Читать книгу Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters - Daniel Stashower, Исмаил Шихлы - Страница 92

I have just received your little postcard, and was sorry indeed to hear that papa was unwell; I hope that it is nothing serious. When does he leave the office? I was glad to get the bursary paper,* and am working as hard as possible at the subjects, though I think Doctor Waller will agree with me that it will be hard work getting up the subjects, when he hears that I have never learned any trigonometry or conic sections, nor books V and VI of Euclid. The other three are not so formidable, though each requires some study. Luckily I have ‘Todhunter’s trigonometry’, for the Germans here have quite another system, and never use Euclid. If you could send me a work on ‘conic sections treated geometrically’, and a Euclid it would be very useful indeed, as it would not do to leave such subjects to be worked up at the last moment. Don’t you think it would be possible, by applying at the proper quarters, to obtain a few copies of previous bursary examinations; in most examinations they publish small books containing sample examination papers, by which means one understands better how much knowledge is required. The list of subjects in the paper you sent me is rather

The Feldkirch marching band, with Conan Doyle (second row, second from right) and his bombardon

ambiguous. If once I have my work already cut out for me, then I can go at it with ardour, but somehow when you are not certain whether what you study is included in the examen or not, it is rather a damper.

I have quite given up English books, and have not opened any, except school books for two months; I always keep a German book in my desk as a relaxation when I get muddled. I am reading the life of the French Crimean general Marshal Saint Arnaud but it is very slow work, as I study nearly always during free time.

I delayed writing as we have been having our photographs taken, first the whole division (60 boys) and then the band alone with their instruments.

Every fortnight we have a holiday and march out to our country house, about half a mile from here, with banners flying, and we (the band) at the head of the column blowing quick marches. It is rather hard, I find, blowing and marching at the same time, but, like everything else, it can be acquired by practise. It affords me a feeling of satisfaction too to observe the effect produced by my deep sonorous notes on the unmusical oxen we meet on the way drawing the peasants carts, I always blow in their ears as I pass, and cause a fine disturbance.

An uninitiated Briton [would be] astonished, not to say shocked, at the amount of beer and wine we, especially the band, manage to make away with on one of our holidays; strong beer it is too. We are so accustomed to it that it is just as water to us, for instance on one of these days, on which we go out to our country house I will just give you a sketch of our order of the day. We have a long sleep till half past five A.M. Then toilet, studies and mass carry us down to 7, when we get our breakfast of bread and two cups of coffee. Then at half past seven off we start in great pomp. First go the four drummers, then the band about thirty strong, with regimental cape of silver and black, and looking very smart; marching in quick step and playing. Then the banner bearer with the college banner, gold and blue, which cost more than 100 pounds. Then the third or smaller division, about 50 in all, march, all in a state of supreme beatitude at having escaped their professors for a day. The second division containing about 80, follows the third, and the first, which without the band, has not more than 30 representatives forms the rearguard. We march right through the quiet little town, down the market place, and principal streets, bringing all the shopkeepers to their doors, and the burgers, mostly in a very sleepy state to their windows. The policeman, an old soldier, draws himself up militarily as we pass, and criticises our step and music, amid the reverence of the rustics, who no doubt look upon him as the greatest military authority, and so, through quite a crowd we march out of the town gate. On reaching our country house the band blows a hymn which the rest sing, and then the band goes into the house and each man gets a bottle of beer, just ‘to grease his wheels’. Then we leave our instruments and go out in separate divisions for a walk on the hills. At dinner time we return, and get a rough healthy sort of dinner, consisting of soup, two courses of meat, one cold, one hot, and some dessert. In the course of this we drink at least another pint bottle of beer, and a tumbler full of wine. The band plays at the beginning and end of dinner. After dinner the boys lie about or play before the house, and we blow for about half an hour, selections from operas, walzes, gallops, marches and polkas. Then we go in and drink about a couple more tumblers full of wine. There is a walk then until we come to a level place where the lazy lie down, and the active can play rounders. We stay there about two hours, and then we return at 4 P.M. to the house and partake of a fine refreshing repast there, consisting of unlimited bread, cheese, often butter, and always two pint bottles each of beer. We get some wine and cake then, during which the prefects sing songs, which, as both have fine voices, is very jolly. We had a splendid one last time, a regular national Tyrolese song, ‘Andreas Hofer’ it is called, and celebrates the brave innkeeper who beat Napoleon’s armies until he was cruelly executed in Mantua. It is a beautiful mournful air, and narrates the death of the brave old fellow; I don’t think I was ever more pleased than when I heard it, and I have been singing it ever since.

After this refreshment which lasts an hour and a half, we have a football match, which is a terribly savage and wild affair, as everybody is in a state of excitement from the beer; it is the jolliest match of the whole year, in my opinion, for there are always four or five fellows lying on their backs, and shiners are given and taken with the greatest equanimity. After playing an hour we march back with music as before, and end our pleasant day.

I must bid you an abrupt goodbye, for I hear the voice of the Trigonometry summoning me, so goodbye! Love to papa and the children; remember me to Dr W—.

As the end of the school year approached, Conan Doyle’s mind turned to medical school, and the stringent academic requirements he faced to win a bursary to defray the formidable cost of that education.