Bouvard and Pécuchet, part 2. Gustave Flaubert
Читать онлайн книгу.
heads of their pupils presented no curious characteristics. No doubt they had gone the wrong way to work with them. A very simple expedient enabled them to develop their experience.
On market days they insinuated themselves among groups of country people on the green, amid the sacks of oats, the baskets of cheese, the calves and the horses, indifferent to the jostlings; and whenever they found a young fellow with his father, they asked leave to feel his skull for a scientific purpose. The majority vouchsafed no reply; others, fancying it was pomatum for ringworm of the scalp, refused testily. A few, through indifference, allowed themselves to be led towards the porch of the church, where they would be undisturbed.
One morning, just as Bouvard and Pécuchet were beginning operations, the curé suddenly presented himself, and seeing what they were about, denounced phrenology as leading to materialism and to fatalism. The thief, the assassin, the adulterer, have henceforth only to cast the blame of their crimes on their bumps.
Bouvard retorted that the organ predisposes towards the act without forcing one to do it. From the fact that a man has in him the germ of a vice, there is nothing to show that he will be vicious.
“However, I wonder at the orthodox, for, while upholding innate ideas, they reject propensities. What a contradiction!”
But phrenology, according to M. Jeufroy, denied Divine Omnipotence, and it was unseemly to practise under the shadow of the holy place, in the very face of the altar.
“Take yourselves off! No! – take yourselves off!”
They established themselves in the shop of Ganot, the hairdresser. Bouvard and Pécuchet went so far as to treat their subjects’ relations to a shave or a clip. One afternoon the doctor came to get his hair cut. While seating himself in the armchair he saw in the glass the reflection of the two phrenologists passing their fingers over a child’s pate.
“So you are at these fooleries?” he said.
“Why foolery?”
Vaucorbeil smiled contemptuously, then declared that there were not several organs in the brain. Thus one man can digest food which another cannot digest. Are we to assume that there are as many stomachs in the stomach as there are varieties of taste?
They pointed out that one kind of work is a relaxation after another; an intellectual effort does not strain all the faculties at the same time; each has its distinct seat.
“The anatomists have not discovered it,” said Vaucorbeil.
“That’s because they have dissected badly,” replied Pécuchet.
“What?”
“Oh, yes! they cut off slices without regard to the connection of the parts” – a phrase out of a book which recurred to his mind.
“What a piece of nonsense!” exclaimed the physician. “The cranium is not moulded over the brain, the exterior over the interior. Gall is mistaken, and I defy you to justify his doctrine by taking at random three persons in the shop.”
The first was a country woman, with big blue eyes.
Pécuchet, looking at her, said:
“She has a good memory.”
Her husband attested the fact, and offered himself for examination.
“Oh! you, my worthy fellow, it is hard to lead you.”
According to the others, there was not in the world such a headstrong fellow.
The third experiment was made on a boy who was accompanied by his grandmother.
Pécuchet observed that he must be fond of music.
“I assure you it is so,” said the good woman. “Show these gentlemen, that they may see for themselves.”
He drew a Jew’s-harp from under his blouse and began blowing into it.
There was a crashing sound – it was the violent slamming of the door by the doctor as he went out.
They were no longer in doubt about themselves, and summoning their two pupils, they resumed the analysis of their skull-bones.
That of Victorine was even all around, a sign of ponderation; but her brother had an unfortunate cranium – a very large protuberance in the mastoid angle of the parietal bones indicated the organ of destructiveness, of murder; and a swelling farther down was the sign of covetousness, of theft. Bouvard and Pécuchet remained dejected for eight days.
But it was necessary to comprehend the exact sense of words: what we call combativeness implies contempt for death. If it causes homicides, it may, likewise bring about the saving of lives. Acquisitiveness includes the tact of pickpockets and the ardour of merchants. Irreverence has its parallel in the spirit of criticism, craft in circumspection. An instinct always resolves itself into two parts, a bad one and a good one. The one may be destroyed by cultivating the other, and by this system a daring child, far from being a vagabond, may become a general. The sluggish man will have only prudence; the penurious, economy; the extravagant, generosity.
A magnificent dream filled their minds. If they carried to a successful end the education of their pupils, they would later found an establishment having for its object to correct the intellect, to subdue tempers, and to ennoble the heart. Already they talked about subscriptions and about the building.
Their triumph in Ganot’s shop had made them famous, and people came to consult them in order that they might tell them their chances of good luck.
All sorts of skulls were examined for this purpose – bowl-shaped, pear-shaped, those rising like sugar loaves, square heads, high heads, contracted skulls and flat skulls, with bulls’ jaws, birds’ faces, and eyes like pigs’; but such a crowd of people disturbed the hairdresser in his work. Their elbows rubbed against the glass cupboard that contained the perfumery, they put the combs out of order, the wash-hand stand was broken; so he turned out all the idlers, begging of Bouvard and Pécuchet to follow them, an ultimatum which they unmurmuringly accepted, being a little worn out with cranioscopy.
Next day, as they were passing before the little garden of the captain, they saw, chatting with him, Girbal, Coulon, the keeper, and his younger son, Zephyrin, dressed as an altar-boy. His robe was quite new, and he was walking below before returning to the sacristy, and they were complimenting him.
Curious to know what they thought of him, Placquevent asked “these gentlemen” to feel his young man’s head.
The skin of his forehead looked tightly drawn; his nose, thin and very gristly at the tip, drooped slantwise over his pinched lips; his chin was pointed, his expression evasive, and his right shoulder was too high.
“Take off your cap,” said his father to him.
Bouvard slipped his hands through his straw-coloured hair; then it was Pécuchet’s turn, and they communicated to each other their observations in low tones:
“Evident love of books! Ha! ha! approbativeness! Conscientiousness wanting! No amativeness!”
“Well?” said the keeper.
Pécuchet opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch.
“Faith!” replied Bouvard, “this is scarcely a genius.”
Placquevent reddened with humiliation.
“All the same, he will do my bidding.”
“Oho! Oho!”
“But I am his father, by God! and I have certainly the right – ”
“Within certain limits,” observed Pécuchet.
Girbal interposed. “The paternal authority is indispensable.”
“But if the father is an idiot?”
“No matter,” said the captain; “his power is none the less absolute.”
“In the interests of the children,” added Coulon.
According to Bouvard and Pécuchet, they owed nothing to the authors of their being; and the parents, on the other hand, owed them food, education, forethought