with the Italian language.  I gave my opinion about Italian and foreign masters,—­which, however unsophisticated, made both my father and my tutor look at each other in astonishment.  I did not like Ribera,—­there was too great a contrast of color in his pictures, and he frightened me a little; but I liked Carlo Dolce.  In short, my tutor, my father, and his friends considered me a very prodigy; I heard myself praised, and it flattered my vanity.  But, all the same, it was not the healthiest of educations; and my nervous system, developed too early, always remained very sensitive.  It seems strange that these influences were neither so deep nor so lasting as might have been expected.  That I did not become an artist is owing, may be, to a lack of gifts that way,—­although my drawing and music masters opined differently; but how was it that neither my father nor the priest was able to imbue me with that love of art for art’s sake?  Have I a feeling for art?  Yes.  Is art a necessity of my life?  Yes, again.  But they loved it; I only feel it as a dilettante; it is a necessity in so far as it complements every kind of pleasant and delightful sensation.  It is one of my delights, but not an all-absorbing passion; I should not like to live without it, but could not devote my whole life to it.

As the schools at Rome left much to be desired, my father sent me to a college in Metz, where I carried off honors and prizes with very little effort.  A year before the last term, I ran away to join Don Carlos, and with Tristan’s detachment wandered for some time about the Pyrenees; until my father, with the help of the consul in Burgos, found me, and I was sent back to Metz to be duly punished.  The penalty was not a heavy one, as my father and the teachers were secretly proud of my escapade.  A brilliant success at the examinations quickly earned me a full absolution.

Among my schoolfellows, whose sympathies were naturally with Don Carlos, I henceforth passed as a hero; and as I was at the same time one of the foremost pupils, my position as the first at school was beyond dispute.  I was growing up with the conviction that later on, in a larger sphere, it would be the same.  This opinion was shared by my teachers and schoolfellows; and yet the fact is that many of my schoolfellows who at one time would not have dreamed of competing with me, occupy to-day in France high places in literary, scientific, and political spheres; whereas I, had I to choose a profession, should feel considerably perplexed.  My social position is excellent.  I possess independent means from my mother’s side, shall inherit my father’s fortune in time to come, and administer the Ploszow estate more or less wisely, as the case may be; but the very limitation of the work excludes all hope of distinguishing myself in life, or playing any prominent part in it.