Hitherto
in my relationships with the boys I had fought nothing but losing
battles, for I had taken it for granted that they were right and I
was wrong. But now that I had hit on the astonishing theory that the
individual has the right to think for himself, I saw quite clearly
that most of their standards of conduct sprang from their sheep-like
stupidity. They moved in flocks because they had not the courage to
choose a line for themselves. The material result of this new theory
of life was to make me enormously conceited, and I moved among my
comrades with a mysterious confidence, and gave myself the airs of a
Byron in knickerbockers. My unpopularity increased by leaps and
bounds, but so did my moral courage, and I accepted the belated
efforts of my school-fellows to knock the intelligence out of me as
so many tributes to the force of my individuality. I no longer cried
in my bed at night, but lay awake enraptured at the profundity of my
thoughts. After years of unquestioning humility I enjoyed a prolonged
debauch of intellectual pride, and I marvelled at the little boy of
yesterday who had wept because he could not be an imbecile. It was
the apotheosis of the ugly duckling, and I saw my swan's plumage
reflected in the placid faces of the boys around me, as in the vacant
waters of a pool. As yet I did not dream of a moulting season, still
less that a day would come when I should envy the ducks their
domestic ease and the unthinking tranquillity of their lives.
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