louis lambert-第7章
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life itself。 Many a time some proud…tempered boy would shed tears of
rage while summoning his remaining energy to run ahead and get home
again in spite of pain; so sensitively afraid of laughter or of pity
two forms of scornis the still tender soul at that age。
At school; as in social life; the strong despise the feeble without
knowing in what true strength consists。
Nor was this all。 No gloves。 If by good hap a boy's parents; the
infirmary nurse; or the headmaster gave gloves to a particularly
delicate lad; the wags or the big boys of the class would put them on
the stove; amused to see them dry and shrivel; or if the gloves
escaped the marauders; after getting wet they shrunk as they dried for
want of care。 No; gloves were impossible。 Gloves were a privilege; and
boys insist on equality。
Louis Lambert fell a victim to all these varieties of torment。 Like
many contemplative men; who; when lost in thought; acquire a habit of
mechanical motion; he had a mania for fidgeting with his shoes; and
destroyed them very quickly。 His girlish complexion; the skin of his
ears and lips; cracked with the least cold。 His soft; white hands grew
red and swollen。 He had perpetual colds。 Thus he was a constant
sufferer till he became inured to school…life。 Taught at last by cruel
experience; he was obliged to 〃look after his things;〃 to use the
school phrase。 He was forced to take care of his locker; his desk; his
clothes; his shoes; to protect his ink; his books; his copy…paper; and
his pens from pilferers; in short; to give his mind to the thousand
details of our trivial life; to which more selfish and commonplace
minds devoted such strict attentionthus infallibly securing prizes
for 〃proficiency〃 and 〃good conduct〃while they were overlooked by a
boy of the highest promise; who; under the hand of an almost divine
imagination; gave himself up with rapture to the flow of his ideas。
This was not all。 There is a perpetual struggle going on between the
masters and the boys; a struggle without truce; to be compared with
nothing else in the social world; unless it be the resistance of the
opposition to the ministry in a representative government。 But
journalists and opposition speakers are probably less prompt to take
advantage of a weak point; less extreme in resenting an injury; and
less merciless in their mockery than boys are in regard to those who
rule over them。 It is a task to put angels out of patience。 An unhappy
class…master must then not be too severely blamed; ill…paid as he is;
and consequently not too competent; if he is occasionally unjust or
out of temper。 Perpetually watched by a hundred mocking eyes; and
surrounded with snares; he sometimes revenges himself for his own
blunders on the boys who are only too ready to detect them。
Unless for serious misdemeanors; for which there were other forms of
punishment; the strap was regarded at Vendome as the /ultima ratio
Patrum/。 Exercises forgotten; lessons ill learned; common ill behavior
were sufficiently punished by an imposition; but offended dignity
spoke in the master through the strap。 Of all the physical torments to
which we were exposed; certainly the most acute was that inflicted by
this leathern instrument; about two fingers wide; applied to our poor
little hands with all the strength and all the fury of the
administrator。 To endure this classical form of correction; the victim
knelt in the middle of the room。 He had to leave his form and go to
kneel down near the master's desk under the curious and generally
merciless eyes of his fellows。 To sensitive natures these
preliminaries were an introductory torture; like the journey from the
Palais de Justice to the Place de Greve which the condemned used to
make to the scaffold。
Some boys cried out and shed bitter tears before or after the
application of the strap; others accepted the infliction with stoic
calm; it was a question of nature; but few could control an expression
of anguish in anticipation。
Louis Lambert was constantly enduring the strap; and owed it to a
peculiarity of his physiognomy of which he was for a long time quite
unconscious。 Whenever he was suddenly roused from a fit of abstraction
by the master's cry; 〃You are doing nothing!〃 it often happened that;
without knowing it; he flashed at his teacher a look full of fierce
contempt; and charged with thought; as a Leyden jar is charged with
electricity。 This look; no doubt; discomfited the master; who;
indignant at this unspoken retort; wished to cure his scholar of that
thunderous flash。
The first time the Father took offence at this ray of scorn; which
struck him like a lightning…flash; he made this speech; as I well
remember:
〃If you look at me again in that way; Lambert; you will get the
strap。〃
At these words every nose was in the air; every eye looked alternately
at the master and at Louis。 The observation was so utterly foolish;
that the boy again looked at the Father; overwhelming him with another
flash。 From this arose a standing feud between Lambert and his master;
resulting in a certain amount of 〃strap。〃 Thus did he first discover
the power of his eye。
The hapless poet; so full of nerves; as sensitive as a woman; under
the sway of chronic melancholy; and as sick with genius as a girl with
love that she pines for; knowing nothing of it;this boy; at once so
powerful and so weak; transplanted by 〃Corinne〃 from the country he
loved; to be squeezed in the mould of a collegiate routine to which
every spirit and every body must yield; whatever their range or
temperament; accepting its rule and its uniform as gold is crushed
into round coin under the press; Louis Lambert suffered in every spot
where pain can touch the soul or the flesh。 Stuck on a form;
restricted to the acreage of his desk; a victim of the strap and to a
sickly frame; tortured in every sense; environed by distress
everything compelled him to give his body up to the myriad tyrannies
of school life; and; like the martyrs who smiled in the midst of
suffering; he took refuge in heaven; which lay open to his mind。
Perhaps this life of purely inward emotions helped him to see
something of the mysteries he so entirely believed in!
Our independence; our illicit amusements; our apparent waste of time;
our persistent indifference; our frequent punishments and aversion for
our exercises and impositions; earned us a reputation; which no one
cared to controvert; for being an idle and incorrigible pair。 Our
masters treated us with contempt; and we fell into utter disgrace with
our companions; from whom we concealed our secret studies for fear of
being laughed at。 This hard judgment; which was injustice in the
masters; was but natural in our schoolfellows。 We could neither play
ball; nor run races; nor walk on stilts。 On exceptional holidays; when
amnesty was proclaimed and we got a few hours of freedom; we shared in
none of the popular diversions of the school。 Aliens from the
pleasures enjoyed by the others; we were outcasts; sitting forlorn
under a tree in the playing…ground。 The Poet…and…Pythagoras formed an
exception and led a life apart from the life of the rest。
The penetrating instinct and unerring conceit of schoolboys made them
feel that we were of a nature either far above or far beneath their
own; hence some simply hated our aristocratic reserve; others merely
scorned our ineptitude。 These feelings were equally shared by us
without our knowing it; perhaps I have but now divined them。 We lived
exactly like two rats; huddled into the corner of the room where our
desks were; sitting there alike during lesson time and play hours。
This strange state of affairs inevitably and in fact placed us on a
footing of war with all the other boys in our division。 Forgotten for
the most part; we sat there very contentedly; half happy; like two
plants; two images who would have been missed from the furniture of
the room。 But the most aggressive of our schoolfellows would sometimes
torment us; just to show their malignant power; and we responded with
stolid contempt; which brought many a thrashing down on the Poet…and…
Pythagoras。
Lambert's home…sickness lasted for many months