_However!_ it is not a question of _Doctor!_ It is not a question of
_Look here!_ at all,” he exclaimed. “Truth is truth. Let me feel the
head of the first comer, I will tell him: ‘Sir, you have such and such a
bump. Very well, you will do such and such a thing; you will not be able
to help it. You who have the bump of _murder_, you will be a _murderer_.
Science declares _that you must become a murderer_!’ But he answers me:
‘I have always been a quiet, peaceable man; I have lived for fifty years
in the world and have never hurt anyone yet, not even a fly!’ ‘Never
mind, my friend,’ I say; ‘in two years, in ten years, you will be a
_murderer_! and if you die without being one, remember that you would
have been one, only you had no opportunity.’”
“Oh, come! that’s too much!” cried my mother, scandalized and shocked.
“Well, madame, perhaps I exaggerate a little, but it is in order that
you may understand me better,” and the doctor proceeded to tell us many
extraordinary things which I did not in the least understand, and which
made my mother very indignant and my father discontented. He went on
laying down the law, without attending to any remarks or objections made
by his listeners; at last he finished up a long confused rigmarole with
the following words:—
“Now, madame, be good enough to look at your husband’s head. If you
look, you will see on each side of the head, just above the ear, a large
protuberance. This is the bump of combativeness, of _courage_, or, if
you like it better, heroism. Very well, madame, that same bump is to be
found on all the old Roman heads. When you next go to Paris, go to the
Louvre, and notice the Roman busts and statues there, and you will see I
am right. Whoever has that bump, if he was hatched by a chicken, brought
up amongst hares, and nourished all his life upon nothing but pap, would
yet be a brave man, everywhere, and always. Let who may say the
reverse.”
[Illustration:Decoration]
I instinctively put up my hand to my head to feel in the place indicated
by the doctor. Alas! in place of a bump I discovered a deep hollow! I
felt quite ill! the doctor’s words sounded like a distant and indistinct
rumble. I felt the sort of despair that a sick man experiences when,
thinking he is recovering, having been buoyed up by the hopeful words of
friends, all his hopes are dashed to the ground by some brutal doctor
who tells him, without any preparation, that his case is hopeless and he
must die.
------------------
XIX.
THE BANTAM CEASES TO TROUBLE ME.
I WENT out of the room as soon as I could do so without being remarked.
My mother soon came after me.
“Isn’t Doctor Lombalot a real original?” said she, trying to smile, “but
one must not believe all he says, you know. You see, neither your Papa
nor I believe him, dear; and he was very wrong and very rude to say
those things about you, which could only annoy you. But do not trouble
about it, my darling boy.”
I could not say I did not trouble about the doctor’s unkind remarks, for
in truth I troubled greatly about them. That shows how careful grown-up
people should be in the things they say before children, who cannot as
yet distinguish what is false or exaggerated, from what is just and
true.
The next morning, I felt so upset that I was really unequal to undertake
my famous expedition against the little cock. It was again a deferred
project, a battle put off until the following day.
On that following day, I went down stairs with my mother, and, going to
the door which led into the yard where the chickens were kept, I opened
it wide and looked out. I saw only the hens and chickens, which were
clucking and scratching away on the ground. I gathered courage, and
walked outside with a firm step: I walked through the yard into the
garden where the roses grew and the apricot tree stood.
There a great surprise awaited me! For there in a corner lay the little
bantam-cock on his back with his two little legs straight up in the air.
He was quite dead: he had probably been seized with apoplexy, caused by
his violent temper and excessive gluttony. The other fowls, with
culpable indifference, were pecking about quite as usual, apparently not
wasting a single thought or sigh on the memory of the defunct.
“A good riddance!” said I with a sigh of relief. And that was the only
funeral speech that was made at the demise of the impertinent little
bantam.
From that day I took possession of garden and yard. My mother remarked
that I had taken a sudden fancy for building little cottages with pieces
of slate and tile, and that I was always outside at work, in the yard.
My enemy was replaced by a large rooster; very tall, sullen of aspect,
and also extremely cowardly. He never ventured to trouble me in my
architectural studies.
