Indeed, even from his early boyhood, he was the most extraordinarily
gifted creature I have ever known, or even heard of; a kind of
spontaneous humorous Crichton to whom all things came easily--and life
itself as an uncommonly good joke. During that summer term of 1847 I
did not see very much of him. He was in the class below mine, and took
up with Laferte and little Bussy-Rabutin, who were first-rate boys,
and laughed at everything he said, and worshiped him. So did everybody
else, sooner or later; indeed, it soon became evident that he was a
most exceptional little person.
In the first place, his beauty was absolutely angelic, as will be
readily believed by all who have known him since. The mere sight of
him as a boy made people pity his father and mother for being dead!
Then he had a charming gift of singing little French and English
ditties, comic or touching, with his delightful fresh young pipe, and
accompanying himself quite nicely on either piano or guitar without
really knowing a note of music. Then he could draw caricatures that
we boys thought inimitable, much funnier than Cham's or Bertall's or
Gavarni's, and collected and treasured up. I have dozens of them
now--they make me laugh still, and bring back memories of which the
charm is indescribable; and their pathos to me!
And then how funny he was himself, without effort, and with a fun that
never failed! He was a born buffoon of the graceful kind,--more whelp
or kitten than monkey--ever playing the fool, in and out of season,
but somehow always apropos; and French boys love a boy for that more
than anything else; or did in those days.
* * * * *
His constitution, inherited from a long line of frugal seafaring
Norman ancestors (not to mention another long line of well-fed,
well-bred Yorkshire squires), was magnificent. His spirits never
failed. He could see the satellites of Jupiter with the naked eye;
this was often tested by M. Dumollard, maitre de mathematiques (et de
cosmographie), who had a telescope, which, with a little good-will on
the gazer's part, made Jupiter look as big as the moon, and its moons
like stars of the first magnitude.
His sense of hearing was also exceptionally keen. He could hear a
watch tick in the next room, and perceive very high sounds to which
ordinary human ears are deaf (this was found out later); and when we
played blindman's buff on a rainy day, he could, blindfolded, tell
every boy he caught hold of--not by feeling him all over like the rest
of us, but by the mere smell of his hair, or his hands, or his blouse!
No wonder he was so much more alive than the rest of us! According to
the amiable, modest, polite, delicately humorous, and ever tolerant
and considerate Professor Max Nordau, this perfection of the olfactory
sense proclaims poor Barty a degenerate! I only wish there were a few
more like him, and that I were a little more like him myself!
By the way, how proud young Germany must feel of its enlightened Max,
and how fond of him, to be sure! _Mes compliments!_
But the most astounding thing of all (it seems incredible, but all the
world knows it by this time, and it will be accounted for later on) is
that at certain times and seasons Barty knew by an infallible instinct
_where the north was_, to a point. Most of my readers will remember
his extraordinary evidence as a witness in the "Rangoon" trial, and
how this power was tested in open court, and how important were the
issues involved, and how he refused to give any explanation of a gift
so extraordinary.
It was often tried at school by blindfolding him, and turning him
round and round till he was giddy, and asking him to point out where
the North Pole was, or the North Star, and seven or eight times out of
ten the answer was unerringly right. When he failed, he knew
beforehand that for the time being he had lost the power, but could
never say why. Little Doctor Larcher could never get over his surprise
at this strange phenomenon, nor explain it; and often brought some
scientific friend from Paris to test it, who was equally nonplussed.