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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c233622 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50286 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50286) diff --git a/old/50286-0.txt b/old/50286-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2525954..0000000 --- a/old/50286-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6510 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wicker Work Woman, by Anatole France - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Wicker Work Woman - -Author: Anatole France - -Editor: Frederic Chapman - -Translator: M. P. Willcocks - -Release Date: October 23, 2015 [EBook #50286] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WICKER WORK WOMAN *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THIS EDITION IS LIMITED TO - FIVE HUNDRED COPIES FOR - SALE IN THE UNITED STATES - OF AMERICA - - - - - THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE - IN AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION - EDITED BY FREDERIC CHAPMAN - - THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN - - [Illustration] - - - - - THE WICKER - WORK WOMAN - - A CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES - - BY ANATOLE FRANCE - - A TRANSLATION BY - M. P. WILLCOCKS - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMX - - - - - WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH - - - - -THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN - -I - - -In his study M. Bergeret, professor of literature at the University, -was preparing his lesson on the eighth book of the _Æneid_ to the -shrill mechanical accompaniment of the piano, on which, close by, his -daughters were practising a difficult exercise. M. Bergeret’s room -possessed only one window, but this was a large one, and filled up one -whole side. It admitted, however, more draught than light, for the -sashes were ill-fitting and the panes darkened by a high contiguous -wall. M. Bergeret’s table, pushed close against this window, caught -the dismal rays of niggard daylight that filtered through. As a matter -of fact this study, where the professor polished and repolished his -fine, scholarly phrases, was nothing more than a shapeless cranny, or -rather a double recess, behind the framework of the main staircase -which, spreading out most inconsiderately in a great curve towards -the window, left only room on either side for two useless, churlish -corners. Trammelled by this monstrous, green-papered paunch of masonry, -M. Bergeret had with difficulty discovered in his cantankerous study—a -geometrical abortion as well as an æsthetic abomination—a scanty flat -surface where he could stack his books along the deal shelves, upon -which yellow rows of Teubner classics were plunged in never-lifted -gloom. M. Bergeret himself used to sit squeezed close up against the -window, writing in a cold, chilly style that owed much to the bleakness -of the atmosphere in which he worked. Whenever he found his papers -neither torn nor topsy-turvy and his pens not gaping cross-nibbed, he -considered himself a lucky man! For such was the usual result of a -visit to the study from Madame Bergeret or her daughters, where they -came to write up the laundry list or the household accounts. Here, too, -stood the dressmaker’s dummy, on which Madame Bergeret used to drape -the skirts she cut out at home. There, bolt upright, over against the -learned editions of Catullus and Petronius, stood, like a symbol of the -wedded state, this wicker-work woman. - -M. Bergeret was preparing his lesson on the eighth book of the -_Æneid_, and he ought to have been devoting himself exclusively to -the fascinating details of metre and language. In this task he would -have found, if not joy, at any rate mental peace and the priceless -balm of spiritual tranquillity. Instead, he had turned his thoughts -in another direction: he was musing on the soul, the genius, the -outward features of that classic world whose books he spent his life in -studying. He had given himself up to the longing to behold with his own -eyes those golden shores, that azure sea, those rose-hued mountains, -those lovely meadows through which the poet leads his heroes. He was -bemoaning himself bitterly that it had never been his lot to visit the -shores where once Troy stood, to gaze on the landscape of Virgil, to -breathe the air of Italy, of Greece and holy Asia, as Gaston Boissier -and Gaston Deschamps had done. The melancholy aspect of his study -overwhelmed him and great waves of misery submerged his mind. His -sadness was, of course, the fruit of his own folly, for all our real -sorrows come from within and are self-caused. We mistakenly believe -that they come from outside, but we create them within ourselves from -our own personality. - -So sat M. Bergeret beneath the huge plaster cylinder, manufacturing -his own sadness and weariness as he reflected on his narrow, cramped, -and dismal life: his wife was a vulgar creature, who had by now lost -all her good looks; his daughters, even, had no love for him, and -finally the battles of Æneas and Turnus were dull and boring. At last -he was aroused from this melancholy train of thought by the arrival of -his pupil, M. Roux, who made his appearance in red trousers and a blue -coat, for he was still going through his year of military service. - -“Ha!” said M. Bergeret, “so I see they’ve turned my best Latin scholar -into a hero.” - -And when M. Roux denied the heroic impeachment, the professor -persisted: “I know what I’m talking about. I call a man who wears a -sabre a hero, and I’m quite right in so doing. And if you only wore a -busby, I should call you a great hero. The least one can decently do is -to bestow a little flattery on the people one sends out to get shot. -One couldn’t possibly pay them for their services at a cheaper rate. -But may you never be immortalised by any act of heroism, and may you -only earn the praises of mankind by your attainments in Latin verse! It -is my patriotism, and nothing else, that moves me to this sincere wish. -For I am persuaded by the study of history that heroism is mainly to -be found among the routed and vanquished. Even the Romans, a people by -no means so eager for war as is commonly supposed, a people, too, who -were often beaten, even the Romans only produced a Decius in a moment -of defeat. At Marathon, too, the heroism of Kynegeirus was shown -precisely at the moment of disaster for the Athenians, who, if they did -succeed in arresting the march of the barbarian army, could not prevent -them from embarking with all the Persian cavalry which had just been -recuperating on the plains. Besides, it is not at all clear that the -Persians made any special effort in this battle.” - -M. Roux deposited his sabre in a corner of the study and sat down in a -chair offered him by the professor. - -“It is now four months,” said he, “since I have heard a single -intelligent word. During these four months I have been concentrating -all the powers of my mind on the task of conciliating my corporal and -my sergeant-major by carefully calculated tips. So far, that is the -only side of the art of warfare that I can really say I have mastered. -It is, however, the most important side. Yet I have in the process -lost all power of grasping a general idea or of following a subtle -thought. And here you are, my dear sir, telling me that the Greeks were -conquered at Marathon and that the Romans were not warlike. My head -whirls.” - -M. Bergeret calmly replied: - -“I merely said that Miltiades did not succeed in breaking through the -forces of the barbarians. As for the Romans, they were not essentially -a military people, since they made profitable and lasting conquests, in -contradistinction to the true military nations, such as the French, for -instance, who seize all, but retain nothing. - -“It is also to be noted that in Rome, in the time of the kings, aliens -were not allowed to serve as soldiers. But in the reign of the good -king Servius Tullius the citizens, being by no means anxious to reserve -to themselves alone the honour of fatigue and perils, admitted aliens -resident in the city to military service. There are such things as -heroes, but there are no nations of heroes, nor are there armies of -heroes. Soldiers have never marched save under penalty of death. -Military service was hateful even to those Latin herdsmen who gained -for Rome the sovereignty of the world and the glorious name of goddess -among the nations. The wearing of the soldier’s belt was to them such -a hardship that the very name of this belt, _ærumna_, eventually -expressed for them the ideas of dejection, weariness of body and mind, -wretchedness, misfortune and disaster. When well led they made, not -heroes, but good soldiers and good navvies; little by little they -conquered the world and covered it with roads and highways. The Romans -never sought glory: they had no imagination. They only waged absolutely -necessary wars in defence of their own interests. Their triumph was -the triumph of patience and good sense. - -“The make of a man is shown by his ruling passion. With soldiers, as -with all crowds, the ruling passion, the predominant thought, is fear. -They go to meet the enemy as the foe from whom the least danger is to -be feared. Troops in line are so drawn up on both sides that flight -is impossible. In that lies all the art of battle. The armies of the -Republic were victorious because the discipline of the olden times -was maintained in them with the utmost severity, while it was relaxed -in the camp of the Allied Armies. Our generals of the second year -after the Revolution were none other than sergeants like that la Ramée -who used to have half a dozen conscripts shot every day in order to -encourage the others, as Voltaire put it, and to arouse them with the -trumpet-note of patriotism.” - -“That’s very plausible,” said M. Roux. “But there is another point. -There is such a thing as the innate joy of firing a musket-shot. As you -know, my dear sir, I am by no means a destructive animal. I have no -taste for military life. I have even very advanced humanitarian ideas, -and I believe that the brotherhood of the nations will be brought about -by the triumph of socialism. In a word, I am filled with the love of -humanity. But as soon as they put a musket in my hand I want to fire at -everyone. It’s in the blood....” - -M. Roux was a fine hearty fellow who had quickly shaken down in his -regiment. Violent exercise suited his robust temperament, and being -in addition very adaptable, although he had acquired no special taste -for the profession, he found life in barracks quite bearable, and so -remained both healthy and happy. - -“You have left the power of suggestion out of your calculations, sir,” -said he. “Only give a man a bayonet at the end of a musket and he will -instantly be ready to plunge it into the body of the first comer and so -make himself a hero, as you call it.” - -The rich southern tones of M. Roux were still echoing through the room -when Madame Bergeret came in. As a rule she seldom entered the study -when her husband was there. To-day M. Bergeret noticed that she wore -her fine pink and white _peignoir_. - -Expressing great surprise at finding M. Roux in the study, she -explained that she had just come in to ask her husband for a volume of -poems with which she might while away an hour or two. - -She was suddenly a charming, good-tempered woman: the professor noticed -the fact, as a fact, though he felt no special interest in it. - -Removing Freund’s Dictionary from an old leather arm-chair, M. Roux -cleared a seat for Madame Bergeret, while her husband’s thoughts -strayed, first to the quartos stacked against the wall and then to his -wife who had taken their place in the arm-chair. These two masses of -matter, the dictionary and the lady, thought he, were once but gases -floating in the primitive nebulosity. Though now they are strangely -different from one another in look, in nature and in function, they -were once for long ages exactly similar. - -“For,” thought he to himself, “Madame Bergeret once swam in the vasty -abyss of the ages, shapeless, unconscious, scattered in light gleams of -oxygen and carbon. At the same time, the molecules that were one day -to make up this Latin dictionary were whirling in this same vapour, -which was destined at last to give birth to monstrous forms, to minute -insects and to a slender thread of thought. These imperfect and often -harassing creations, these monuments of my weary life, my wife and my -dictionary, needed the travail of eternity to produce them. Yet Amélie -is just a paltry mind in a coarsened body, and my dictionary is full of -mistakes. We can see from this example alone that there is very little -hope that even new æons of time would ever give us perfect knowledge -and beauty. As it is, we live but for a moment, yet by living for ever -we should gain nothing. The faults we see in nature, and how faulty she -is we know, are produced neither by time nor space!” - -And in the restless perturbation of his thoughts M. Bergeret continued: - -“But what is time itself, save just the movements of nature, and how -can I judge whether these are long or short? Granted that nature is -cruel in her cast-iron laws, how comes it that I recognise the fact? -And how do I