The contempt and the ridicule that were
heaped upon him in the conversation of the boys were immeasurable. When
he came next morning with a black, extravasated eye, which he bathed at
intervals with a rag, he was regarded by most of us as absolute scum.
The German master, a tall, good-looking man, was treated as utterly
incompetent because, when he asked a question in grammar or syntax, he
walked up and down with the book in front of him, and quite plainly
compared the answer with the book. We boys thought that anyone could be
a master, with a book in his hand. History and Geography were taught by
an old man, overflowing with good-humour, loquacious, but self-
confident, liked for his amiability, but despised for what was deemed
unmanliness in him. The boys pulled faces at him, and imitated his
expressions and mannerisms.
The Danish master, Professor H.P. Holst, was not liked. He evidently
took no interest in his scholastic labours, and did not like the boys.
His coolness was returned. And yet, that which was the sole aim and
object of his instruction he understood to perfection, and drilled into
us well. The unfortunate part of it was that there was hardly more than
one boy in the class who enjoyed learning anything about just that
particular thing. Instruction in Danish was, for Holst, instruction in
the metrical art.
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