Thus ended the great trial which was to have decided which was the
better warrior, the bantam or myself, and which trial was to put my
courage to the test. Things were now really left as they were, for the
trial of strength never came off, by reason of the little cock’s
untimely death. But, to tell the truth, in my heart of hearts, I was not
sorry that the intended passage of arms with my fierce little antagonist
did not take place.
------------------
XX.
MISS PORQUET’S SCHOOL.
IN the following October I became one of Miss Porquet’s pupils. Nothing
remarkable occurred on my entrance into the school except that my cheeks
became crimson and my nose very white while Miss Porquet put me through
a sort of preparatory examination.
All the other scholars stared at me, as was only natural; and I could
not help thinking, as they eagerly listened to the answers I made to
Miss Porquet’s questions, that they were laughing at me, which indeed I
believe to have been the case.
Miss Porquet declared herself satisfied with my replies, and told me
that I should at once go into the first class, which, as well as the
second, was under her own tuition. The third class was composed of
children of various ages, from boys of seven to babies of three.
The third class was taken care of, petted, scolded, and taught and
amused by two of Miss Porquet’s sisters. Now those babies in the third
class were the very children that I dreaded most, their astonishment at
my unfortunate nose was so unfeigned that it seemed like impudence.
[Illustration: “A GREAT BOY OF ELEVEN, RATHER A STUPID FELLOW.”]
The first class consisted of five pupils including myself. There was,
first of all, a great boy of eleven, rather a stupid fellow; he had the
figure of a young man, and the knowledge of a mere baby. For three years
he had been struggling with the rudiments of Latin; and he might,
indeed, as well have struggled a little with the rudiments of his own
language, for he could scarcely spell a single word correctly. His
parents, who were rich, and very fond of travelling, did not know what
to do with their stupid boy, so they left him to the care of Miss
Porquet.
He had the greatest aversion to books of all kinds, but he took the
greatest pride in fine clothes, bright coloured neckties, etc.; and he
wore straps to his trousers. This boy used to hide himself in corners to
eat chocolate. He was given the nickname of _The Count_ by the other
boys.
He came up to me just as we were going into the playground, and said
point blank, “My name is Arthur de la Croulle!” (he evidently thought
this a very fine name) “and what is your name?”
“My name is Paul Bicquerot,” I replied. He made a face of disgust, and
gave me to understand that he thought Bicquerot a vulgar name. I never
doubted but that he must be right; but I felt very sad, both on account
of my parents and myself!
“My father is very rich” (here he rattled the money in his pocket), “and
yours?” he asked.
[Illustration:Decoration]
“I don’t know,” I answered.
Another face of disgust, more disdainful than the first, followed my
reply. He then placed the point of his first finger on the sleeve of my
jacket, which was clean but not new, and he said, with a rude laugh,
“Your parents are poor, or you would wear better clothes. I dislike poor
people, and so does my mamma.”
He then turned on his heel and went off to walk by himself at the other
end of the playground. One would have thought that there was not one
amongst us rich enough to be admitted to the honour of walking with him.
As for me, I remained stupefied at what he had told me. I had never
thought about whether my father and mother were rich or poor. I was
rather inclined to think them rich, because they did not go about with a
stick and wallet, asking for alms like old Father Chaumont, who came
every Friday to beg at our door.
The young Mr. de la Croulle put strange ideas into my head.
------------------
XXI.
A FRIEND.—PRISONER’S BASE.
“SO _The Count_ asked you if you were rich?” said a pretty little boy of
about my own age, as he came up to where I was standing; “don’t mind
what he says, he is a little cracked. Did what he said distress you?
Don’t cry, there is nothing to cry about; _The Count_ doesn’t know
_what_ he says half his time. He always goes off by himself in that
grand way, when we first come out to play; but when once we have settled
upon a game, and are going to begin, he forgets his straps and other
toggery, and plays harder than any of us. Will you play at Prisoner’s
Base?”
“I don’t know the game,” I answered.
“No?” said he, in a surprised tone. “Well, I will teach it to you; it’s
not difficult, you shall be on my side.”
