Chapter XVI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　A year passed, and when Philip came to the school the old masters were allin their places; but a good many changes had taken place notwithstandingtheir stubborn resistance, none the less formidable because it wasconcealed under an apparent desire to fall in with the new head's ideas.Though the form-masters still taught French to the lower school, anothermaster had come, with a degree of doctor of philology from the Universityof Heidelberg and a record of three years spent in a French lycee, toteach French to the upper forms and German to anyone who cared to take itup instead of Greek. Another master was engaged to teach mathematics moresystematically than had been found necessary hitherto. Neither of thesewas ordained. This was a real revolution, and when the pair arrived theolder masters received them with distrust. A laboratory had been fittedup, army classes were instituted; they all said the character of theschool was changing. And heaven only knew what further projects Mr.Perkins turned in that untidy head of his. The school was small as publicschools go, there were not more than two hundred boarders; and it wasdifficult for it to grow larger, for it was huddled up against theCathedral; the precincts, with the exception of a house in which some ofthe masters lodged, were occupied by the cathedral clergy; and there wasno more room for building. But Mr. Perkins devised an elaborate scheme bywhich he might obtain sufficient space to make the school double itspresent size. He wanted to attract boys from London. He thought it wouldbe good for them to be thrown in contact with the Kentish lads, and itwould sharpen the country wits of these."It's against all our traditions," said Sighs, when Mr. Perkins made thesuggestion to him. "We've rather gone out of our way to avoid thecontamination of boys from London.""Oh, what nonsense!" said Mr. Perkins.No one had ever told the form-master before that he talked nonsense, andhe was meditating an acid reply, in which perhaps he might insert a veiledreference to hosiery, when Mr. Perkins in his impetuous way attacked himoutrageously."That house in the precincts--if you'd only marry I'd get the Chapter toput another couple of stories on, and we'd make dormitories and studies,and your wife could help you."The elderly clergyman gasped. Why should he marry? He was fifty-seven, aman couldn't marry at fifty-seven. He couldn't start looking after a houseat his time of life. He didn't want to marry. If the choice lay betweenthat and the country living he would much sooner resign. All he wanted nowwas peace and quietness."I'm not thinking of marrying," he said.Mr. Perkins looked at him with his dark, bright eyes, and if there was atwinkle in them poor Sighs never saw it."What a pity! Couldn't you marry to oblige me? It would help me a greatdeal with the Dean and Chapter when I suggest rebuilding your house."But Mr. Perkins' most unpopular innovation was his system of takingoccasionally another man's form. He asked it as a favour, but after all itwas a favour which could not be refused, and as Tar, otherwise Mr. Turner,said, it was undignified for all parties. He gave no warning, but aftermorning prayers would say to one of the masters:"I wonder if you'd mind taking the Sixth today at eleven. We'll changeover, shall we?"They did not know whether this was usual at other schools, but certainlyit had never been done at Tercanbury. The results were curious. Mr.Turner, who was the first victim, broke the news to his form that theheadmaster would take them for Latin that day, and on the pretence thatthey might like to ask him a question or two so that they should not makeperfect fools of themselves, spent the last quarter of an hour of thehistory lesson in construing for them the passage of Livy which had beenset for the day; but when he rejoined his class and looked at the paper onwhich Mr. Perkins had written the marks, a surprise awaited him; for thetwo boys at the top of the form seemed to have done very ill, while otherswho had never distinguished themselves before were given full marks. Whenhe asked Eldridge, his cleverest boy, what was the meaning of this theanswer came sullenly:"Mr. Perkins never gave us any construing to do. He asked me what I knewabout General Gordon."Mr. Turner looked at him in astonishment. The boys evidently felt they hadbeen hardly used, and he could not help agreeing with their silentdissatisfaction. He could not see either what General Gordon had to dowith Livy. He hazarded an inquiry afterwards."Eldridge was dreadfully put out because you asked him what he knew aboutGeneral Gordon," he said to the headmaster, with an attempt at a chuckle.Mr. Perkins laughed."I saw they'd got to the agrarian laws of Caius Gracchus, and I wonderedif they knew anything about the agrarian troubles in Ireland. But all theyknew about Ireland was that Dublin was on the Liffey. So I wondered ifthey'd ever heard of General Gordon."Then the horrid fact was disclosed that the new head had a mania forgeneral information. He had doubts about the utility of examinations onsubjects which had been crammed for the occasion. He wanted common sense.Sighs grew more worried every month; he could not get the thought out ofhis head that Mr. Perkins would ask him to fix a day for his marriage; andhe hated the attitude the head adopted towards classical literature. Therewas no doubt that he was a fine scholar, and he was engaged on a workwhich was quite in the right tradition: he was writing a treatise on thetrees in Latin literature; but he talked of it flippantly, as though itwere a pastime of no great importance, like billiards, which engaged hisleisure but was not to be considered with seriousness. And Squirts, themaster of the Middle Third, grew more ill-tempered every day.It was in his form that Philip was put on entering the school. The Rev. B.B. Gordon was a man by nature ill-suited to be a schoolmaster: he wasimpatient and choleric. With no one to call him to account, with onlysmall boys to face him, he had long lost all power of self-control. Hebegan his work in a rage and ended it in a passion. He was a man of middleheight and of a corpulent figure; he had sandy hair, worn very short andnow growing gray, and a small bristly moustache. His large face, withindistinct features and small blue eyes, was