We were in class when the head-master came in, followed by a ânew fellow,â not wearing the school uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk. Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose as if just surprised at his work.
The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the class-master, he said to him in a low voiceâ
âMonsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care; heâll be in the second. If his work and conduct are satisfactory, he will go into one of the upper classes, as becomes his age.â
The ânew fellow,â standing in the corner behind the door so that he could hardly be seen, was a country lad of about fifteen, and taller than any of us. His hair was cut square on his forehead like a village choristerâs; he looked reliable, but very ill at ease. Although he was not broad-shouldered, his short school jacket of green cloth with black buttons must have been tight about the arm-holes, and showed at the opening of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to being bare. His legs, in blue stockings, looked out from beneath yellow trousers, drawn tight by braces, He wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailed boots.
We began repeating the lesson. He listened with all his ears, as attentive as if at a sermon, not daring even to cross his legs or lean on his elbow; and when at two oâclock the bell rang, the master was obliged to tell him to fall into line with the rest of us.
When we came back to work, we were in the habit of throwing our caps on the ground so as to have our hands more free; we used from the door to toss them under the form, so that they hit against the wall and made a lot of dust: it was âthe thing.â
But, whether he had not noticed the trick, or did not dare to attempt it, the ânew fellow,â was still holding his cap on his knees even after prayers were over. It was one of those headgears of composite order, in which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton nightcap; one of those poor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecileâs face. Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in succession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated by a red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord, small twisted gold threads in the manner of a tassel. The cap was new; its peak shone.
âRise,â said the master.
He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh.
He stooped to pick it up. A neighbor knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked it up once more.
âGet rid of your helmet,â said the master, who was a bit of a wag.
There was a burst of laughter from the boys, which so thoroughly put the poor lad out of countenance that he did not know whether to keep his cap in his hand, leave it on the ground, or put it on his head. He sat down again and placed it on his knee.
âRise,â repeated the master, âand tell me your name.â
The new boy articulated in a stammering voice an unintelligible name.
âAgain!â
The same sputtering of syllables was heard, drowned by the tittering of the class.
âLouder!â cried the master; âlouder!â
The ânew fellowâ then took a supreme resolution, opened an inordinately large mouth, and shouted at the top of his voice as if calling someone in the word âCharbovari.â
A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped, repeated âCharbovari! Charbovariâ), then died away into single notes, growing quieter only with great difficulty, and now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose here and there, like a damp cracker going off, a stifled laugh.
However, amid a rain of impositions, order was gradually re-established in the class; and the master having succeeded in catching the name of âCharles Bovary,â having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and re-read, at once ordered the poor devil to go and sit down on the punishment form at the foot of the masterâs desk. He got up, but before going hesitated.
âWhat are you looking for?â asked the master.
âMy c-a-p,â timidly said the ânew fellow,â casting troubled looks round him.
âFive hundred lines for all the class!â shouted in a furious voice stopped, like the Quos ego*, a fresh outburst. âSilence!â continued the master indignantly, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, which he had just taken from his cap. âAs to you, ânew boy,â you will conjugate â