manage to place myself outside her, so that I can weigh -her deeds in my scales? Had I but another standpoint in it, perchance -the universe might even seem to me a happier place.” - -M. Bergeret hereupon suddenly emerged from his day-dream, and leant -forward to push the tottering pile of quartos close against the wall. - -“You are somewhat sunburnt, Monsieur Roux,” said Madame Bergeret, “and -rather thinner, I fancy. But it suits you well enough.” - -“The first few months are trying,” answered M. Roux. “Drill, of course, -in the barrack-yard at six o’clock in the morning and with eight -degrees of frost is rather a painful process, and just at first one -finds it difficult to look on the mess as appetising. But weariness -is, after all, a great blessing, stupefaction a priceless remedy and -the stupor in which one lives is as soporific as a feather-bed. And -because at night one only sleeps in snatches, by day one is never wide -awake. And this state of automatic lethargy in which we all live is -admirably conducive to discipline, it suits the tone of military life -and produces physical and moral efficiency in the ranks.” - -In short, M. Roux had nothing to complain of, but one of his friends, a -certain Deval, a student of Malay at the school of Oriental languages, -was plunged in the depths of misery and despair. Deval, an intelligent, -well-educated, intrepid man, was cursed with a sort of rigidity of mind -and body that made him tactless and awkward. In addition to this he was -harassed by a painfully exact sense of justice which gave him peculiar -views of his rights and duties. This unfortunate turn of mind landed -him in all sorts of troubles, and he had not been more than twenty-four -hours in barracks before Sergeant Lebrec demanded, in terms which must -needs be softened for Madame Bergeret’s sake, what ill-conducted being -had given birth to such a clumsy cub as Number Five. It took Deval a -long time to make sure that he, and none other, was actually Number -Five. He had, in fact, to be put under arrest before he was convinced -on the subject. Even then he could not see why the honour of Madame -Deval, his mother, should be called in question because he himself was -not exactly in line. His sense of justice was outraged by his mother’s -being unexpectedly declared responsible in this matter, and at the end -of four months he was still a prey to melancholy amazement at the idea. - -“Your friend Deval,” answered M. Bergeret, “put a wrong construction on -a warlike speech that I should be inclined to count among those which -exalt men’s moral tone. Such speeches, in fact, arouse the spirit of -emulation by exciting a desire to earn the good-conduct stripes, which -confer on their wearers the right to make similar speeches in their -turn, speeches which obviously stamp the speaker of them as head and -shoulders above those humble beings to whom they are addressed. The -authority of officers in the army should never be weakened, as was done -in a recent circular issued by a War Minister, which laid down the law -that officers and non-commissioned officers were to avoid the practice -of addressing the men with the contemptuous ‘thou.’ The minister, -himself a well-bred, courteous, urbane and honourable man, was full of -the idea of the dignified position of the citizen soldier and failed, -therefore, to perceive that the power of scorning an inferior is -the guiding principle in emulation and the foundation-stone of all -governance. Sergeant Lebrec spoke like a hero who is schooling heroes, -for, being a philologist, I am able to reconstruct the original form -his speech took. This being the case, I have no hesitation in declaring -that, in my opinion, Sergeant Lebrec rose to sublimity when he -associated the good fame of a family with the port of a conscript, when -he thus linked the life of Number Five, even before he saw the light, -with the regiment and the flag. For, in truth, does not the issue of -all warfare rest on the discipline of the recruit? - -“After this, you will probably tell me that I am indulging in the -weakness common to all commentators and reading into the text of my -author meanings which he never intended. I grant you that there is -a certain element of unconsciousness in Sergeant Lebrec’s memorable -speech. But therein lies the genius of it. Unaware of his own range, he -hurls his bolts broadcast.” - -M. Roux answered with a smile that there certainly was an unconscious -element in Sergeant Lebrec’s inspiration. He quite agreed with M. -Bergeret there. But Madame Bergeret interposed drily: - -“I don’t understand you at all, Lucien. You always laugh when there is -nothing funny, and really one never knows whether you are joking or -serious. It’s positively impossible to talk rationally to you.” - -“My wife reasons after the dean’s fashion,” said M. Bergeret, “and the -only thing to do with either is to give in.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Madame Bergeret, “you do well to talk about the dean! -You have always set yourself to annoy him and now you are paying for -your folly. You have also managed to fall out with the rector. I met -him on Sunday when I was out with the girls and he hardly so much as -bowed.” And turning towards the young soldier, she continued: - -“I know that my husband is very much attached to you, Monsieur Roux. -You are his favourite pupil and he foretells a brilliant future for -you.” - -M. Roux’s swarthy face, with its mat of frizzy hair, flashed into a -bold smile that showed the brilliant whiteness of his teeth. - -“Do try, Monsieur Roux, to get my husband to use a little tact with -people who may be useful to him. His conduct is making life a howling -wilderness for us all.” - -“Surely not, Madame,” murmured M. Roux, turning the conversation. - -“The peasants,” said he, “drag out a wretched three years of service. -They suffer horribly, but no one ever guesses it, for they are -quite inarticulate when it comes to expressing subtleties. Loving -the land as they do with all the intensity of animal passion, when -they are separated from it their existence is full of deep, silent, -monotonous melancholy, with nothing whatever to distract them from -their sense of exile and imprisonment, save fear of their officers and -weariness of their occupation. Everything around them is strange and -incomprehensible. In my company, for instance, there are two Bretons -who have not learnt the colonel’s name after six months’ training. -Every morning we are drawn up before the sergeant to repeat this name -with them, for every one in the regiment receives exactly the same -instruction. Our colonel’s name is Dupont. It’s the same in all our -exercises: quick, clever men are kept back for ever to wait for the -dolts.” - -M. Bergeret inquired whether, like Sergeant Lebrec, the officers also -cultivated the art of martial eloquence. - -“Not at all,” said M. Roux. “My captain—quite a young man he is, -too—is the very pink of courtesy. He is an æsthete, a Rosicrucian, and -he paints pictures of angels and pallid virgins, against a background -of pink and green skies. I devise the legends for his pictures, and -whilst Deval is on fatigue-duty in the barrack-square, I am on duty -with the captain, who employs me to produce verses for him. He really -is a charming fellow. His name is Marcel de Lagère; he exhibits at -L’Œuvre under the pseudonym of Cyne.” - -“Is he a hero too?” asked M. Bergeret. - -“Say rather a Saint George,” answered M. Roux. “He has conceived a -mystic ideal of the military profession and declares that it is the -perfect way of life. We are marching, unawares, to an unknown goal. -Piously, solemnly, chastely, we advance towards the altar of mystic, -fated sacrifice. He is exquisite. I am teaching him to write _vers -libre_ and prose poems and he is beginning to compose prose sketches of -military life. He is happy, placid and gentle, and the only sorrow he -has is the flag. He considers its red, white and blue an intolerably -violent colour scheme and yearns for one of rose-pink or lilac. His -dreams are of the banner of Heaven. ‘If even,’ he says sadly, ‘the -three colours rose from a flower-stalk, like the three flames of the -oriflamme, it would be bearable. But when they are perpendicular, they -cut the floating folds painfully and ridiculously.’ He suffers, but he -bears his suffering bravely and patiently. As I said before, he is a -true Saint George.” - -“From your description,” said Madame Bergeret, “I feel keenly for -the poor young man.” So speaking, she threw a severe glance in M. -Bergeret’s direction. - -“But aren’t the other officers amazed at him?” asked M. Bergeret. - -“Not at all,” answered M. Roux. “For at mess, or in society, he says -nothing about his opinions and he looks just like any other officer.” - -“And what do the men think of him?” - -“The men never come in contact with their officers in quarters.” - -“You will dine with us, won’t you, Monsieur Roux?” said Madame -Bergeret. “It will give us great pleasure if you will stay.” - -Her words instantly suggested to M. Bergeret’s mind the vision of a -pie, for whenever Madame Bergeret had informally invited anyone to -dinner she always ordered a pie from Magloire, the pastry-cook, and -usually a pie without meat, as being more dainty. By a purely mental -impetus that had no connection with greed, M. Bergeret now called up -a picture of an egg or fish pie, smoking in a blue-patterned dish on -a damask napkin. Homely and prophetic vision! But if Madame Bergeret -invited M. Roux to dinner, she must think a great deal of him, for -it was most unusual for Amélie to offer the pleasures of her humble -table to a stranger. She dreaded the expense and fuss of doing so, and -justly, for the days when she had a guest to dinner were made hideous -by the noise of broken dishes, by yells of alarm and tears of rage -from the young maid, Euphémie, by an acrid smoke-reek that filled the -whole flat and by a smell of cooking which found its way to the study -and disturbed M. Bergeret among the shades of Æneas, Turnus, and the -bashful Lavinia. However, the professor was delighted at the idea that -his pupil, M. Roux, would feed to-night at his table. For there was -nothing he liked better than men’s talk, and a long discussion filled -him with joy. - -Madame Bergeret continued: - -“You know, Monsieur Roux, it will be just pot-luck.” - -Then she departed to give Euphémie her orders. - -“My dear sir,” said M. Bergeret to his pupil, “are you still asserting -the pre-eminence of _vers libre_? Of course, I am aware that poetic -forms vary according to time and place. Nor am I ignorant of the fact -that, in the course of ages, French verse has undergone incessant -alterations, and, hidden behind my books of notes on metre, I can smile -discreetly at the pious prejudices of the poets who refuse to allow -anyone to lay an unhallowed finger on the instrument consecrated by -their genius. I have noticed that they give no reasons for the rules -they follow, and I am inclined to think that one must not search for -these reasons in the verse itself, but rather in the music which in -primitive times accompanied it. It is the scientific spirit which I -acknowledge as my guide, and as that is naturally far less conservative -than the artistic spirit, I am therefore ready to welcome innovations. -But I must, nevertheless, confess that _vers libre_ baffles me and I -cannot even grasp the definition of it. The vagueness of the limits to -which it must conform is a worry to me and ...” - -At that moment a visitor came into the study. It was a well-built -man in the prime of life, with handsome sunburnt features. Captain -Aspertini of Naples was a student of philology and agriculture and a -member of the Italian Parliament who for the last ten years had been -carrying on a learned correspondence with M. Bergeret, after the style -of the great scholars of the Renaissance and the seventeenth century, -and whenever he visited France he made it his practice to come and -see his correspondent. Savants the world over held a high opinion of -Carlo Aspertini for having deciphered a complete treatise by Epicurus -on one of the charred scrolls from Pompeii. Although his energies -were now absorbed in agriculture, politics and business, he was still -passionately devoted to the art of numismatics and his sensitive hands -still itched to have the fingering of medals. Indeed, there were two -attractions which drew him to * * *—the pleasure of seeing M. Bergeret -and the delight of looking once more at the priceless collection of -ancient coins bequeathed to the town library by Boucher de La Salle. -He also came to collate the letters of Muratori which were preserved -there. The two men greeted each other with great pleasure, for a -common love of knowledge had made them fellow-citizens. Then, when the -Neapolitan perceived that they had a soldier with them in the study, M. -Bergeret hastened to inform him that this Gallic warrior was a budding -philologist, inspired by enthusiasm for the Latin tongue. - -“This year, however,” said M. Bergeret, “he is learning in a -barrack-square to put one foot before the other, and in him you see -what our witty commandant, General Cartier de Chalmot, calls the -primary tool of tactics, commonly known as a soldier. My pupil, M. -Roux, is a warrior, and having a high-bred soul, he feels the honour -of the