The first college boy that I met that morning begged me to give him the address of my tailor. The second came up to me with an expression of the most intense surprise, and passed his hand over my coat.

When I turned to him and asked him rather indignantly what he was about, he replied that he considered my jacket admirable! Now according to my idea this was not too strong an expression to apply to my velvet coat, but there was something in the tone in which it was said that annoyed me. Still more was I displeased when he walked round me two or three times, lifting his hands up in the air. He was joined almost immediately by half a dozen little rascals, who, following his example, raised their hands towards heaven, exclaiming in various tones: “Admirable!”

There were different groups of boys standing about in the street, and in one of these groups I heard a boy holding forth, apparently much to the amusement of the others, about a certain green coat which had been cut out by a carpenter with a few strokes of his hatchet. In another group a boy said that “some one” was a wonderful hand at making coats! And in a third group one of the scholars declared that “somebody, not a hundred miles off, was exactly like a great green beetle!” And then on every side I heard “Beetle, Beetle!” sung out to the tune of a polka.

This pastime, which began to cause no little annoyance to the passers-by, was suddenly put a stop to by the striking of the college clock, and in a few seconds the boys were all hard at work at their studies,—or supposed to be so.

During lesson-time I could not help asking myself what they could mean about the beetle? and alas! wounding as it was to my pride, I could not but come to the conclusion that Beetle was now to be added to the list of my nicknames. One more or less, what did it matter? so I reasoned: still, I could not help the feeling of annoyance this new name caused me. All doubt upon the subject was put an end to by the sight of a caricature which was passed from hand to hand along the forms, and which my eyes soon caught a glimpse of.

I easily recognised the absurd nose which had been so often drawn in imitation of my own. And now my coat, my beautiful coat, was caricatured too! I knew it was intended for my coat, but how shamefully caricatured! The buttons were made to look the size of dessert plates, and the whole coat appeared like the shell of a large green beetle with my face at the top. To prevent any mistakes upon the subject, the artist had written under the drawing—Bicquerot, or the Green Beetle!

Have you ever received a sudden and totally unexpected blow? If so, you know the feeling of stupefaction that follows—as if one were completely overpowered; then comes the pain which nearly makes one scream. And this is followed by a feeling of blind rage and a thirst for vengeance.

These are the sensations which I experienced on seeing the caricature and afterwards, while my schoolfellows were muttering their lessons round me.

I was astounded! that jacket which I was so proud of—which I thought so much of for many reasons—was caricatured and laughed at by everyone. I felt, too, acute pain at the thought that my mother’s work—that work which was one of the proofs of her great love for me—was made a subject of contemptuous ridicule. I was now wounded in the most sensitive part of my nature.

I felt the great tears rush to my eyes; I would not let them fall, but courageously forced them back. I would not betray the pain and humiliation I was suffering. I buried my head in my hands, and kept my eyes fixed upon my Latin grammar; but, with my mind’s eye, I saw over again my mother seated at work, busy over my jacket, smiling to herself as she stitched away so indefatigably, forgetting all her own weariness in the thought of the pleasure she would give me. Then, beside that picture, rose before me the laughing, the grimacing faces of the insolent boys!

The contrast made me furious! I was so wretched that I determined I would no longer bear it. At that moment my hand, unknown to myself, clenched the leg of the table nearest to me with such violence that the whole table shook; the boys raised their heads in surprise, and the professor begged the pupil “Bicquerot” to keep still.

The pupil Bicquerot said nothing; but when school was over, he walked out of college with his head in the air; his knees trembled with nervous emotion, but his heart was strong and determined.