In the case of Surplice, to be the butt of everyone's ridicule
could not be called precisely suffering; inasmuch as Surplice, being
unspeakably lonely, enjoyed any and all insults for the simple reason
that they constituted or at least implied a recognition of his existence.
To be made a fool of was, to this otherwise completely neglected
individual, a mark of distinction; something to take pleasure in; to be
proud of. The inhabitants of The Enormous Room had given to Surplice a
small but essential part in the drama of La Misere: he would play that
part to the utmost of his ability; the cap-and-bells should not grace a
head unworthy of their high significance. He would be a great fool, since
that was his function; a supreme entertainer, since his duty was to
amuse. After all, men in La Misere as well as anywhere else rightly
demand a certain amount of amusement; amusement is, indeed, peculiarly
essential to suffering; in proportion as we are able to be amused we are
able to suffer; I, Surplice, am a very necessary creature after all.
I recall one day when Surplice beautifully demonstrated his ability to
play the fool. Someone had crept up behind him as he was stalking to and
fro, head in air proudly, hands in pockets, pipe in teeth, and had (after
several heart-breaking failures) succeeded in attaching to the back of
his jacket by means of a pin a huge placard carefully prepared
beforehand, bearing the numerical inscription
606
in vast writing.
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