position. Truth to tell, it is an honour which he shares at -this identical moment with all the young men of haughty Europe. Your -Neapolitans, too, rejoice in it, since they became part of a great -nation.” - -“Without wishing in any way to show disloyalty to the house of Savoy, -to which I am genuinely attached,” said the captain, “I feel that -military service and taxation weigh so heavily on the Neapolitans as -to make them sometimes regret the happy days of King Bomba and the -pleasure of living ingloriously under an easy-going government. Neither -tax nor conscription is popular with the Neapolitan. What is wanted -is that statesmen should really open their eyes to the necessities of -national life. But, as you know, I have always been an opponent of -megalomaniac politics and have always deplored those great armaments -which hinder all progress in Europe, whether it be intellectual, moral, -or material. It is a great, a ruinous folly which can only culminate in -farce.” - -“I foresee no end to it at all,” replied M. Bergeret. “No one wishes -it to end save certain thinkers who have no means of making their -ideas known. The rulers of states cannot desire disarmament, for such -a movement would render their position difficult and precarious and -would take an admirable tool of empire out of their hands. For armed -nations meekly submit to government. Military discipline shapes them to -obedience, and in a nation so disciplined, neither insurrections, nor -riots, nor tumults of any kind need be feared. When military service is -obligatory upon all, when all the citizens either are, or have been, -soldiers, then all the forces of social life are so calculated as to -support power, or even the lack of it. This fact the history of France -can prove.” - -Just as M. Bergeret reached this point in his political reflections, -from the kitchen close by there burst out the noise of grease pouring -over on the fire; from this the professor inferred that the youthful -Euphémie, according to her usual practice on gala days, had upset her -saucepan on the stove, after rashly balancing it on a pyramid of coal. -He had learnt by now that such an event must recur again and again -with the inexorable certainty of the laws that govern the universe. A -shocking smell of burnt meat filled the study, while M. Bergeret traced -the course of his ideas as follows: - -“Had not Europe,” said he, “been turned into a barrack, we should have -seen insurrections bursting out in France, Germany, or Italy, as they -did in former times. But nowadays those obscure forces which from time -to time uplift the very pavements of our city find regular vent in -the fatigue duty of barrack-yards, in the grooming of horses and the -sentiment of patriotism. - -“The rank of corporal supplies an admirable outlet for the energies -of young heroes who, had they been left in freedom, would have been -building barricades to keep their arms lissom. I have only this moment -been told of the sublime speeches made by a certain Sergeant Lebrec. -Were he dressed in the peasant’s blouse this hero would be thirsting -for liberty, but clad in a uniform, it is tyranny for which he yearns, -and to help in the maintenance of order the thing for which he craves. -In armed nations it is easy enough to preserve internal peace, and you -will notice that, although in the course of the last twenty-five years, -Paris has been a little agitated on one occasion, it was only when the -commotion was the work of a War Minister. That is, a general was able -to do what a demagogue could not have done. And the moment this general -lost his hold on the army, he also lost it on the nation, and his power -was gone. Therefore, whether the State be a monarchy, an empire, or a -republic, its rulers have an interest in keeping up obligatory military -service for all, in order that they may command an army, instead of -governing a nation. - -“And, while the rulers have no desire for disarmament, the people have -lost all wish for it, too. The masses endure military service quite -willingly, for, without being exactly pleasurable, it gives an outlet -to the rough, crude instincts of the majority and presents itself as -the simplest, roughest and strongest expression of their sense of duty. -It overawes them by the gorgeous splendour of its outward paraphernalia -and by the amount of metal used in it. In short, it exalts them -through the only ideals of power, of grandeur and of glory, which -they are capable of conceiving. Often they rush into it with a song; -if not, they are perforce driven to it. For these reasons I foresee -no termination to this honourable calling which is brutalising and -impoverishing Europe.” - -“There are,” said Captain Aspertini, “two ways out of it: war and -bankruptcy.” - -“War!” exclaimed M. Bergeret. “It is patent that great armaments only -hinder that by aggravating the horrors of it and rendering it of -doubtful issue for both combatants. As for bankruptcy, I foretold it -the other day to Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of our high seminary, as -we sat on a bench on the Mall. But you need not pin your faith on me. -You have studied the history of the Lower Empire too deeply, my dear -Aspertini, not to be perfectly aware that, in questions of national -finance, there are mysterious resources which escape the scrutiny of -political economists. A ruined nation may exist for five hundred years -on robbery and extortion, and how is one to guess what a great people, -out of its poverty, will manage to supply to its defenders in the way -of cannon, muskets, bad bread, bad shoes, straw and oats?” - -“This argument sounds plausible enough,” answered Aspertini. “Yet, with -all due deference to your opinion, I believe I can already discern the -dawn of universal peace.” - -Then, in a sing-song voice, the kindly Neapolitan began to describe -his hopes and dreams for the future, to the accompaniment of the heavy -thumping of the chopper with which the youthful Euphémie was preparing -a mince for M. Roux on the kitchen table just the other side of the -wall. - -“Do you remember, Monsieur Bergeret,” said Captain Aspertini, “the -place in _Don Quixote_ where Sancho complains of being obliged to -endure a never-ending series of misfortunes and the ready-witted knight -tells him that this protracted wretchedness is merely a sign that -happiness is at hand? ‘For,’ says he, ‘fortune is a fickle jade and our -troubles have already lasted so long that they must soon give place to -good-luck.’ The law of change alone....” - -The rest of these optimistic utterances was lost in the boiling over of -the kettle of water, followed by the unearthly yells of Euphémie, as -she fled in terror from her stove. - -Then M. Bergeret’s mind, saddened by the sordid ugliness of his cramped -life, fell to dreaming of a villa where, on white terraces overlooking -the blue waters of a lake, he might hold peaceful converse with M. Roux -and Captain Aspertini, amid the scent of myrtles, when the amorous moon -rides high in a sky as clear as the glance of a god and as sweet as -the breath of a goddess. - -But he soon emerged from this dream and began once more to take part in -the discussion. - -“The results of war,” said he, “are quite incalculable. My good -friend William Harrison writes to me that French scholarship has been -despised in England since 1871, and that at the Universities of Oxford, -Cambridge and Dublin it is the fashion to ignore Maurice Raynouard’s -text-book of archæology, though it would be more helpful to their -students than any other similar work. But they refuse to learn from the -vanquished. And in order that they may feel confidence in a professor -when he speaks on the characteristics of the art of Ægina or on the -origins of Greek pottery, it is considered necessary that he should -belong to a nation which excels in the casting of cannon. Because -Marshal Mac-Mahon was beaten in 1870 at Sedan and General Chanzy lost -his army at the Maine in the same year, my colleague Maurice Raynouard -is banished from Oxford in 1897. Such are the results of military -inferiority, slow-moving and illogical, yet sure in their effects. And -it is, alas, only too true that the fate of the Muses is settled by a -sword-thrust.” - -“My dear sir,” said Aspertini, “I am going to answer you with all -the frankness permissible in a friend. Let us first grant that French -thought circulates freely through the world, as it has always done. And -although the archæological manual of your learned countryman Maurice -Raynouard may not have found a place on the desks of the English -Universities, yet your plays are acted in all the theatres of the -world; the novels of Alphonse Daudet and of Émile Zola are translated -into every language; the canvases of your painters adorn the galleries -of two worlds; the achievements of your scientists win renown in -every quarter of the globe. And if your soul no longer thrills the -soul of the nations, if your voice no longer quickens the heart-beats -of mankind, it is because you no longer choose to play the part of -apostles of brotherhood and justice, it is because you no longer utter -the holy words that bring strength and consolation; it is because -France is no longer the lover of the human race, the comrade of the -nations; it is because she no longer opens her hands to fling broadcast -those seeds of liberty which once she scattered in such generous and -sovereign fashion that for long years it seemed that every beautiful -human idea was a French idea; it is because she is no longer the France -of the philosophers and of the Revolution: in the garrets round the -Panthéon and the Luxembourg there are no longer to be found young -leaders, writing on deal tables night after night, with all the fire of -youth, those pages which make the nations tremble and the despots grow -pale with fear. Do not then complain that the glory which you cannot -view without misgivings has passed away. - -“Especially, do not say that your defeats are the sources of your -misfortunes: say, rather, that they are the outcome of your faults. -A nation suffers no more injury from a battle lost than a robust man -suffers from a sword-scratch received in a duel. It is an injury that -only produces a transient illness in the system, a perfectly curable -weakness. To cure it, all that is needed is a little courage, skill and -political good sense. The first act of policy, the most necessary and -certainly the easiest, is to make the defeat yield all the military -glory it is capable of producing. For in the true view of things, the -glory of the vanquished equals that of the conquerors, and it is, in -addition, the more moving spectacle. In order to make the best of a -disaster it is desirable to fête the general and the army which has -sustained it, and to blazon abroad all the beautiful incidents which -prove the moral superiority of misfortune. Such incidents are to be -found even in the most headlong retreats. From the very first moment, -then, the defeated side ought to decorate, to embellish, to gild their -defeat, and to distinguish it with unmistakably grand and beautiful -symbols. In Livy it may be read how the Romans never failed to do -this, and how they hung palms and wreaths on the swords broken at the -battles of the Trebbia, of Trasimene and of Cannæ. Even the disastrous -inaction of Fabius has been so extolled by them that, after the lapse -of twenty-two centuries, we still stand amazed at the wisdom of the -Cunctator, the Lingerer, as he was nicknamed. Yet, after all, he was -nothing but an old fool. In this lies the great art of defeat.” - -“It is by no means a lost art,” said M. Bergeret. “In our own days -Italy showed that she knew how to practise it after Novara, after -Lissa, after Adowa.” - -“My dear sir,” said Captain Aspertini, “whenever an Italian army -capitulates, we rightly reckon this capitulation glorious. A government -which succeeds in throwing a glamour of poetry over a defeat rouses -the spirit of patriotism within the country and at the same time makes -itself interesting in the eyes of foreigners. And to bring about these -two results is a fairly considerable achievement. In the year 1870 it -rested entirely with you Frenchmen to produce them for yourselves. -After Sedan, had the Senate, the Chamber of Deputies, and all the -State officials publicly and unanimously congratulated the Emperor -Napoleon and Marshal Mac-Mahon on not having despaired of the salvation -of their country when they gave battle to the enemy, do you not think -that France would have gained a radiant halo of glory from the defeat -of its army? At the same time it would have given forcible expression -of its will to conquer. And pray believe, dear Monsieur Bergeret, that -I am not impertinent enough to be trying to give your country lessons -in patriotism. In doing that, I should be putting myself in a wrong -position. I am merely presenting you with some of the marginal notes -that will be found, after my death, pencilled in my copy of Livy.” - -“It is not the first time,” said M. Bergeret, “that the commentary on -the Decades has been worth more than the text. But go on.” - -With a smile Captain Aspertini once more took up the thread of his -argument. - -“The wisest thing for the country to do is to cast huge handfuls of -lilies over the wounds of war. Then, skilfully and silently, with -a swift