I did not dare to refuse the offer which was so kindly made, and yet I
scarcely dared to accept it. My new friend, however, who was full of
spirit and fun, cut short my excuses, and, taking me by the hand, led me
off. As we walked across the playground he informed me that his name was
Marc Sublaine, and that his father was the president of the local
tribunal.
In enlisting me on his side he had made but a sorry recruit; and in the
beginning his comrades did not scruple to tell him so. I utterly ignored
all the rules of the game: I rushed blindly about, without the least
method. I allowed myself to be made prisoner like a goose; and, once
prisoner, I began to think of something else, instead of trying to
escape, and holding out my hand to my comrades to help me. Once, when I
was near making a prisoner—just on the point, in fact, of catching
him—the boy, who felt he would be caught directly, turned and ran after
me; when I, stupidly afraid of him, ran off as fast as I could amid
shouts of laughter from both sides.
Once I forgot which side I belonged to. Each cried out, “Here, here!
this way!” and I ran first to one, and then the other, bewildered and in
such a state of agitation that I nearly gave up the game. If I had done
so I should have lost the good opinion of my playfellows for ever.
Fortunately just about this time the clock struck, and the two sides
mingled together to go into school. I feared that I should be reproached
for being so stupid and playing so badly; but the boys had laughed
merrily at me and felt no ill-will towards me. Marc put his arm through
mine; he smiled at me, it was with good nature and no desire to tease
me. I felt I loved this kind boy with all my heart; and at the same time
I felt very sorry that I had behaved so ridiculously while playing; for
I feared he must despise me.
“I am afraid you must think me very silly?” I said timidly.
“Very silly? why should I?” he answered kindly. “Not at all. You didn’t
know the game and you made mistakes; that was all. One can’t do things
all at once: one must learn how to do them. But I will tell you what I
noticed when we were playing, and that was that you are a very good
tempered boy.”
I reddened with pleasure, and without thinking that my request might
appear sudden and strange, I said to him, “Will you be my friend?” and I
held out my hand to him.
He took it, and looking in my face, smiled again, and simply said:—“I
should like it very much.”
I cast a look of triumph in _The Count’s_ direction; but unfortunately
his back was turned towards me.
------------------
XXII.
STUDIES.—SCHOOLBOY TALK.
WITH what ardour I attacked my Latin! How anxious I was to show the
boys, and Marc above all, that although I might be stupid at playing
Prisoner’s Base, I was not stupid at my lessons.
Marc recited the best in the class, and I felt as much pleasure at his
doing so as if I had been the first in the class myself. I came out
second, to my great joy. The others stammered through their lessons
somehow; as for _The Count_ he could scarcely decline a noun correctly.
But after all, what could be expected, when all study time was spent by
him in making paper boxes for chocolate, and writing on them his names
in full, the place and date of his birth, and his present address; or
else in making little scales with cotton and pieces of paper, in which
he weighed flies, wafers and little bits of feather cut from the quill
pens,—while the rest of us were busy humming over our lessons to
ourselves, with our thumbs pressed into our ears.
When I returned home in the evening I spoke of nothing but my new
friend, and the pleasure I had had in playing at Prisoner’s Base. I kept
to myself the unpleasant and disparaging remarks made by _The Count_. I
was happy, animated and chatty. My father looked at me with an
expression of good-natured curiosity and my mother smiled. I explained
to them, at great length, but without the least clearness, the rules of
Prisoner’s Base, talking exactly as if it was a new game just invented;
as if no one had ever heard of it before, and as if my father had never
been a schoolboy. It is one of the peculiarities of childhood to think
that the world begins with themselves, and to wish to explain everything
from beginning to end to grown-up people. My excitement seemed quite to
change my nature, habits and disposition. I kept interrupting the
conversation by saying in a loud tone, “_He_ told me this,” or “_he_ did
that,” the _he_ being in each instance my new friend Marc.
My father was most kind and considerate that evening in making allowance
for my excitement and enthusiasm, and never once said that children
should not bore grown-up people with their foolish chatter. On the
contrary he rather encouraged me and exchanged glances of satisfaction
with my mother. Ah, that was a happy evening!
------------------
XXIII.
A DREADFUL ADVENTURE.
