e bodily pain, for I had never
experienced it. It was the mere idea that he could beat me that threw me
into such paroxysms of wrath and despair.

True, Karl Ivanitch sometimes (in moments of exasperation) had recourse
to a ruler or to his braces, but that I can look back upon without
anger. Even if he had struck me at the time of which I am now speaking
(namely, when I was fourteen years old), I should have submitted quietly
to the correction, for I loved him, and had known him all my life,
and looked upon him as a member of our family, but St. Jerome was a
conceited, opinionated fellow for whom I felt merely the unwilling
respect which I entertained for all persons older than myself. Karl
Ivanitch was a comical old "Uncle" whom I loved with my whole heart, but
who, according to my childish conception of social distinctions, ranked
below us, whereas St. Jerome was a well-educated, handsome young dandy
who was for showing himself the equal of any one.

Karl Ivanitch had always scolded and punished us coolly, as though he
thought it a necessary, but extremely disagreeable, duty. St. Jerome,
on the contrary, always liked to emphasise his part as JUDGE when
correcting us, and clearly did it as much for his own satisfaction
as for our good. He loved authority. Nevertheless, I always found his
grandiloquent French phrases (which he pronounced with a strong emphasis
on all the final syllables) inexpressibly disgusting, whereas Karl, when
angry, had never said anything beyond, "What a foolish puppet-comedy it
is!" or "You boys are as irritating as Spanish fly!" (which he always
called "Spaniard" fly). St. Jerome, however, had names for us like
"mauvais sujet," "villain," "garnement," and so forth--epithets which
greatly offended my self-respect. When Karl Ivanitch ordered us to
kneel in the corner with our faces to the wall, the punishment consisted
merely in the bodily discomfort of the position, whereas St. Jerome, in
such cases, always assumed a haughty air, made a grandiose gesture with
his hand, and exclaiming in a pseudo-tragic tone, "A genoux, mauvais
sujet!" ordered us to kneel with our faces towards him, and to crave his
pardon. His punishment consisted in humiliation.

However, on the present occasion the punishment never came, nor was the
matter ever referred to again. Yet, I could not forget all that I had
gone through--the shame, the fear, and the hatred of those two days.
From that time forth, St. Jerome appear