glance, she will examine the wound. If the blow has been -a knock-down one, and if the strength of the country is seriously -impaired, she will instantly start negotiating. In treating with the -victorious side, it will be found that the earliest moment is the -most propitious. In the first surprise of triumph, the enemy welcomes -with joy any proposal which tends to turn a favourable beginning into -a definite advantage. He has not yet had time for repeated successes -to go to his head, nor for long-continued resistance to drive him to -rage. He will not demand huge damages for an injury that is still -trifling, nor, as yet, have his budding aspirations had time to grow. -It is possible that even under these circumstances he may not grant -you peace on easy terms. But you are sure to have to pay dearer for -it, if you delay in applying for it. The wisest policy is to open -negotiations before one has revealed all one’s weakness. It is possible -then to obtain easy terms, which are usually rendered easier still by -the intervention of neutral powers. As for seeking safety in despair -and only making peace after a victory, these ideas are doubtless fine -enough as maxims, but very difficult to carry out at a time when, for -one thing, the industrial and commercial needs of modern life, and -for another, the immense size of the armies which have to be equipped -and fed, do not permit an indefinite continuance of warfare, and -consequently do not leave the weaker side enough time to straighten out -its affairs. France in 1870 was inspired by the noblest of sentiments, -but if she had acted in accordance with reason, she would have started -negotiations immediately after her first reverses, honourable as they -were. She had a government which could have undertaken the task, and -which ought to have done so, a government which was, indeed, in a -better position for bringing it to a successful issue than any that -might follow. The sensible thing to have done would have been to -exact this last service from it before getting rid of it altogether. -Instead, they acted the wrong way about. After having maintained that -government for twenty years, France conceived the ill-considered notion -of overturning it just at the very moment when it ought to have been -useful to her, and of substituting another government for it. This -administration, not being jointly liable with the former one, had to -begin the war over again, without, however, bringing any new strength -to its prosecution. After that a third government tried to establish -itself. - -“If it had succeeded, the war would have begun again a third time, -because the first two unfortunate attempts did not count. Honour, say -you, must be satisfied. But you had given satisfaction with your blood -to two honours: the honour of the Empire, as well as of the Republic; -you were also ready to satisfy a third, the honour of the Commune. Yet -it seems to me that even the proudest nation in the world has but one -honour to satisfy. You were thrown by this excess of generosity into a -state of great weakness from which you are now happily recovering....” - -“In fact,” said M. Bergeret, “if Italy had been beaten at Weissenburg -and at Reichshoffen, these defeats would have been as valuable to her -as the whole of Belgium. But we are a people of heroes, who always -fancy that we have been betrayed. That sums up our history. Take note -also of the fact that we are a democracy; and that is the state in -which negotiations present most difficulties. Nobody can, however, -deny that we made a long and courageous stand. Moreover, we have a -reputation for magnanimity, and I believe we deserve it. Anyhow, the -feats of the human race have always been but melancholy farces, and the -historians who pretend to discover any sequence in the flow of events -are merely great rhetoricians. Bossuet...” - -Just as M. Bergeret was uttering this name the study door opened with -such a crash that the wicker-work woman was upheaved by it and fell at -the feet of the astonished young soldier. Then there appeared in the -doorway a ruddy, squint-eyed wench, with no forehead worth mentioning. -Her sturdy ugliness shone with the glow of youth and health. Her round -cheeks and bare arms were a fine military red. Planting herself in -front of M. Bergeret, she brandished the coal-shovel and shouted: - -“I’m off!” - -Euphémie, having quarrelled with Madame Bergeret, was now giving -notice. She repeated: - -“I’m going off home!” - -Said M. Bergeret: - -“Then go quietly, my child.” - -Again and again she shouted: - -“I’m off! Madame wants to turn me into a regular beast of burden.” - -Then, lowering her shovel, she added in lower tones: - -“Besides, things are always happening here that I would rather not see.” - -Without attempting to unravel the mystery of these words, M. Bergeret -merely remarked that he would not delay her, and that she could go. - -“Well, then, give me my wages.” - -“Leave the room,” answered M. Bergeret. “Don’t you see that I have -something to do besides settling with you? Go and wait elsewhere.” - -But Euphémie, once more waving the dull, heavy shovel, yelled: - -“Give me my money! My wages! I want my wages!” - - - - -II - - -At six o’clock in the evening Abbé Guitrel got out of the train in -Paris and called a cab in the station-yard. Then, driving in the dusk -through the murky, rain-swept streets, dotted with lights, he made -for Number 5, Rue des Boulangers. There, in a narrow, rugged, hilly -street, above the coopers and the cork-dealers, and amidst a smell of -casks, lived his old friend Abbé Le Génil, chaplain to the Convent of -the Seven Wounds, who was a popular Lenten preacher in one of the most -fashionable parishes in Paris. Here Abbé Guitrel was in the habit of -putting up, whenever he visited Paris in the hope of expediting the -progress of his tardy fortunes. All day long the soles of his buckled -shoes tapped discreetly upon the pavements, staircases and floors of -all sorts of different houses. In the evening he supped with M. Le -Génil. The two old comrades from the seminary spun each other merry -yarns, chatted over the rates charged for mass and sermon, and played -their game of manille. At ten o’clock Nanette, the maid, rolled into -the dining-room an iron bedstead for M. Guitrel, who always gave her -when he left the same tip—a brand-new twenty-sou piece. - -On this occasion, as in the past, M. Le Génil, who was a tall, stout -man, smacked his great hand down on Guitrel’s flinching shoulder, and -rumbling out a good-day in his deep organ note, instantly challenged -him in his usual jolly style: - -“Well, old miser, have you brought me twelve dozen masses at a crown -each, or are you, as usual, going to keep to yourself the gold that -your pious provincials swamp you with?” - -Being a poor man, and knowing that Guitrel was as poor as himself, he -regarded this sort of talk as a good jest. - -Guitrel went so far as to understand a joke, though, being of a gloomy -temperament, he never jested himself. He had, he explained, been -obliged to come to Paris to carry out several commissions with which -he had been charged, more especially the purchase of books. Would his -friend, then, put him up for a day or two, three at the most? - -“Now do tell the truth for once in your life!” answered M. Le Génil. -“You have just come up to smell out a mitre, you old fox! To-morrow -morning you will be showing yourself to the nuncio with a sanctimonious -expression. Guitrel, you are going to be a bishop!” - -Hereupon the chaplain of the Convent of the Seven Wounds, the preacher -at the church of Sainte-Louise, made a bow to the future bishop. -Mingled with his ironic courtesy there was, perhaps, a certain strain -of instinctive deference. Then once more his face fell into the harsh -lines that revealed the temperament of a second Olivier Maillard.[1] - - [1] An eccentric priest of the fifteenth century. His sermons - were full of denunciations against his enemies. He once - attacked Louis XI, who threatened to throw him into the - Seine. Maillard replied: “The King is master, but tell - him that I shall get to heaven by water sooner than he - will by his post-horses.” - -“Come in, then! Will you take some refreshment?” - -M. Guitrel was a reserved man, whose compressed lips showed his -determination not to be pumped. As a matter of fact, it was quite true -that he had come up to enlist powerful influence in support of his -candidature, but he had no wish to explain all his wily courses to this -naturally frank friend of his. For M. Le Génil made, not only a virtue -of his natural frankness, but even a policy. - -M. Guitrel stammered: - -“Don’t imagine ... dismiss this notion that ...” - -M. Le Génil shrugged his shoulders, exclaiming, “You old -mystery-monger!” - -Then, conducting his friend to his bedroom, he sat down once more -beneath the light of his lamp and resumed his interrupted task, which -was that of mending his breeches. - -M. Le Génil, popular preacher as he was both in Paris and Versailles, -did his own mending, partly to save his old servant the trouble and -partly because he was fond of handling a needle, a taste he had -acquired during the years of grinding poverty that he had endured when -he first entered the Church. And now this giant with lungs of brass, -who fulminated against atheists from the elevation of a pulpit, was -meekly sitting on a rush-bottomed chair, occupied in drawing a needle -in and out with his huge red hands. In the midst of his task he raised -his head and glancing shyly towards Guitrel with his big, kindly eyes, -exclaimed: - -“We’ll have a game of manille to-night, you old trickster.” - -But Guitrel, hesitating, yet firm, stammered out that he would be -obliged to go out after dinner. He was full of plans, and after pushing -on the preparations for a meal, he gobbled down his food, to the great -disgust of his host, who was not only a great eater, but a great -talker. He refused to wait for dessert, but, retiring to another room, -shut himself in, drew a layman’s suit from his portmanteau and put it -on. - -When he appeared again, his friend saw that he was dressed in a long, -severe, black frock-coat, which seemed to have the drollery of a -disguise. With his head crowned by a rusty opera-hat of prodigious -height, he hastily gulped down his coffee, mumbled a grace and slipped -out. Leaning over the stair-rail, Abbé Le Génil shouted to him: - -“Don’t ring when you come in, or you’ll wake Nanette. You’ll find the -key under the mat. One moment, Guitrel, I know where you’re going. You -old Quintilian, you, you’re just going to take an elocution lesson.” - -Through the damp fog, Abbé Guitrel followed the quays along by -the river, passed the bridge of Saint-Pères, crossed the Place du -Carrousel, unnoticed by the indifferent passers-by, who scarcely took -the trouble even to glance at his huge hat. Finally he halted under the -Tuscan porch of the Comédie-Française. He carefully read the playbill -in order to make sure that the arrangements had not been changed, and -that _Andromaque_ and the _Malade Imaginaire_ would be presented. Then -he asked at the second pay-box for a pit ticket. - -The narrow seats behind the empty stalls were already almost filled -when he sat down and opened an old newspaper, not to read, but to keep -himself in countenance, while he listened to the talk going on around -him. He had a quick ear, and it was always by the ear that he observed, -just as M. Worms-Clavelin listened with his mouth. His neighbours were -shop-hands and artists’ assistants who had obtained seats through -friendship with a scene-shifter or a dresser. It is a little world of -simple-minded folk, keenly bent on sight-seeing, very well satisfied -with themselves, and busied with bets and bicycles. The younger members -are peaceful enough in reality, although they assume a jaunty military -air, being automatically democratic and republican, but conservative -in their jokes about the President of the Republic. As Abbé Guitrel -caught the words that flew hither and thither all round him, words -which revealed this frame of mind, he thought of the fancies cherished -by Abbé Lantaigne, who still dreamt, in his hermit-like seclusion, -of bringing such a class as this back to obedience to monarchy and -priestcraft. Behind his paper Abbé Guitrel chuckled at the idea. - -“These Parisians,” thought he, “are the most adaptable people in the -world. To the provincial mind they are quite incomprehensible, but -would to God that the republicans and freethinkers of the diocese of -Tourcoing were cut out on the same model! But the spirit of Northern -France is as bitter as the wild hops of its plains. And in my diocese -I shall find myself placed with violent Socialists on one side and -fervid Catholics on the other.” - -He foresaw the trials that awaited him in the see once held by the -blessed Loup, and so far was he from shrinking at the contemplation of -them, that he invoked them on himself, with an accompaniment of such -loud sighs that his neighbour looked at him to see if he were ill. -Thus Abbé Guitrel’s head seethed with fancies of his bishopric amid -the murmur of frivolous chatter, the banging of doors and the restless -movements of the work-girls. - -But when at the signal the curtain slowly rose, he instantly became -absorbed in the play. It was the delivery and the gestures of the -actors on which his attention was riveted. He studied the notes of -their voices, their gait, the play of their features, with all the -intent interest of an experienced preacher who would fain learn the -secret of noble gesture and pathetic intonation. Whenever a long speech -echoed through the theatre, he redoubled his attention and only longed -to be listening to Corneille, whose speeches are longer, who is more -fond of oratorical effects and more skilful in emphasising the separate -points of a speech. - -At the moment when the actor who played Orestes was reciting the great -classic harangue “_Avant que tous les Grecs ..._” the professor of -sacred elocution set himself to store up in his mind every attitude and -intonation. Abbé Le Génil knew his old friend well; he was perfectly -aware that the crafty preacher was in the habit of going to the theatre -to learn the tricks of oratory. - -To the actresses M. Guitrel paid far less attention. He held women -in contempt, which fact by no means implies that his thoughts had -always been chaste. Priest as he was, he had in his time known the -promptings of the flesh. Heaven only knows how often he had dodged, -evaded or transgressed the seventh commandment! And one had better ask -no questions as to the kind of women who also knew this about him. _Si -iniquitates observaveris, Domine, Domine quis sustinebit?