THE more I saw of Marc the better I liked him. Every day I respected and
admired him more. I secretly made him the model which I did all I could
to copy. In every situation which troubled and puzzled me in my
character of schoolboy, I would ask myself the question, “Now in my
place what would Marc do?” and that decided me.
One night when my father was reading his newspaper in the dining-room, I
sat beside my mother talking quietly to her, and, as was my wont,
extolling my hero Marc: for the hundredth time did I draw his picture in
vivid word-painting for my mother’s edification. She listened as usual
and smiled. Presently I noticed that she began looking about her as if
she had lost something. She searched in her work-basket, on the floor,
in the table drawers, and at last she tapped her forehead and said: “To
be sure! I remember now, I must have left them in the garden.”
“What is it, mamma?” I asked.
“My scissors; I went into the garden this afternoon and was working
there. I must have left them on the bench, or perhaps they fell under
it.”
She turned to go out of the room; as she did so I followed softly, and
without her seeing me I opened the door which led from the corridor into
the garden and went out. It was very dark. I saw little squares of light
thrown through the kitchen window on the gravel; and that seemed to be
the only light I could see anywhere. There was no moon, and no stars. I
hesitated for a moment, one moment only, and then I said to myself,
“What would Marc do? He would go and find his mother’s scissors, I am
sure; _I_ will go then: yes, I will certainly go.” But as I made an
uncertain and trembling step forward, my courage almost forsook me: it
seemed as if it was not I walking there in the dark. I heard the loud
beating of my heart, each throb was painful! I heard a surging in my
ears and I held my breath involuntarily. All sorts of vague forms
floated before my eyes. Something, surely, moved amongst the dead leaves
to the right, I thought. I passed by quickly. But something is surely
stealing along at the top of the wall to the left? Here I stopped, and
waited a moment. What could it be? Something, I felt certain, was
watching me, following every movement! However, on I went, and arrived
at last, more dead than alive, at the wooden seat under the large
cherry-tree. I passed my hand rapidly over the seat—no! the scissors
were not there. “They must, then, be upon the ground,” said I to myself,
and I said again, in a whisper, “What is easier than to pick them up? I
must of course feel for them under the seat. Of course I must pick them
up.”
It was very easy to talk of picking them up; but _how_ was I to do it?
If I stooped, surely that _mysterious something_ that had certainly been
stealthily following me, would pounce out upon my back. And if it should
be hidden behind the seat! If it should jump into my face! Horrible!
Then, too, what a dreadful feeling it would be to pass one’s hand over
the earth without being able to see what one touched! who could tell
what dirty, horrible, slimy and cold creature I might not come in
contact with? Without trying to invent any new monster to terrify myself
with, supposing a toad should touch my hand!
But I now remembered Marc, and I determined I would be worthy of his
friendship. In desperation I stooped suddenly and placed my hand on the
gravel under the seat. I uttered a piercing cry and lost consciousness.
[Illustration: “I UTTERED A PIERCING CRY.”]
------------------
XXIV.
DON’T LET MARC KNOW.
WHEN I recovered my senses I found myself lying in my bed; my father and
mother were standing at the side of it, and our doctor was holding my
hand.
“The serpent! the serpent!” were my first words.
Dr. Brissaud looked at my father, who said a few words to him in a low
tone. My head felt so weak that I seemed to hear his voice from a long
distance; I succeeded, however, in distinguishing these words: “He went
into the garden without a light to look for his mother’s scissors, and
in feeling for them he must have put his hand on a coil of rope used for
hanging up the linen to dry, and which was left under the garden seat.”
Upon that I went off to sleep.
I kept my bed for a long time after this, for I was very ill. I was
continually having dreams and fancies, in which all the fantastic and
horrid creatures conjured up by Montézuma were perpetually playing a
part. Always the same: Croquemitaine, the Colonel’s horse, the monkey in
the Jardin des Plantes, the little boy who lived opposite who put out
his tongue at me, Montézuma himself and Dr. Lombalot, who both made
faces at me, and, at last, that dreadful serpent that I had, in fancy,
touched with my hand. As the creatures of my imagination would torment
me more and more, I would fall to shaking and shivering all over, my
poor father standing pale by my bedside, and my mother crying. Then, as
they caressed me, I would implore them “not to tell Marc; not let Marc
know that I was a coward!”
