cadets.
" "Is it indeed possible that you'--by which he means the other people in the room, I expect--"that all of you behold this genius, this master wit whose reputation is so great throughout the land? Don't you know," he went on, addressing himself to the landlord and landlady, "don't you know what you possess here?" "
The titters grew in volume. The looks grew bolder.
" "Why, your house harbors a veritable treasure!' "
One cadet elbowed his neighbor. Another jammed his forearm into his mouth.
" " You behold in this gentleman the eighth wonder of the world!""
Gasps and chortles, and still Poe bore on, his voice rising to match the voices around him.
"Then, turning himself toward me and throwing his arms about me: "Pardon these transports," added he; "I can never hope to master the'--"
And at last he did pause, but only to hurl himself full bore on those final words:
"--"the absolute joy your presence causes me!""
Berard sat there softly smiling as the cadets squealed and howled. They might have torn the Academy's roof right off had they not been stopped by the clearing of Captain Hitchcock's throat. One unit of sound, barely loud enough to reach my ears, and the room went quiet.
"Thank you, Mr. Poe," said Berard. "As usual, you have gone beyond the demands of literal translation. I suggest in the future you leave the embellishments to Mr. Smollett. However, you have nicely captured the sense of the passage. Two-point-seven is your grade."
Poe said nothing. Didn't move. Just stood there, in the center of the room, with his eyes flaming and his jaw angled out.
"You may be seated, Mr. Poe."
Only then did he return to his seat--slowly, stiffly--without looking at another soul.
A minute later, the drums were beating assembly for dinner formation. Up stood the cadets, pushing away their slates and clapping on their shakos. Hitchcock waited until they were filing through the open doorway before calling out:
"Mr. Poe, if you would." Poe stopped so quickly that the cadet behind him had to spin clear to avoid colliding with him.
"Sir?" He squinted us into his sights. His hands, glazed with chalk, danced across his leather visor.
"If we might speak to you, please."
He set his mouth in a tight line and came toward us, wheeling his head just as the last of his classmates marched out.
"You may sit, Mr. Poe."
Hitchcock's voice, I noticed, was even softer than usual as he motioned the cadet to his bench. You can't be too rough, I guess, on someone who's given you two editions of his poetry.
"Mr. Landor here would like a few minutes of your time," said the commandant. "We have already excused you from dinner formation, so you may come to mess when you're ready. Do you require anything else, Mr. Landor?"
"No, thank you."
"Then, gentlemen, I will bid you good day."
This I hadn't expected: Hitchcock taking himself out of the picture, and Berard following him, leaving just the two of us in this small, sawdusty room. Sitting on our benches and staring straight ahead, like Quakers at meeting.
"That was a brave performance," I said at last.
"Brave?" he answered. "I was merely doing as Monsieur Berard requested."
"I'd bet good money that you've read Gil Blas before."
It was only from the corner of one eye, but I could see his mouth slowly lengthening.
"You're amused, Mr. Poe."
"I'm only thinking of my father."
"The senior Poe?"
"The senior Allan," he said. "A purely mercantile beast. He came upon me--oh, it was some years ago--reading Gil Blas in his parlor. Demanded to know why I would waste my time on such rubbish. And here we are..." He extended his arm to take in the whole room. "In the land of engineers, where Gil Blas is king." Smiling briefly, he rattled his thin fingers. "Of course, Smollett's translation has its charms, but he does gild the lily, doesn't he? If I have time this winter, I shall write up my own version. The first copy will go to Mr. Allan." I pulled out a quid of tobacco
" "Is it indeed possible that you'--by which he means the other people in the room, I expect--"that all of you behold this genius, this master wit whose reputation is so great throughout the land? Don't you know," he went on, addressing himself to the landlord and landlady, "don't you know what you possess here?" "
The titters grew in volume. The looks grew bolder.
" "Why, your house harbors a veritable treasure!' "
One cadet elbowed his neighbor. Another jammed his forearm into his mouth.
" " You behold in this gentleman the eighth wonder of the world!""
Gasps and chortles, and still Poe bore on, his voice rising to match the voices around him.
"Then, turning himself toward me and throwing his arms about me: "Pardon these transports," added he; "I can never hope to master the'--"
And at last he did pause, but only to hurl himself full bore on those final words:
"--"the absolute joy your presence causes me!""
Berard sat there softly smiling as the cadets squealed and howled. They might have torn the Academy's roof right off had they not been stopped by the clearing of Captain Hitchcock's throat. One unit of sound, barely loud enough to reach my ears, and the room went quiet.
"Thank you, Mr. Poe," said Berard. "As usual, you have gone beyond the demands of literal translation. I suggest in the future you leave the embellishments to Mr. Smollett. However, you have nicely captured the sense of the passage. Two-point-seven is your grade."
Poe said nothing. Didn't move. Just stood there, in the center of the room, with his eyes flaming and his jaw angled out.
"You may be seated, Mr. Poe."
Only then did he return to his seat--slowly, stiffly--without looking at another soul.
A minute later, the drums were beating assembly for dinner formation. Up stood the cadets, pushing away their slates and clapping on their shakos. Hitchcock waited until they were filing through the open doorway before calling out:
"Mr. Poe, if you would." Poe stopped so quickly that the cadet behind him had to spin clear to avoid colliding with him.
"Sir?" He squinted us into his sights. His hands, glazed with chalk, danced across his leather visor.
"If we might speak to you, please."
He set his mouth in a tight line and came toward us, wheeling his head just as the last of his classmates marched out.
"You may sit, Mr. Poe."
Hitchcock's voice, I noticed, was even softer than usual as he motioned the cadet to his bench. You can't be too rough, I guess, on someone who's given you two editions of his poetry.
"Mr. Landor here would like a few minutes of your time," said the commandant. "We have already excused you from dinner formation, so you may come to mess when you're ready. Do you require anything else, Mr. Landor?"
"No, thank you."
"Then, gentlemen, I will bid you good day."
This I hadn't expected: Hitchcock taking himself out of the picture, and Berard following him, leaving just the two of us in this small, sawdusty room. Sitting on our benches and staring straight ahead, like Quakers at meeting.
"That was a brave performance," I said at last.
"Brave?" he answered. "I was merely doing as Monsieur Berard requested."
"I'd bet good money that you've read Gil Blas before."
It was only from the corner of one eye, but I could see his mouth slowly lengthening.
"You're amused, Mr. Poe."
"I'm only thinking of my father."
"The senior Poe?"
"The senior Allan," he said. "A purely mercantile beast. He came upon me--oh, it was some years ago--reading Gil Blas in his parlor. Demanded to know why I would waste my time on such rubbish. And here we are..." He extended his arm to take in the whole room. "In the land of engineers, where Gil Blas is king." Smiling briefly, he rattled his thin fingers. "Of course, Smollett's translation has its charms, but he does gild the lily, doesn't he? If I have time this winter, I shall write up my own version. The first copy will go to Mr. Allan." I pulled out a quid of tobacco
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