_ But he was -a priest, and had the priestly horror of the woman’s body. Even the -perfume of long hair was abhorrent to him, and when his neighbour, a -young shop-assistant, began to extol the beautiful arms of a famous -actress, he replied by a contemptuous sneer that was by no means -hypocritical. - -However, he remained full of interest right up to the final fall of -the curtain, as he saw himself in fancy transferring the passion of -Orestes, as rendered by an expert interpreter, into some sermon on -the torments of the damned or the miserable end of the sinner. He was -troubled by a provincial accent which spoilt his delivery, and between -the acts he sat busily trying to correct it in his mind, modelling -his correction on what he had just heard. “The voice of a bishop of -Tourcoing,” thought he, “ought not to savour of the roughness of the -cheap wines of our hills of the Midlands.” - -He was immensely tickled by the play of Molière with which the -performance concluded. Incapable of seeing the humorous side of things -for himself, he was very pleased when anyone else pointed them out to -him. An absurd physical mishap filled him with infinite joy and he -laughed heartily at the grosser scenes. - -In the middle of the last act he drew a roll of bread from his pocket -and swallowed it morsel by morsel, keeping his hand over his mouth as -he ate, and watching carefully lest he should be caught in this light -repast by the stroke of midnight; for next morning he was to say Mass -in the chapel of the Convent of the Seven Wounds. - -He returned home after the play by way of the deserted quays, which he -crossed with his short, tapping steps. The hollow moan of the river -alone filled the silence, as M. Guitrel walked along through the midst -of a reddish fog which doubled the size of everything and made his hat -look an absurd height in the dimness. As he stole by, close to the -dripping walls of the ancient Hôtel-Dieu, a bare-headed woman came -limping forward to meet him. She was a fat, ugly creature, no longer -young, and her white chemise barely covered her bosom. Coming abreast -of him, she seized the tail of his coat and made proposals to him. Then -suddenly, even before he had time to free himself, she rushed away, -crying: - -“A priest! What ill luck! Plague take it! What misfortune is coming to -me?” - -M. Guitrel was aware that some ignorant women still cherish the -superstition that it is unlucky to meet a priest; but he was surprised -that this woman should have recognised his profession even in the dress -of a layman. - -“That’s the penalty of the unfrocked,” thought he. “The priest, which -still lives in him, will always peep out. _Tu es sacerdos in æternum_, -Guitrel.” - - - - -III - - -Blown by the north wind over the hard, white ground along with a -whirl of dead leaves, M. Bergeret crossed the Mall between the -leafless elms and began to climb Duroc Hill. His footsteps echoed -on the uneven pavements as he walked towards the louring, smoky sky -which painted a barrier of violet across the horizon; to the right he -left the farrier’s forge and the front of a dairy decorated with a -picture of two red cows, to the left stretched the long, low walls of -market-gardens. He had that morning prepared his tenth and last lesson -on the eighth book of the _Æneid_, and now he was mechanically turning -over in his mind the points in metre and grammar which had particularly -caught his notice. Guiding the rhythm of his thoughts by the beat of -his footsteps, at regular intervals he repeated to himself the rhythmic -words: _Patrio vocat agmina sistro_.... But every now and then his -keen, versatile mind flitted away to critical appreciation of a wider -range. The martial rhetoric of this eighth book annoyed him, and it -seemed to him absurd that Venus should give Æneas a shield embossed -with pictures of the scenes of Roman history up to the battle of Actium -and the flight of Cleopatra. _Patrio vocat agmina sistro._ Having -reached the cross-roads at the Bergères, which give toward Duroc Hill, -he paused for a moment before the wine-coloured front of Maillard’s -tavern, now damp, deserted and shuttered. Here the thought occurred -to him that these Romans, although he had devoted his whole life to -the study of them, were, after all, but terrors of pomposity and -mediocrity. As he grew older and his taste became more mellowed, there -was scarcely one of them that he prized, save Catullus and Petronius. -But, after all, it was his business to make the best of the lot to -which fate had called him. _Patrio vocat agmina sistro._ Would Virgil -and Propertius try to make one believe, said he to himself, that the -timbrel, whose shrill sound accompanied the frenzied religious dances -of the priests, was also the instrument of the Egyptian soldiers and -sailors? It was really incredible. - -As he descended the street of the Bergères, on the side opposite Duroc -Hill, he suddenly noticed the mildness of the air. Just here the road -winds downward between walls of limestone, where the roots of tiny -oak-trees find a difficult foothold. Here M. Bergeret was sheltered -from the wind, and in the eye of the December sun which filtered down -on him in a half-hearted, rayless fashion, he still murmured, but more -softly: _Patrio vocat agmina sistro_. Doubtless Cleopatra had fled from -Actium to Egypt, but still it was through the fleet of Octavius and -Agrippa which tried to stop her passage. - -Allured by the sweetness of air and sun, M. Bergeret sat down by the -side of the road, on one of the blocks which had been quarried out of -the mountain years ago, and which were now covered with a coating of -black moss. Through the delicate tracery of the branches overhead he -noticed the lilac hue of the sky, streaked here and there with smoke -trails. Thus to plunge in lonely reverie filled his soul with peaceful -sadness. - -In attacking Agrippa’s galleys which blocked their way, he reflected, -Antony and Cleopatra had but one object, and that was to clear a -passage. It was this precise feat that Cleopatra, who raised the -blockade of her sixty ships, succeeded in accomplishing. Seated in the -cutting, M. Bergeret enjoyed the harmless elation of settling the fate -of the world on the far-famed waves of Acarnania. Then, as he happened -to throw a glance three paces in front of him, he caught sight of an -old man who was sitting on a heap of dead leaves on the other side of -the road and leaning against the grey wall. It was scarcely possible -to distinguish between this wild figure and its surroundings, for his -face, his beard and his rags were exactly the colour of the stones -and the leaves. He was slowly scraping a piece of wood with an old -knife-blade ground thin on the millstone of the years. - -“Good-day to you, sir,” said the old fellow. “The sun is pretty. And -I’ll tell you what’s more—it isn’t going to rain.” - -M. Bergeret recognised the man: it was Pied d’Alouette, the tramp whom -M. Roquincourt, the magistrate, had wrongly implicated in the murder -that took place in Queen Marguerite’s house and whom he had imprisoned -for six months in the vague hope that unforeseen charges would be laid -at his door. This he did, either because he thought that the longer the -imprisonment continued the more justifiable it would seem, or merely -through spite against a simpleton who had misled the officers of the -law. M. Bergeret, who always had a fellow-feeling for the oppressed, -answered Pied d’Alouette in a kindly style that reflected the old -fellow’s good-will. - -“Good-day, friend,” said he. “I see that you know all the pleasant -nooks. This hillside is warm and well sheltered.” - -There was a moment’s silence, and then Pied d’Alouette answered: - -“I know better spots than this. But they are far away from here. One -mustn’t be afraid of a walk. Feet are all right. Shoes aren’t. I can’t -wear good shoes because they’re strange to my feet. I only rip them up, -when they give me sound ones.” - -And raising his foot from the cushion of dead leaves, he pointed to his -big toe sticking out, wrapped in wads of linen, through the slits in -the leather of his boot. - -Relapsing into silence once more, he began to polish the piece of hard -wood. - -M. Bergeret soon returned to his own thoughts. - -_Pallentem morte futura._ Agrippa’s galleys could not bar the way to -Antony’s purple-sailed trireme. This time, at least, the dove escaped -the vulture. - -But hereupon Pied d’Alouette began again: - -“They have taken away my knife!” - -“Who have?” - -Lifting his arm, the tramp waved it in the direction of the town and -gave no other answer. Yet he was following the course of his own slow -thought, for presently he said: - -“They never gave it back to me.” - -He sat on in solemn silence, powerless to express the ideas that -revolved in his darkened mind. His knife and his pipe were the only -possessions he had in the world. It was with his knife that he cut -the lump of hard bread and the bacon rind they gave him at farm-house -doors, food which his toothless gums would not bite; it was with his -knife that he chopped up cigar-ends to stuff them into his pipe; it was -with his knife that he scraped out the rotten bits in fruit and with it -he managed to drag out from the dung-heaps things good to eat. It was -with his knife that he shaped his walking-sticks and cut down branches -to make a bed of leaves for himself in the woods at night. With his -knife he carved boats out of oak-bark for the little boys, and dolls -out of deal for the little girls. His knife was the tool with which he -practised all the arts of life, the most skilled, as well as the most -homely, everyday ones. Always famished and often full of ingenuity, he -not only supplied his own wants, but also made dainty reed fountains -which were much admired in the town. - -For, although the man would not work, he was yet a jack of all trades. -When he came out of prison nothing would induce them to restore his -knife to him; they kept it in the record office. And so he went on -tramp once more, but now weaponless, stripped, weaker than a child, -wretched wherever he went. He wept over his loss: tiny tear-drops -came, that scorched his bloodshot eyes without overflowing. Then, as -he went out of the town, his courage returned, for in the corner of -a milestone he came upon an old knife-blade. Now he had cut a strong -beechen handle for it in the woods of the Bergères, and was fitting it -on with skilful hands. - -The idea of his knife suggested his pipe to him. He said: - -“They let me keep my pipe.” - -Drawing from the woollen bag which he wore against his breast, a kind -of black, sticky thimble, he showed the bowl of a pipe without the -fragment of a stem. - -“My poor fellow,” said M. Bergeret, “you don’t look at all like a great -criminal. How do you manage to get put in gaol so often?” - -Pied d’Alouette had not acquired the dialogue habit and he had no -notion of how to carry on a conversation. Although he had a kind of -deep intelligence, it took him some time to grasp the sense of the -words addressed to him. It was practice that he lacked and at first, -therefore, he made no attempt to answer M. Bergeret, who sat tracing -lines with the point of his stick in the white dust of the road. But at -last Pied d’Alouette said: - -“I don’t do any wrong things. Then I am punished for other things.” - -At length he seemed able to talk connectedly, with but few breaks. - -“Do you mean to say that they put you in prison for doing nothing -wrong?” - -“I know the people who do the wrong things, but I should do myself harm -if I blabbed.” - -“You herd, then, with vagabonds and evil-doers?” - -“You are trying to make me peach. Do you know Judge Roquincourt?” - -“I know him a little. He’s rather stern, isn’t he?” - -“Judge Roquincourt, he is a good talker. I never heard anyone speak so -well and so quickly. A body hasn’t time to understand him. A body can’t -answer. There isn’t anybody who speaks one half as well.” - -“He kept you in