In saying this, I was not just to myself, I can see that now. I had
really displayed great courage; and, under the influence of the best
feeling, I had obliged my poor little trembling body to obey my will.
Only, in a moment of great excitement, I had trusted too much to my
strength and it had failed me. I had attempted too much. If I had not
been so determined, if I had only asked advice, I should not have
imposed upon myself a task so terribly severe to me. To brave unknown
dangers in the dark was too great a trial for my nature to attempt all
at once. I should have begun more gradually to overcome my fears, and
then I should not have failed so sadly.
Indeed, after this adventure, I was, for a long time, in a worse state
of mind than I had ever been before.
------------------
XXV.
“THE BOY WHO HAS BEEN SO ILL.”
THE snow was on the ground and the ponds all frozen when I was well
enough to return to school. I was warmly welcomed by my schoolfellows,
above all by Marc, who had called to ask after me every day during my
illness, although he lived quite at the other end of the town. He looked
upon me now with the profoundest interest, blended with affection: that
respectful sort of interest which one child feels for another who has
been brought near to death.
_The Count_ alone, of all the boys, said nothing kind to me when I first
met him on my return to Miss Porquet’s. He was too much taken up with
arranging a new violet comforter well over his nose, under which
comforter he managed to bury his face and hide himself like a dormouse.
I was too weak at first to join in any violent games; the boys still
played at prisoner’s base, and hockey, they made slides, and put snow
down one another’s backs, much to the horror of poor Miss Porquet. When
the sun shone, Marc and I walked together up and down the playground
until I was tired. When it was too cold for me to go out, he and I
remained indoors and had a game at dominoes or draughts in the
schoolroom.
I was quite sure, from Marc’s manner to me, that he was ignorant of my
terrible secret; that neither he, nor any of the other boys, knew that I
was a coward. My late illness was sufficient excuse for any nervous
timidity which I might display on occasions. All went well with me at
the school now. If any new pupil who came during that term appeared
anxious to make unpleasant remarks respecting the size of my nose or any
other peculiarity, he was always stopped at once by the information,
“That is the boy who has been so ill.” Some of them indeed seemed to
take quite a pride in themselves that they numbered amongst them a boy
who had been so very ill. What will not people be proud of?
------------------
XXVI.
MARC’S FRIENDSHIP FOR ME.
MARC was extremely, and deservedly, popular amongst his schoolfellows;
and, as I was his particular friend, some of his popularity was
reflected upon me.
That I had been attracted by him the first day I saw him was not
extraordinary; for he won, even at first sight, every one’s sympathy.
Besides, had he not held out his hand to me that first day when he saw
me in trouble? and did I not owe it to him that I had escaped the jokes
and bullying which new boys generally get inflicted upon them?
But he, why did he like me? Perhaps for the simple reason that I loved
him so, and that I required his friendship; his heart was so generous
and kind!
[Illustration:Decoration]
At any rate, thanks to him, I found out what it was to be the friend of
one who was thought so highly of. I was respected because he liked me,
and I felt that I grew better by being so much with him.
When spring came round, and the cockchafers began to buzz among the
linden trees, more than one of those unfortunate insects would be
roughly seized by the wing, and passed from the hand which held it
captive down the back of some timid young scholar. Then the most
appalling shrieks would be heard from the frightened boy, accompanied by
yells of joy and shouts of laughter from the perpetrator of the
mischief. As for me the very idea of having a cockchafer put down my
neck made me shudder all over. Miss Porquet, who was rather nervous
herself, was very angry when the boys played this trick, but she could
not stop it.
_The Count_, in spite of his pomposity, often came in for this
disagreeable practical joke. He would then fly to his desk and write off
to his mother. Whether the letters went I know not; but it was his great
resource on these occasions. Now, fortunately for me, no one dreamt of
putting a cockchafer down the neck of Marc Sublaine’s particular friend.
As things went so smoothly in play-hours I was all the better able to
devote myself to my studies, and tackled my Latin grammar with the
better will for having my mind at ease.