naturally red, but during hisfrequent attacks of anger it grew dark and purple. His nails were bittento the quick, for while some trembling boy was construing he would sit athis desk shaking with the fury that consumed him, and gnaw his fingers.Stories, perhaps exaggerated, were told of his violence, and two yearsbefore there had been some excitement in the school when it was heard thatone father was threatening a prosecution: he had boxed the ears of a boynamed Walters with a book so violently that his hearing was affected andthe boy had to be taken away from the school. The boy's father lived inTercanbury, and there had been much indignation in the city, the localpaper had referred to the matter; but Mr. Walters was only a brewer, sothe sympathy was divided. The rest of the boys, for reasons best known tothemselves, though they loathed the master, took his side in the affair,and, to show their indignation that the school's business had been dealtwith outside, made things as uncomfortable as they could for Walters'younger brother, who still remained. But Mr. Gordon had only escaped thecountry living by the skin of his teeth, and he had never hit a boy since.The right the masters possessed to cane boys on the hand was taken awayfrom them, and Squirts could no longer emphasize his anger by beating hisdesk with the cane. He never did more now than take a boy by the shouldersand shake him. He still made a naughty or refractory lad stand with onearm stretched out for anything from ten minutes to half an hour, and hewas as violent as before with his tongue.No master could have been more unfitted to teach things to so shy a boy asPhilip. He had come to the school with fewer terrors than he had whenfirst he went to Mr. Watson's. He knew a good many boys who had been withhim at the preparatory school. He felt more grownup, and instinctivelyrealised that among the larger numbers his deformity would be lessnoticeable. But from the first day Mr. Gordon struck terror in his heart;and the master, quick to discern the boys who were frightened of him,seemed on that account to take a peculiar dislike to him. Philip hadenjoyed his work, but now he began to look upon the hours passed in schoolwith horror. Rather than risk an answer which might be wrong and excite astorm of abuse from the master, he would sit stupidly silent, and when itcame towards his turn to stand up and construe he grew sick and white withapprehension. His happy moments were those when Mr. Perkins took the form.He was able to gratify the passion for general knowledge which beset theheadmaster; he had read all sorts of strange books beyond his years, andoften Mr. Perkins, when a question was going round the room, would stop atPhilip with a smile that filled the boy with rapture, and say:"Now, Carey, you tell them."The good marks he got on these occasions increased Mr. Gordon'sindignation. One day it came to Philip's turn to translate, and the mastersat there glaring at him and furiously biting his thumb. He was in aferocious mood. Philip began to speak in a low voice."Don't mumble," shouted the master.Something seemed to stick in Philip's throat."Go on. Go on. Go on."Each time the words were screamed more loudly. The effect was to drive allhe knew out of Philip's head, and he looked at the printed page vacantly.Mr. Gordon began to breathe heavily."If you don't know why don't you say so? Do you know it or not? Did youhear all this construed last time or not? Why don't you speak? Speak, youblockhead, speak!"The master seized the arms of his chair and grasped them as though toprevent himself from falling upon Philip. They knew that in past days heoften used to seize boys by the throat till they almost choked. The veinsin his forehead stood out and his face grew dark and threatening. He wasa man insane.Philip had known the passage perfectly the day before, but now he couldremember nothing."I don't know it," he gasped."Why don't you know it? Let's take the words one by one. We'll soon see ifyou don't know it."Philip stood silent, very white, trembling a little, with his head bentdown on the book. The master's breathing grew almost stertorous."The headmaster says you're clever. I don't know how he sees it. Generalinformation." He laughed savagely. "I don't know what they put you in hisform for "Blockhead."He was pleased with the word, and he repeated it at the top of his voice."Blockhead! Blockhead! Club-footed blockhead!"That relieved him a little. He saw Philip redden suddenly. He told him tofetch the Black Book. Philip put down his Caesar and went silently out.The Black Book was a sombre volume in which the names of boys were writtenwith their misdeeds, and when a name was down three times it meant acaning. Philip went to the headmaster's house and knocked at hisstudy-door. Mr. Perkins was seated at his table."May I have the Black Book, please, sir.""There it is," answered Mr. Perkins, indicating its place by a nod of hishead. "What have you been doing that you shouldn't?""I don't know, sir."Mr. Perkins gave him a quick look, but without answering went on with hiswork. Philip took the book and went out. When the hour was up, a fewminutes later, he brought it back."Let me have a look at it," said the headmaster. "I see Mr. Gordon hasblack-booked you for 'gross impertinence.' What was it?""I don't know, sir. Mr. Gordon said I was a club-footed blockhead."Mr. Perkins looked at him again. He wondered whether there was sarcasmbehind the boy's reply, but he was still much too shaken. His face waswhite and his eyes had a look of terrified distress. Mr. Perkins got upand put the book down. As he did so he took up some photographs."A friend of mine sent me some pictures of Athens this morning," he saidcasually. "Look here, there's the Akropolis."He began explaining to Philip what he saw. The ruin grew vivid with hiswords. He showed him the theatre of Dionysus and explained in what orderthe people sat, and how beyond they could see the blue Aegean. And thensuddenly he said:"I remember Mr. Gordon used to call me a gipsy counter-jumper when I wasin his form."And before Philip, his mind fixed on the photographs, had time to gatherthe meaning of the remark, Mr. Perkins was showing him a picture ofSalamis, and with his finger, a finger of which the nail had a littleblack edge to it, was pointing out how the Greek ships were placed and howthe Persian.