solitary confinement for long months and yet you bear -him no grudge. What a humble example of mercy and long-suffering.” - -Pied d’Alouette resumed the polishing of his knife-handle. As the work -progressed, he became quieter and seemed to recover his peace of mind. -Suddenly he demanded: - -“Do you know a man called Corbon?” - -“Who is he, this Corbon?” - -It was too difficult to explain. Pied d’Alouette waved his arm in a -vague semicircle that covered a quarter of the horizon. Yet his mind -was busy with the man he had just mentioned, for again he repeated: - -“Corbon.” - -“Pied d’Alouette,” said M. Bergeret, “they say you are a queer sort -of vagabond and that, even when you are in absolute want, you never -steal anything. Yet you live with evil-doers and you are the friend of -murderers.” - -Pied d’Alouette answered: - -“There are some who think one thing and others who think another. But -if I myself thought of doing wrong, I should dig a hole under a tree on -Duroc Hill and bury my knife at the bottom of the hole. Then I should -pound down the earth on top of it with my feet. For when people have -the notion of doing wrong, it’s the knife that leads them on. It’s also -pride which leads them on. As for me, I lost my pride when I was a lad, -for men, women and children in my own parts all made fun of me.” - -“And have you never had wicked, violent thoughts?” - -“Sometimes, when I came upon women alone on the roads, for the fancy I -had for them. But that’s all over now.” - -“And that fancy never comes back to you?” - -“Time and again it does.” - -“Pied d’Alouette, you love liberty and you are free. You live without -toil. I call you a happy man.” - -“There are some happy folks. But not me.” - -“Where are these happy folks, then?” - -“At the farms.” - -M. Bergeret rose and slipping a ten-sou piece into Pied d’Alouette’s -hand, said: - -“So you fancy, Pied d’Alouette, that happiness is to be found under a -roof, by the chimney-corner, or on a feather-bed. I thought you had -more sense.” - - - - -IV - - -On New Year’s Day M. Bergeret was always in the habit of dressing -himself in his black suit the first thing in the morning. Nowadays, -it had lost all its gloss and the grey wintry light made it look -ashen-colour. The gold medal that hung from M. Bergeret’s buttonhole -by a violet riband, although it gave him a false air of splendour, -testified clearly to the fact that he was no Knight of the Legion -of Honour. In fact, in this dress he always felt strangely thin and -poverty-stricken. Even his white tie seemed to his fancy a wretchedly -paltry affair, for to tell the truth, it was not even a fresh one. At -length, after vainly crumpling the front of his shirt, he recognised -the fact that it is impossible to make mother-of-pearl buttons stay in -buttonholes that have been stretched by long wear: at the thought he -became utterly disconsolate, for he recognised the fact sorrowfully -that he was no man of the world. And sitting down on a chair, he fell -into a reverie: - -“But, after all, does there in truth exist a world populated by men of -the world? For it seems to me, indeed, that what is commonly called the -world is but a cloud of gold and silver hung in the blue of heaven. -To the man who has actually entered it, it seems but a mist. In fact, -social distinctions are matters of much confusion. Men are drawn -together in flocks by their common prejudices or their common tastes. -But tastes often war against prejudices, and chance sets everything at -variance. All the same, a large income and the leisure given by it tend -to produce a certain style of life and special habits. This fact is the -bond which links society people, and this kinship produces a certain -standard which rules manners, physique and sport. Hence we derive the -‘tone’ of society. This ‘tone’ is purely superficial and for that very -reason fairly perceptible. There are such things as society manners -and appearances, but there is no such thing as society human nature, -for what truly decides our character is passion, thought and feeling. -Within us is a tribunal with which the world has no concern.” - -Still, the wretched look of his shirt and tie continued to harass -him, till at last he went to look at himself in the sitting-room -mirror. Somehow his face assumed a far-off appearance in the glass, -quite obscured as it was by an immense basket of heather festooned -with ribands of red satin. The basket was of wicker, in the shape of a -chariot with gilded wheels, and stood on the piano between two bags of -_marrons glacés_. To its gilded shaft was affixed M. Roux’s card, for -the basket was a present from him to Madame Bergeret. - -The professor made no attempt to push aside the beribboned tufts -of heather; he was satisfied with catching a glimpse of his left -eye in the glass behind the flowers, and he continued to gaze at it -benevolently for some little time. M. Bergeret, firmly convinced as -he was that no one loved him, either in this world or in any other, -sometimes treated himself to a little sympathy and pity. For he always -behaved with the greatest consideration to all unhappy people, himself -included. Now, dropping further consideration of his shirt and tie, he -murmured to himself: - -“You interpret the bosses on the shield of Æneas and yet your own tie -is crumpled. You are ridiculous on both counts. You are no man of the -world. You should teach yourself, then, at least, how to live the inner -life and should cultivate within yourself a wealthy kingdom.” - -On New Year’s Day he had always grounds for bewailing his destiny, -before he set out to pay his respects to two vulgar, offensive fellows, -for such were the rector and the dean. The rector, M. Leterrier, -could not bear him. This feeling was a natural antipathy that grew as -regularly as a plant and brought forth fruit every year. M. Leterrier, -a professor of philosophy and the author of a text-book which summed -up all systems of thought, had the blind dogmatic instincts of the -official teacher. No doubt whatever remained in his mind touching the -questions of the good, the beautiful and the true, the characteristics -of which he had summarised in one chapter of his work (pages 216 to -262). Now he regarded M. Bergeret as a dangerous and misguided man, and -M. Bergeret, in his turn, fully appreciated the perfect sincerity of -the dislike he aroused in M. Leterrier. Nor, in fact, did he make any -complaint against it; sometimes he even treated it with an indulgent -smile. On the other hand, he felt abjectly miserable whenever he met -the dean, M. Torquet, who never had an idea in his head, and who, -although he was crammed with learning, still retained the brain of a -positive ignoramus. He was a fat man with a low forehead and no cranium -to speak of, who did nothing all day but count the knobs of sugar in -his house and the pears in his garden, and who would go on hanging -bells, even when one of his professional colleagues paid him a visit. -In doing mischief he showed an activity and a something approaching -intelligence which filled M. Bergeret with amazement. Such thoughts as -these were in the professor’s mind, as he put on his overcoat to go and -wish M. Torquet a happy New Year. - -Yet he took a certain pleasure in being out of doors, for in the street -he could enjoy that most priceless blessing, the liberty of the mind. -In front of the Two Satyrs at the corner of the Tintelleries, he paused -for a moment to give a friendly glance at the little acacia which -stretched its bare branches over the wall of Lafolie’s garden. - -“Trees in winter,” thought he, “take on an aspect of homely beauty -that they never show in all the pomp of foliage and flowers. It is -in winter that they reveal their delicate structure, that they show -their charming framework of black coral: these are no skeletons, but a -multitude of pretty little limbs in which life slumbers. If I were a -landscape-painter....” - -As he stood wrapt in these reflections, a portly man called him by -name, seized his arm and walked on with him. This was M. Compagnon, the -most popular of all the professors, the idolised master who gave his -mathematical lectures in the great amphitheatre. - -“Hullo! my dear Bergeret, happy New Year. I bet you’re going to call on -the dean. So am I. We’ll walk on together.” - -“Gladly,” answered M. Bergeret, “since in that way I shall travel -pleasantly towards a painful goal. For I must confess it is no pleasure -to me to see M. Torquet.” - -On hearing this uncalled-for confidence, M. Compagnon, whether -instinctively or inadvertently it was hard to say, withdrew the hand -which he had slipped under his colleague’s arm. - -“Yes, yes, I know! You and the dean don’t get on very well. Yet in -general he isn’t a man who is difficult to get on with.” - -“In speaking to you as I have done,” answered M. Bergeret, “I was -not even thinking of the hostility which, according to report, the -dean persists in keeping up towards me. But it chills me to the -very marrow whenever I come in contact with a man who is totally -lacking in imagination of any kind. What really saddens is not the -idea of injustice and hatred, nor is it the sight of human misery. -Quite the contrary, in fact, for we find the misfortunes of our -fellows quite laughable, if only they are shown to us from a humorous -standpoint. But those gloomy souls on whom the outer world seems to -make no impression, those beings who have the faculty of ignoring the -entire universe—the very sight of them reduces me to distress and -desperation. My intercourse with M. Torquet is really one of the most -painful misfortunes of my life.” - -“Just so!” said M. Compagnon. “Our college is one of the most splendid -in France, on account of the high attainments of the lecturers and the -convenience of the buildings. It is only the laboratories that still -leave something to be desired. But let us hope that this regrettable -defect will soon be remedied, thanks to the combined efforts of our -devoted rector and of so influential a senator as M. Laprat-Teulet.” - -“It is also desirable,” said M. Bergeret, “that the Latin lectures -should cease to be given in a dark, unwholesome cellar.” - -As they crossed the Place Saint-Exupère, M. Compagnon pointed to -Deniseau’s house. - -“We no longer,” said he, “hear any chatter about the prophetess who -held communion with Saint Radegonde and several other saints from -Paradise. Did you go to see her, Bergeret? I was taken to see her by -Lacarelle, the _préfet’s_ chief secretary, just at the time when she -was at the height of her popularity. She was sitting with her eyes -shut in an arm-chair, while a dozen of the faithful plied her with -questions. They asked her if the Pope’s health was satisfactory, -what would be the result of the Franco-Russian alliance, whether -the income-tax bill would pass, and whether a remedy for consumption -would soon be found. She answered every question poetically and with a -certain ease. When my turn came, I asked her this simple question: - -“‘What is the logarithm of 9’? Well, Bergeret, do you imagine that she -said 0,954?” - -“No, I don’t,” said M. Bergeret. - -“She never answered a word,” continued M. Compagnon; “never a word. She -remained quite silent. Then I said: ‘How is it that Saint Radegonde -doesn’t know the logarithm of 9? It is incredible!’ There were present -at the meeting a few retired colonels, some priests, old ladies and -a few Russian doctors. They seemed thunderstruck and Lacarelle’s -face grew as long as a fiddle. I took to my heels amid a torrent of -reproaches.” - -As M. Compagnon and M. Bergeret were crossing the square chatting -in this way, they came upon M. Roux, who was going through the town -scattering visiting-cards right and left, for he went into society a -good deal. - -“Here is my best pupil,” said M. Bergeret. - -“He looks a sturdy fellow,” said M. Compagnon, who thought a great deal -of physical strength. “Why the deuce does he take Latin?” - -M. Bergeret was much piqued by this question and inquired whether the -mathematical professor was of opinion that the study of the classics -ought to be confined exclusively to the lame, the halt, the maimed and -the blind. - -But already M. Roux was bowing to the two professors with a flashing -smile that showed his strong, white teeth. He was in capital spirits, -for his happy temperament, which had enabled him to master the secret -of the soldier’s life, had just brought him a fresh stroke of good -luck. Only that morning M. Roux had been granted a fortnight’s leave -that he might recover from a slight injury to the knee that was -practically painless. - -“Happy man!” cried M. Bergeret. “He needn’t even tell a lie to reap -all the benefits of deceit.” Then, turning towards M. Compagnon, he -remarked: “In my pupil, M. Roux, lie all the hopes of Latin verse. -But, by a strange anomaly, although this young scholar scans the lines -of Horace and Catullus with the utmost severity, he himself composes -French verses that he never troubles to scan, verses whose irregular -metre I must confess I cannot grasp. In a word, M. Roux writes _vers -libres_.” - -“Really,” said M. Compagnon politely. - -M. Bergeret, who loved acquiring information and looked indulgently on -new ideas, begged M. Roux to recite his last poem, _The Metamorphosis -of the Nymph_, which had not yet been given to the world. - -“One moment,” said M. Compagnon. “I will walk on your left, Monsieur -Roux, so that I may have my best ear towards you.” - -It was settled that M. Roux should recite his poem while he walked with -the two professors as far as the dean’s house on the Tournelles, for on -such a gentle slope as that he would not lose his breath. - -Then M. Roux began to declaim _The Metamorphosis of the Nymph_ in a -slow, drawling, sing-song voice. In lines punctuated here and there by -the rumbling of cart-wheels he recited: - - The snow-white nymph, - Who glides with rounded hips - Along the winding shore, - And the isle where willows grey - Girdle her waist with the belt of Eve, - In leafage of oval shape, - And palely disappears.