And then?’
He irritated me. I burst out:
‘And then, they fought like ragamuffins for a long time, but that hasn’t stuck in my memory.’
He stared at me, amazed.
I’d get something thrown at my head in a moment!
‘Is that how you learn history, my good girl?’
‘Pure chauvinism, Sir. I’m only interested in the history of France.’
Incredible luck: he laughed!
‘I’d rather deal with impertinent girls than stupefied ones.
Tell me about Louis XV (1742).’ ‘All right.
That was the period when Madame de la Tournelle was exercising a deplorable influence over him …’
‘Good heavens!
You’re not being asked about that!’
‘Excuse me, Sir, it’s not my own invention, it’s the simple truth … the best historians …’
‘What d’you mean? the best historians …’
‘Yes, Sir, I read it in Michelet – with full details!’
‘Michelet! but this is madness!
Michelet, get this into your head, wrote a historical novel in twenty volumes and he dared to call that the History of France!
And you come here and talk to me of Michelet!’
He was excited, he banged on the table, but I stood up to him.
The young candidates round us stood transfixed, not believing their ears; Mademoiselle Sergent had approached, gasping, ready to intervene … When she heard me declare:
‘Anyway, Michelet’s less boring than Duruy! …’ She flung herself against the table and protested in anguish:
‘Sir, I implore you forgive … this child has lost her head: she will withdraw at once …’
He interrupted her, mopped his brow and panted:
‘Let her alone, Mademoiselle, there’s no harm done.
I hold to my own opinions, but I’m all in favour of others holding to theirs.
This young person has false ideas and bad reading-habits, but she is not lacking in personality – one sees so many dull ones! – Only you, my peruser of Michelet, try and tell me how you would go, by boat, from Amiens to Marseilles or I’ll chuck you a 2 that will give you a painful surprise!’
‘Leaving Amiens by embarking on the Somme, I go up … etc., etc., … canals … etc., and I arrive at Marseilles only after a period varying between six months and two years.’
‘That isn’t your business.
Mountain-system of Russia, and step lively.’
Alas, I cannot say that I shine outstandingly in the knowledge of the mountain-system of Russia, but I got through it more or less except for some gaps which seemed regrettable to the examiner.
‘And the Balkans … you’re cutting them out, then?’
The man spat out his words like a fire-cracker.
‘Certainly not, Sir, I was keeping them as a final titbit.’
‘That’s all right. Be off with you.’
People drew back rather indignantly to let me through.
Those dear little pets!
I relaxed; no one had summoned me, so I listened with horror to Marie Belhomme who was answering Roubaud that ‘to prepare sulphuric acid, you pour water on lime and then that begins to boil; then you collect the gas in a balloon-flask’.
She wore the expression that always meant enormous howlers and boundless stupidities; her huge, long, narrow hands gripped the table; her eyes, like those of a brainless bird, rolled and glittered; she poured out monstrous ineptitudes with extreme volubility.
There was nothing to be done; even if one had whispered in her ear, she wouldn’t have heard!
Anais was listening to her too and enjoying herself with all her kindly soul.
I asked her: ‘What have you got through, already?’
‘Singing, history, joggraphy.’
‘Nasty old Lacroix?’
‘Yes. What a swine!
But he asked me easy ones, Thirty Years’ War, the Treaties … I say, Marie’s off the rails!’
‘Off the rails seems to me putting it mildly.’
Little Luce, excited and astounded, came up to us:
‘I’ve passed joggraphy, and history, I answered well … Oh, I am bucked!’
‘Hullo, twirp!