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to possess this title, perhaps all the more so because he was 

 the smallest scholar. But those who would decorate the early 

 years of Louis Pasteur with wonderful legends would be dis- 

 appointed : when a little later he attended the daily classes at 

 the Arbois college he belonged merely to the category of good 

 average pupils. He took several prizes without much diffi- 

 culty ; he rather liked buying new lesson books, on the first 

 page of which he proudly wrote his name. His father, who 

 wished to instruct himself as well as to help his son, helped 

 him with his home preparation. During holidays, the boy 

 enjoyed his liberty. Some of his schoolfellows Vercel, Char- 

 riere, Guillemin, Coulon called for him to come out with them 

 and he followed them with pleasure. He delighted in fishing 

 parties on the Ouisance, and much admired the net throwing 

 of his comrade Jules Vercel. But he avoided bird trapping; 

 the sight of a wounded lark was painful to him. 



The doors of Louis Pasteur's home were not usually open 

 except to his schoolboy friends, who, when they did not fetch 

 him away, used to come and play in the tannery yard with 

 remnants of bark, stray bits of iron, etc. Joseph Pasteur, 

 though not considered a proud man, did not easily make 

 friends. His language and manners were not those of a 

 retired sergeant ; he never spoke of his campaigns and never 

 entered a cafe*. On Sundays, wearing a military-looking frock 

 coat, spotlessly clean and adorned with the showy ribbon of the 

 Legion of Honour (worn very large at that time) , he invariably 

 walked out towards the road from Arbois to Besanon. Thitf 

 road passes between vine-planted hills. On the left, on a 

 wooded height above the wide plain towards Dole, the ruins of 

 the Vadans tower invest the whole landscape with a lingering 

 glamour of heroic times. In these solitary meditations, he 

 dwelt more anxiously on the future than on present difficulties, 

 the latter being of little account in this hard-working family. 

 What would become of this son of his, conscientious and 

 studious, but, though already thirteen years old, with no 

 apparent preference for anything but drawing? The epithet 

 of artist given to Louis Pasteur by his Arboisian friends only 

 half pleased the paternal vanity. And yet it is impossible not 

 to be struck by the realism of his first original effort, a very 

 bold pastel drawing. This pastel represents Louis' mother, 

 one morning that she was going to market, with a white cap 

 and a blue and green tartan shawl. Her son insisted on painting 