[2] - - [2] La nymphe blanche - Qui coule à pleines hanches, - Le long du rivage arrondi - Et de l’île où les saules grisâtres - Mettent à ses flancs la ceinture d’Ève, - En feuillages ovales, - Et qui fuit pâle. - -Then he painted a shifting kaleidoscope of: - - Green banks shelving down, - With the hostel of the town - And the frying of gudgeons within.[3] - - [3] De vertes berges, - Avec l’auberge - Et les fritures de goujons. - -Restless, unquiet, the nymph takes to flight. - -She draws near the town and there the metamorphosis takes place. - - Fretted are her hips by the rough stone of the quay, - Her breast is a thicket of rugged hair - And black with the coal, which mingled with sweat, - Has turned the nymph to a stevedore wet. - And below is the dock - For the coke.[4] - - [4] La pierre du quai dur lui rabote les hanches, - Sa poitrine est hérissée d’un poil rude, - Et noire de charbons, que délaye la sueur, - La nymphe est devenue un débardeur. - Et là-bas est le dock - Pour le coke. - -Next the poet sang of the river flowing through the city: - - And the river, from henceforth municipal and historic, - And worthy of archives, of annals and records, - Worthy of glory. - Deriving something solemn and even stern - From the grey stone walls, - Flows under the heavy shadow of the basilica - Where linger still the shades of Eudes, of Adalberts, - In the golden fringes of the past, - Bishops who bless not the nameless dead, - The nameless dead, - No longer bodies, but leather bottèls, - Who will to go hence, - Along the isles in the form of boats - With, for masts, but the chimney-tops. - For the drownèd will out beyond. - But pause you on the erudite parapets - Where, in boxes, lies many a fable strange, - And the red-edged conjuring book whereon the plane-tree - Sheds its leaves, - Perchance there you’ll discover potent words: - “For you’re no stranger to the value of runes - Nor to the true power of signs traced on the sheets.”[5] - - [5] Et le fleuve, d’ores en avant municipal et historique, - Et dignement d’archives, d’annales, de fastes, - De gloire. - Prenant du sérieux et même du morose - De pierre grise, - Se traîne sous la lourde ombre basilicale - Que hantent encore des Eudes, des Adalberts, - Dans les orfrois passés, - Évêques qui ne bénissent pas les noyés anonymes, - Anonymes, - Non plus des corps, mais des outres, - Qui vont outre, - Le long des îles en forme de bateaux plats - Avec, pour mâtures, des tuyaux de cheminées. - Et les noyés vont outre. - Mais arrête-toi aux parapets doctes - Où, dans les boîtes, gît mainte anecdote, - Et le grimoire à tranches rouges sur lequel le platane - Fait pleuvoir ses feuilles, - Il se peut que, là, tu découvres une bonne écriture: - Car tu n’ignores pas la vertu des runes - Ni le pouvoir des signes tracés sur les lames. - -For a long, long while M. Roux traced the course of this marvellous -river, nor did he finish his recital till they reached the dean’s -doorstep. - -“That’s very good,” said M. Compagnon, for he had no grudge against -literature, though for want of practice he could barely distinguish -between a line of Racine and a line of Mallarmé. - -But M. Bergeret said to himself: - -“Perhaps, after all, this is a masterpiece?” - -And, for fear of wronging beauty in disguise, he silently pressed the -poet’s hand. - - - - -V - - -As he came out of the dean’s house, M. Bergeret met Madame de Gromance -returning from Mass. This gave him great pleasure, for he always -considered that the sight of a pretty woman is a stroke of good luck -when it comes in the way of an honest man, and in his eyes Madame de -Gromance was a most charming woman. She alone, of all the women in the -town, knew how to dress herself with the skilful art that conceals art: -and he was grateful to her for this, as well as for her carriage that -displayed the lissom figure and the supple hips, mere hints though they -were of a beauty veiled from the sight of the humble, poverty-stricken -scholar, but which could yet serve him as an apposite illustration of -some line of Horace, Ovid or Martial. His heart went out towards her -for her sweetness and the amorous atmosphere that floated round her. In -his mind he thanked her for that heart of hers that yielded so easily; -he felt it as a personal favour, although he had no hope at all of -ever sunning himself in the light of her smile. Stranger as he was in -aristocratic circles, he had never been in the lady’s house, and it was -merely by a stroke of extraordinary luck that someone introduced him -to her in M. de Terremondre’s box, after the procession at the Jeanne -d’Arc celebrations. Moreover, being a wise man with a sense of the -becoming, he did not even hope for closer acquaintance. It was enough -for him to catch a chance glimpse of her fair face as he passed in the -street, and to remember, whenever he saw her, the tales they told about -her in Paillot’s shop. Thus he owed some pleasant moments to her and -accordingly felt a sort of gratitude towards her. - -This New Year’s morning he caught sight of her in the porch of -Saint-Exupère, as she stood lifting her petticoat with one hand so as -to emphasise the pliant bending of the knee, while with the other she -held a great prayer-book bound in red morocco. As he gazed, he offered -up a mental hymn of thanksgiving to her for thus acting as a charming -fairy-tale, a source of subtle pleasure to all the town. This idea he -tried to throw into his smile as he passed. - -Madame de Gromance’s notion of ideal womanhood was not quite the same -as M. Bergeret’s. Hers was mingled with many society interests, and -being of the world, she had a keen eye to worldly affairs. She was by -no means ignorant of the reputation she enjoyed in the town, and hence, -whenever she had no special desire to stand in anyone’s good graces, -she treated him with cold hauteur. Among such persons she classed M. -Bergeret, whose smile seemed merely impertinent. She replied to it, -therefore, by a supercilious look which made him blush. As he continued -his walk, he said to himself penitently: - -“She has been a minx. But on my side, I have just made an ass of -myself. I see that now; and now that it’s too late, I also see that my -smile, which said ‘You are the joy of all the town,’ must have seemed -an impertinence. This delicious being is no philosopher emancipated -from common prejudices. Of course, she would not understand me: it -would be impossible for her to see that I consider her beauty one of -the prime forces of the world, and regard the use she makes of it only -as a splendid sovereignty. I have been tactless and I am ashamed of -it. Like all honourable people, I have sometimes transgressed a human -law and yet have felt no repentance for it whatever. But certain other -acts of my life, which were merely opposed to those subtle and lofty -niceties that we call the conventions, have often filled me with -sharp regret and even with a kind of remorse. At this moment I want to -hide myself for very shame. Henceforth I shall flee whenever I see the -charming vision of this lady of the supple figure, _crispum ... docta -movere latus_. I have, indeed, begun the year badly!” - -“A happy New Year to you,” said a voice that emerged from a beard -beneath a straw hat. - -It belonged to M. Mazure, the archivist to the department. Ever since -the Ministry had refused him academic honours on the ground that he had -no claim, and since all classes in the town steadily refused to return -Madame Mazure’s calls, because she had been both cook and mistress to -the two officials previously in charge of the archives, M. Mazure had -been seized with a horror of all government and become disgusted with -society. He lived now the life of a gloomy misanthrope. - -This being a day when friendly or, at any rate, courteous visits are -customary, he had put on a shabby knitted scarf, the bluish wool of -which showed under his overcoat decorated with torn buttonholes: this -he did to show his scorn of the human race. He had also donned a broken -straw hat that his good wife, Marguerite, used to stick on a cherry -tree in the garden when the cherries were ripe. He cast a pitying -glance at M. Bergeret’s white tie. - -“You have just bowed,” said he, “to a pretty hussy.” - -It pained M. Bergeret to have to listen to such harsh and unphilosophic -language. But as he could forgive a good deal to a nature warped by -misanthropy, it was with gentleness that he set about reproving M. -Mazure for the coarseness of his speech. - -“My dear Mazure,” said he, “I expected from your wide experience a -juster estimate of a lady who harms no one.” - -M. Mazure answered drily that he objected to light women. From him -it was by no means a sincere expression of opinion, for, strictly -speaking, M. Mazure had no moral code. But he persisted in his bad -temper. - -“Come now,” said M. Bergeret with a smile, “I’ll tell you what is wrong -with Madame de Gromance. She was born just a hundred and fifty years -too late. In eighteenth-century society no man of brains would have -disapproved of her.” - -M. Mazure began to relent under this flattery. He was no sullen -Puritan, but he respected the civil marriage, to which the statesmen -of the Revolution had imparted fresh dignity. For all that, he did not -deny the claim of the heart and the senses. He acknowledged that the -mistress has her place in society as well as the wife. - -“And, by the way, how is Madame Bergeret?” he inquired. - -As the north wind whistled across the Place Saint-Exupère M. Bergeret -watched M. Mazure’s nose getting redder and redder under the -turned-down brim of the straw hat. His own feet and knees were frozen, -and he suffered his thoughts to play round the idea of Madame de -Gromance just to get a little warmth and joy into his veins. - -Paillot’s shop was not open, and the two professors, thus fireless and -houseless, stood looking at each other in sad sympathy. - -In the depths of his friendly heart M. Bergeret thought to himself: - -“As soon as I leave this fellow with his limited, boorish ideas, I -shall be once more alone in the desert waste of this hateful town. It -will be wretched.” - -And his feet remained glued to the sharp stones of the square, whilst -the wind made his ears burn. - -“I will walk back with you as far as your door,” said the archivist of -the department. - -Then they walked on side by side, bowing from time to time to -fellow-citizens who hurried along in their Sunday clothes, carrying -dolls and bags of sweets. - -“This Countess de Gromance,” said the archivist, “was a Chapon. -There was never but one Chapon heard of—her father, the most arrant -skinflint in the province. But I have hunted up the record of the -Gromance family, who belong to the lesser nobility of the place. There -was a Demoiselle Cécile de Gromance who in 1815 gave birth to a child -by a Cossack father. That will make a capital subject for an article in -a local paper. I am writing a regular series of them.” - -M. Mazure spoke the truth: every day, from sunrise to sunset, alone in -his dusty garret under the roof of the prefecture, he eagerly ransacked -the six hundred and thirty-seven thousand pigeonholes which were there -huddled together. His gloomy hatred of his fellow-townsmen drove him to -this research, merely in the hope that he would succeed in unearthing -some scandalous facts about the most respected families in the -neighbourhood. Amid piles of ancient parchments and papers stamped by -the registrars of the last two centuries with the arms of six kings, -two emperors and three republics he used to sit, laughing in the midst -of the clouds of dust, as he stirred up the evidences, now half eaten -up by mice and worms, of bygone crimes and sins long since expiated. - -As they followed the windings of the Tintelleries, it was with the -tale of these cruel revelations that he continued to entertain M. -Bergeret, a man who always cultivated an attitude of particular -indulgence towards our forefathers’ faults, and who was inquisitive -merely in the matter of their habits and customs. Mazure had, or so he -averred, discovered in the archives a certain Terremondre who, being a -terrorist and president of a local club of Sans-Culottes in 1793, had -changed his Christian names from Nicolas-Eustache to Marat-Peuplier. -Instantly Mazure hastened to supply M. Jean de Terremondre, his -colleague in the Archæological Society, who had gone over to the -monarchical and clerical party, with full information touching this -forgotten forbear of his, this Marat-Peuplier Terremondre, who had -actually written a hymn to Saint Guillotine. He had also unearthed a -great-great-uncle of the diocesan Vicar-General, a