Special Friendships
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SPECIAL FRIENDSHIPS A Novel by Roger Peyrefitte Translated from the French by Edward Hyams Flammarion, Paris 1953 Roger PEYREFITTE Les amitiés particulières Flammarion, Paris 1953, Copie papier original 20x28cm, en feuilles sous doubles chemises. Edition illustrée de 24 lithographies originales de Gaston Goor, un des 740 exemplaires numérotés sur pur chiffon, seul tirage. PART 1 1 This was Georges’ first good-bye and he was no longer sure of going through it creditably. His heart contracting, he leant against the door of the car which was to bear his parents from him. He could feel tears coming. His father said, “Come, now; you’re fourteen. A man. There was a schoolboy— not as old as you—Bonaparte, and when a schoolmaster at Brienne asked him who the deuce he thought he was, that’s what he said: a man!” Much Georges cared whether Bonaparte, as a schoolboy, took himself for a man! Watching the car vanish round a bend in the road, it seemed to him that he had been abandoned and left alone in the world. But at that moment he heard the shouts of his new schoolfellows and, as if by magic, his distress evaporated. Was he to appear a milksop to these spirited boys? He cared little for being a man, but a great deal for being a boy. He went back into the school with the nun who was acting as his chaperone. There was bustle everywhere, and it took his mind off his troubles. Once again, on the first floor, he saw the photographs of groups of pupils which decorated the walls of the corridor. But why on earth was the good Sister taking him to the infirmary? Ah, she was taking him to her own room. On the door, as she opened it, he again read the notice which had amused his parents: “T I S : I I C O I L- B I K.” The pointer indicated “O”. “Get over your first feelings,” the Sister said, “and wait for me in this room. I am going to unpack and put your outfit away myself. So, you see, I set the pointer to L-.” Georges smiled at the idea of her talking to him as if he were a child. If she were taking my photograph, he thought, she would certainly be telling me to watch for the dicky-bird! But all this had quite restored his self- confidence: he was himself again. With his elbows on the sill of the open window, he looked down into the inner courtyard. On the left were the doors to the assembly room and the study-room, with the class-rooms behind them and the dormitories above. On the right, the junior school. Facing him, the two doors of the chapel surmounted by a cross decorated with festoons. Under an open penthouse, the great bell, its rope swinging. Below the infirmary was the refectory which opened on to the main staircase leading to the Superior’s quarters. This courtyard was, no doubt, intended to resemble a garden, with trees, walks, a freshly mown lawn, a rock-and-shell basin with a statue of the child Jesus. The most notable trees were lilacs and cypresses; the flowers were meagre-looking dahlias and marguerites. The box hedges had been trimmed all out of shape by some abbe on holiday. The jets of the fountains surrounding the statue were thin trickles; the Fathers were economising the water. Georges thought of the great garden of his own house, with its fountain, its statue of the god Terminus, the rock gardens, flower-beds, and the big hot-house at the bottom of the garden, full of sweet scents. This college garden overlooked by the study-rooms was like Lancelot’s garden of “Greek roots”: it left “vain colours” to others, for it was designed only to foster wisdom in young souls. Souls: it was, indeed, for the good of his soul that Georges was here. His father had wanted td ensure the completion of what he called Georges’ character training by some terms of boarding-school. He considered that Georges was being spoilt at home, and reproached him with the excessive facility of his success at the lycée. It was, moreover, his opinion that every boy of good family should pass through the hands of the Reverend Fathers, since it was no longer customary to employ a private, clerical tutor. And St Claude’s, which only took boarders, had appealed to him, in its lonely mountain setting, as ideal, for the well-being of the body as well as the mind. Such masters as Georges could see strolling about the garden walks, smiling at some, nodding to others, did not look very terrible. Georges recalled the visits he had just paid, in company with his parents, to the Superior, the Bursar and the Prefect. The Superior, whose name, like Georges’ own, had a “de” in it, had a pompous delivery, was measured in his gestures and distant in his look. Asking a question, he inclined his tall person. He had asked Georges in which church at M., his native town, he had taken his first communion. And he had rejoiced to hear that it had been the cathedral, where he himself had had the happiness of celebrating one of his first masses. Humane memories bound him to the same city—“To its university, if not to its lycée,” he said, smiling: it was there that he had read for his arts degree; discreetly, he let it be known that he was a Licencié ès Lettres. The Bursar, by reason of his height and his black beard, was a no less impressive figure. He had blown his nose with explosive violence into a handkerchief as big as a towel, which he had thereafter refolded with great precision. He had signed the receipt for the term’s fees holding the pen with the nib towards him: no doubt he had rheumatic hands. As for the Prefect, he was even taller than the Superior and the Bursar, doubtless to enable him to over-look everybody. He had shown them over the college from cellar to attics. He had shown Georges his place in study- hall and dormitory. He had introduced him to the college Sisters, and instructed the Infirmary Sister to take particular care of him. In the shower- bath room he had pulled the chain in one of the cubicles to show that the showers really worked, and had made his sleeve wet. The boys had a shower every Saturday. Taking leave of Georges’ parents he had said, “Your son will be quite at home with us.” And he had given Georges a copy of the rules. Georges took the booklet out of his pocket and read the first page. General Rule: A thoroughly Christian education, a sound cultivation of the mind and heart, such is the double aim we have set ourselves. Inveterate laziness, obstinate disobedience, and talking, writing, reading or behaving in a manner contrary to religion or morality are punished by expulsion. Here then, on the very threshold, were the Good Fathers attired as armed heralds offering peace or war. Were they really so warlike? Georges glanced over the clauses dealing with marks, places in class, reports, mail, the visitors’ room, exeats. He skipped the “Statutes of the Congregation” and read the “Statutes of the Academy”. It had never occurred to him to be a Congregationist, but he had sometimes dreamed of being a writer, a member of the Académie Française. There had been no academy at the lycee, but now the college one would enable him to try his hand at it. Candidates had to produce five French compositions with exceptionally high marks. At lycée Georges had been top in French; but how good were the Fathers’ pupils? Had they, as he had done, secretly read all Anatole France? All? Well, at least half: that author’s works are numerous and some among them are boring. The next page contained the “Rules for ordinary days”. And those ordinary days certainly began early enough! “5.30. Rise.” How could one possibly get up so early? “6.0. Meditation in Study-hall.” Georges could see himself at it already, meditating with his head in his hands—but meditating on what? “6.20. Mass.” What a quantity of masses were in prospect! Georges would never have heard so many. “7.0. Study” “7.30. Breakfast. Recreation.” “8.0. Lessons . .” Recreation. Study. Lunch. Recreation. Study. Lessons. Recreation. Lessons. Tea. Study. Sacred reading. Dinner. Bed. What a torrent! But going to bed immediately after dinner made up, on the whole, for rising at cock-crow. At home Georges did not get up until seven, but then he did not go to bed before ten or eleven at night: it came to the same thing. So much for the “ordinary days”. There was also a “Rule for Thursdays and Sundays” which varied according to the season, of which only two were recognised, “(a) Winter, (b) Summer.” Below that came the time-table proper to certain days. “First term: October: “3. Monday. First day of school. 7 pm Evening Service to the Holy Sacrament.” Georges looked at his watch. Service in twenty minutes. “4. Tuesday. Classes begin. From Rhetoric to Sixth form, French composition. Beginning of school-year Retreat.” The year, then, began well, with French composition: it would give him a chance to show what he was made of immediately. But what was this Retreat, which lasted four days and had its own special rule? Instruction, rosary, lectures and services? November began with: “Visit to cemeteries.