, her figure was perfectly balanced. She looked amazing, even though she was dressed really simply. The only thing close to jewelry was a wide black band around her neck, fastened with diamonds.

Now, the student faced the challenge of figuring out what to do with the vulnerable person who suddenly became his responsibility. He considered giving her his room and finding a place for himself elsewhere. Yet, he was so captivated by her beauty that he felt a kind of enchantment, like there was a spell on his thoughts and senses, making it hard to leave her side.

Her behavior added to the confusion. She stopped talking about the guillotine, and her sadness seemed to ease. The student's care had earned her trust, and it looked like even her heart. She appeared to be a passionate person, much like him, and fellow enthusiasts can understand each other pretty quickly.

Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Wolfgang confessed his feelings for her. He shared the tale of his strange dream and how she had captured his heart even before they met. She was deeply moved by his story and admitted feeling a mysterious connection with him. It was a time of crazy ideas and actions. The old traditions and superstitions were fading away, and everything was influenced by the "Goddess of Reason." Even things like traditional marriage customs were starting to be seen as unnecessary for honorable people. The popular trend was toward social agreements. Wolfgang, being a bit of a theorist, couldn't help but be influenced by the progressive ideas of the time.

"Why should we go our separate ways?" he asked. "Our hearts are connected; in the eyes of reason and honor, we are like one person. Do we really need formalities to bind two noble souls together?"

The woman listened with deep emotion, clearly sharing a similar perspective.

"You don't have a home or family," he continued. "Let me be everything to you, or better yet, let's be everything to each other. If we need some formalities, we'll do it—here's my hand. I promise myself to you forever."

"Forever?" she asked, with solemnity.

"Forever!" Wolfgang repeated.

The woman took his outstretched hand. "Then I am yours," she whispered, sinking onto his chest.

The next morning, the student left his newlywed sleeping and went out early to find a bigger place that suited their changed situation. When he came back, he found the woman lying on the bed with her head hanging over and one arm thrown across. He tried talking to her, but she didn't respond. He moved closer to wake her up from her uncomfortable position. When he took her hand, it was cold, there was no pulse, and her face was pale and lifeless. In short, she was dead.

Terrified and distraught, he raised the alarm in the house. It turned into a chaotic scene. The police were called, and as the police officer entered the room, he recoiled in shock at the sight of the lifeless body.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "How did this woman end up here?"

"Do you know anything about her?" Wolfgang asked anxiously.

"Do I?" the officer replied. "She was executed by the guillotine yesterday."

He stepped forward, undid the black collar around the corpse's neck, and the head rolled onto the floor!

The student went into a frenzy. "The devil! The devil has taken hold of me!" he screamed. "I am damned forever."

They tried to calm him down, but it was useless. He was convinced that an evil spirit had brought the dead body back to life to trap him. He lost his mind and eventually died in a mental institution.

That's the end of the story from the old man with the haunted head.

"Is this really true?" asked the curious man.

"It's a fact you can't doubt," the other replied. "I heard it from the best source—the student himself. I saw him in a mental institution in Paris."

The Adventure Of The German Student

by

Washington Irving

---

On a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the French Revolution, a young German was returning to his lodgings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder rattled through the lofty narrow streets--but I should first tell you something about this young German.

Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. He had studied for some time at Göttingen, but being of a visionary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered into those wild and speculative doctrines which have so often bewildered German students. His secluded life, his intense application, and the singular nature of his studies, had an effect on both mind and body. His health was impaired; his imagination diseased. He had been indulging in fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until, like Swedenborg, he had an ideal world of his own around him. He took up a notion, I do not know from what cause, that there was an evil influence hanging over him; an evil genius or spirit seeking to ensnare him and ensure his perdition. Such an idea working on his melancholy temperament produced the most gloomy effects. He became haggard and desponding. His friends discovered the mental malady preying upon him, and determined that the best cure was a change of scene; he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst the splendors and gayeties of Paris.

Wolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the revolution. The popular delirium at first caught his enthusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political and philosophical theories of the day: but the scenes of blood which followed shocked his sensitive nature, disgusted him with society and the world, and made him more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a solitary apartment in the Pays Latin, the quarter of students. There, in a gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the Sorbonne, he pursued his favorite speculations. Sometimes he spend hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rummaging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in the charnel-house of decayed literature.

Wolfgang, thought solitary and recluse, was of an ardent temperament, but for a time it operated merely upon his imagination. He was too shy and ignorant of the world to make any advances to the fair, but he was a passionate admirer of female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out images of loveliness far surpassing the reality.

While his mind was in this excited and sublimated state, a dream produced an extraordinary effect upon him. It was of a female face of transcendent beauty. So strong was the impression made, that he dreamt of it again and again. It haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by night; in fine, he became passionately enamored of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long that it became one of those fixed ideas which haunt the minds of melancholy men, and are at times mistaken for madness.

Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at the time I mentioned. He was returning home late on stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais, the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow streets. He came to the Place de Grève, the square, where public executions are performed. The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the ancient Hôtel de Ville, and shed flickering gleams over the open space in front. As Wolfgang was crossing the square, he shrank back with horror at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was the height of the reign of terror, when this dreadful instrument of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was continually running with the blood of the virtuous and the brave. It had that very day been actively employed in the work of carnage, and there it stood in grim array, amidst a silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims.

Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was turning shuddering from the horrible engine, when he beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it were at the foot of the steps which led up to the scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of lightning revealed it more distinctly. It was a female figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one of the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her face hid in her lap; and her long dishevelled tresses hanging to the ground, streaming with the rain which fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in this solitary monument of woe. The female had the appearance of being above the common order. He knew the times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head, which had once been pillowed on down, now wandered houseless. Perhaps this was some poor mourner whom the dreadful axe had rendered desolate, and who sat here heart-broken on the strand of existence, from which all that was dear to her had been launched into eternity.

He approached, and addressed her in the accents of sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him. What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright glare of the lighting, the very face which had haunted him in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful.

Trembling with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke something of her being exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her friends. She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dreadful signification.

"I have no friend on earth!" said she.

"But you have a home," said Wolfgang.

"Yes--in the grave!"

The heart of the student melted at the words.

"If a stranger dare make an offer," said he, "without danger of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble dwelling as a shelter; myself as a devoted friend. I am friendless myself in Paris, and a stranger in the land; but if my life could be of service, it is at your disposal, and should be sacrificed before harm or indignity should come to you."

There was an honest earnestness in the young man's manner that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was in his favor; it showed him not to be a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be doubted. The homeless stranger confided herself implicitly to the protection of the student.

He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf, and by the place where the statue of Henry the Fourth had been overthrown by the populace. The storm had abated, and the thunder rumbled at a distance. All Paris was quiet; that great volcano of human passion slumbered for a while, to gather fresh strength for the next day's eruption. The student conducted his charge through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin, and by the dusky walls of the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he inhabited. The old portress who admitted them stared with surprise at the unusual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang, with a female companion.

On entering his apartment, the student, for the first time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his dwelling. He had but one chamber--an old-fashioned saloon--heavily carved, and fantastically furnished with the remains of former magnificence, for it was one of those hotels in the quarter nobility. It was lumbered with books and papers, and all the usual apparatus of a student, and his bed stood in a recess at one end.

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better opportunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large and brilliant, with a singular expression approaching almost to wildness. As far as her black dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her whole appearance was highly striking, though she was dressed in the simplest style. The only thing approaching to an ornament which she wore, was a broad black band round her neck, clasped by diamonds.

The perplexity now commenced with the student how to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his protection. He thought of abandoning his chamber to her, and seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still he was so fascinate by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not tear himself from her presence. Her manner, too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of the guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of the student had first won her confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthusiasts soon understand each other.

In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang avowed his passion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he had even seen her. She was strangely affected by his recital, and acknowledge to have felt an impulse towards him equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices and superstitions were done away; everything was under the sway of the "Goddess of Reason." Among other rubbish of the old times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be considered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. Social compact were the vogue. Wolfgang was too much of theorist not to be tainted by the liberal doctrines of the day.

"Why should we separate?" said he: "our heart are united; in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. What need is there of sordid forms to bind high soul together?"

The stranger listened with emotion: she had evidently received illumination at the same school.

"You have no home nor family," continued he: "Let me be everything to you, or rather let us be everything to one another. if form is necessary, form shall be observed--there is my hand. I pledge myself to you forever."

"Forever?" said the stranger, solemnly.

"Forever!" repeated Wolfgang.

The stranger clasped the hand extended to her: "Then I am yours," murmured she, and sank upon his bosom.

The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments suitable to the change in his situation. When he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her hand, it was cold--there was no pulsation--her face was pallid and ghastly. In a word, she was a corpse.

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the officer of police entered the room, he started back on beholding the corpse.

"Great heaven!" cried he, "how did this woman come here?"

"Do you know anything about her?" said Wolfgang eagerly.

"Do I?" exclaimed the officer: "she was guillotined yesterday."

He stepped forward; undid the black collar round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor!

The student burst into a frenzy. "The fiend! the fiend has gained possession of me!" shrieked he; "I am lost forever."

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to ensnare him. He went distracted, and died in a mad-house.

Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finished his narrative.

"And is this really a fact?" said the inquisitive gentleman.

"A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. "I had it it from the best authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him in a mad-house in Paris."

THE END

Källa: https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0603731h.html

---