Sieur de Goulet, or -rather, more precisely, a Goulet-Trocard as he signed himself, who, -as an army contractor, was condemned to penal servitude in 1812 for -having supplied glandered horseflesh instead of beef. The documents -relating to this trial he had published in the most rabid journal in -the department. M. Mazure promised still more terrible revelations -about the Laprat family, revelations full of cases of incest; about -the Courtrai family, with one of its members branded for high treason -in 1814; about the Dellion family, whose wealth had been gained by -gambling in wheat; about the Quatrebarbe family, whose ancestors, two -stokers, a man and a woman, were hanged by lynch law on a tree on Duroc -Hill at the time of the consulate. In fact, as late as 1860, old people -were still to be met who remembered having seen in their childhood -the branches of an oak from which hung a human form with long, black, -floating tresses that used to frighten the horses. - -“She remained hanging there for three years,” exclaimed the archivist, -“and she was own grandmother to Hyacinthe Quatrebarbe, the diocesan -architect!” - -“It’s very singular,” said M. Bergeret, “but, of course, one ought to -keep that kind of thing to oneself.” - -But Mazure paid no heed. He longed to publish everything, to -bruit everything abroad, in direct opposition to the opinion of -M. Worms-Clavelin, the _préfet_, who wisely said: “One ought most -carefully to avoid giving occasion to scandal and dissension.” He had -threatened, in fact, to get the archivist dismissed, if he persisted in -revealing old family secrets. - -“Ah!” cried Mazure, chuckling in his tangled forest of beard, “it shall -be known that in 1815 there was a little Cossack who came into the -world through the exertions of a Demoiselle de Gromance.” - -Only a moment since M. Bergeret had reached his own door, and he still -held the handle of the bell. - -“What does it matter, after all?” said he. “The poor lady did what she -couldn’t help doing. She is dead, and the little Cossack also is dead. -Let us leave their memory in peace, or if we recall it for a moment, -let it be with a kindly thought. What zeal is it that so carries you -away, dear Monsieur Mazure?” - -“The zeal for justice.” - -M. Bergeret pulled the bell. - -“Good-bye, Mazure,” said he; “don’t be just, and do be merciful. I wish -you a very happy New Year.” - -M. Bergeret looked through the dirty window of the hall to see if there -were any letter or paper in the box; he still took an interest in -letters from a distance or in literary reviews. But to-day there were -only visiting-cards, which suggested to him nothing more interesting -than personalities as shadowy and pale as the cards themselves, and a -bill from Mademoiselle Rose, the modiste of the Tintelleries. As his -eyes fell on this, the thought suddenly occurred to him that Madame -Bergeret was becoming extravagant and that the house was stuffy. He -could feel the weight of it on his shoulders, and as he stood in the -hall, he seemed to be bearing on his back the whole flooring of his -flat, in addition to the drawing-room piano and that terrible wardrobe -that swallowed up his little store of money and yet was always empty. -Thus weighted with domestic troubles, M. Bergeret grasped the iron -handrail with its ample curves of florid metal-work, and began, with -bent head and short breath, to climb the stone steps. These were now -blackened, worn, cracked, patched, and ornamented with worn bricks and -squalid paving-stones, but once, in the bygone days of their early -youth, they had known the tread of fine gentlemen and pretty girls, -hurrying to pay rival court to Pauquet, the revenue-tax farmer who had -enriched himself by the spoils of a whole province. For it was in the -mansion of Pauquet de Sainte-Croix that M. Bergeret lived, now fallen -from its glory, despoiled of its splendour and degraded by a plaster -top-storey which had taken the place of its graceful gable and majestic -roof. Now the building was darkened by tall houses built all round -it, on ground where once there were gardens with a thousand statues, -ornamental waters and a park, and even on the main courtyard where -Pauquet had erected an allegorical monument to his king, who was in the -habit of making him disgorge his booty every five or six years, after -which he was left for another term to stuff himself again with gold. - -This courtyard, which was flanked by a splendid Tuscan portico, had -vanished in 1857 when the Rue des Tintelleries was widened. Now Pauquet -de Sainte-Croix’s mansion was nothing but an ugly tenement-house badly -neglected by two old caretakers, Gaubert by name, who despised M. -Bergeret for his quietness and had no sense of his true generosity, -because it was that of a man of moderate means. Yet whatever M. Raynaud -gave they regarded with respect, although he gave little when he was -well able to give much: to the Gauberts, his hundred-sou piece was -valuable because it came from great wealth. - -M. Raynaud, who owned the land near the new railway station, lived -on the first storey. Over the doorway of this there was a bas-relief -which, as usual, caught M. Bergeret’s eye as he passed. It depicted old -Silenus on his ass surrounded by a group of nymphs. This was all that -remained of the interior decoration of the mansion which, belonging -to the reign of Louis XV, had been built at a period when the French -style was aiming at the classic, but, lucky in missing its aim, had -acquired that note of chastity, stability and noble elegance which -one associates more especially with Gabriel’s designs. As a matter of -fact Pauquet de Sainte-Croix’s mansion had actually been designed by a -pupil of that great architect. Since then it had been systematically -disfigured. Although, for economy’s sake and just to save a little -trouble and expense, they had not torn down the little bas-relief of -Silenus and the nymphs, they had at any rate painted it, like the rest -of the staircase, with a sham decoration of red granite. The tradition -of the place would have it that in this Silenus one might see a -portrait of Pauquet himself, who was reputed to have been the ugliest -man of his time, as well as the most popular with women. M. Bergeret, -although no great connoisseur in art, made no such mistake as this, for -in the grotesque, yet sublime, figure of the old god he recognised a -type well known in the Renaissance, and transmitted from the Greeks and -Romans. Yet, whenever he saw this Silenus and his nymphs, his thoughts -naturally turned to Pauquet, who had enjoyed all the good things of -this world in the very house where he himself lived a life that was not -only toilsome, but thankless. - -“This financier,” he thought as he stood on the landing, “merely sucked -money from a king who in turn sucked it from him. This made them quits. -It is unwise to brag about the finances of the monarchy, since, in the -end, it was the financial deficit that brought about the downfall of -the system. But this point is noteworthy, that the king was then the -sole owner of all property, both real and personal, throughout the -kingdom. Every house belonged to the king, and in proof of this, the -subject who actually enjoyed the possession of it had to place the -royal arms on the slab at the back of the hearth. It was therefore as -owner, and not in pursuance of his right of taxation, that Louis XIV -sent his subjects’ plate to the Mint in order to defray the expenses of -his wars. He even had the treasures of the churches melted down, and I -read lately that he carried off the votive-offerings of Notre-Dame de -Liesse in Picardy, among which was found the breast that the Queen of -Poland had deposited there in gratitude for her miraculous recovery. -Everything then belonged to the king, that is to say, to the state. -And yet neither the Socialists, who to-day demand the nationalisation -of private property, nor the owners who intend to hold fast their -possessions, pay any heed to the fact that this nationalisation would -be, in some respects, a return to the ancient custom. It gives one a -philosophic pleasure to reflect that the Revolution really was for -the benefit of those who had acquired private ownership of national -possessions and that the Declaration of the Rights of Man has become -the landlords’ charter. - -“This Pauquet, who used to bring here the prettiest girls from the -opera, was no knight of Saint-Louis. To-day he would be commander of -the Legion of Honour and to him the finance ministers would come for -their instructions. Then it was money he enjoyed; now it would be -honours. For money has become honourable. It is, in fact, the only -nobility we possess. We have destroyed all the others to put in their -place the most oppressive, the most insolent, and the most powerful of -all orders of nobility.” - -M. Bergeret’s reflections were distracted at this point by the sight of -a group of men, women, and children coming out of M. Raynaud’s flat. -He saw that it was a band of poor relations who had come to wish the -old man a happy New Year: he fancied he could see them smelling about, -under their new hats, for some profit to themselves. He went on up the -stairs, for he lived on the third floor, which he delighted to call -the third “room,” using the seventeenth-century phrase for it. And to -explain this ancient term he loved to quote La Fontaine’s lines: - - Where is the good of life to men of make like you, - To live and read for ever in a poor third room? - Chill winter always finds you in the dress of June, - With for lackey but the shadow that is each man’s due.[6] - - [6] Que sert à vos pareils de lire incessamment? - Ils sont toujours logés à la troisième chambre, - Vêtus au mois de juin comme au mois de décembre, - Ayant pour tout laquais leur ombre seulement. - -Possibly the use he made of this quotation and of this kind of talk was -unwise, for it exasperated Madame Bergeret, who was proud of living -in a flat in the middle of the town, in a house that was inhabited by -people of good position. - -“Now for the third ‘room,’” said M. Bergeret to himself. Drawing out -his watch, he saw that it was eleven o’clock. He had told them not -to expect him before noon, as he had intended to spend an hour in -Paillot’s shop. But there he had found the shutters up: holidays and -Sundays were days of misery to him, simply because the bookseller’s was -closed on those days. To-day he had a feeling of annoyance, because he -had not been able to pay his usual call on Paillot. - -On reaching the third storey he turned his key noiselessly in the -lock and entered the dining-room with his cautious footstep. It was -a dismal room, concerning which M. Bergeret had formed no particular -opinion, although in Madame Bergeret’s eyes it was quite artistic, -on account of the brass chandelier which hung above the table, the -chairs and sideboard of carved oak with which it was furnished, the -mahogany whatnot loaded with little cups, and especially on account of -the painted china plates that adorned the wall. On entering this room -from the dimly lit hall one had the door of the study on the left, and -on the right the drawing-room door. Whenever M. Bergeret entered the -flat he was in the habit of turning to the left into his study, where -solitude, books and slippers awaited him. This time, however, for no -particular motive or reason, without thinking what he was doing, he -went to the right. He turned the handle, opened the door, took one step -and found himself in the drawing-room. - -He then saw on the sofa two figures linked together in a violent -attitude that suggested either endearment or strife, but which was, as -a matter of fact, very compromising. Madame Bergeret’s head was turned -away and could not be seen, but her feelings were plainly expressed -in the generous display of her red stockings. M. Roux’s face wore -that strained, solemn, set, distracted look that cannot be mistaken, -although one seldom sees it; it agreed with his disordered array. Then, -the appearance of everything changed in less than a second, and now M. -Bergeret saw before him two quite different persons from those whom he -had surprised; two persons who were much embarrassed and whose looks -were strange and even rather comical. He would have fancied himself -mistaken had not the first picture engraved itself on his sight with a -strength that was only equalled by its suddenness. - - - - -VI - - -M. Bergeret’s first impulse at this shameful sight was to act -violently, like a plain man, even with the ferocity of an animal. -Born as he was of a long line of unknown ancestors, amongst whom -there were, of course, many cruel and savage souls, heir as he was of -those innumerable generations of men, apes, and savage beasts from -whom we are all descended, the professor had been endowed, along with -the germ of life, with the destructive instinct of the older races. -Under this shock these instincts awoke. He thirsted for slaughter -and burned to kill M. Roux and Madame Bergeret. But his desire was -feeble and evanescent. With the four canine teeth which he carried -in his mouth and the nails of the carnivorous beast which armed his -fingers, M. Bergeret had inherited the ferocity of the beast, but the -original force of this instinct had largely disappeared. He did, it -is true, feel a desire to kill M. Roux and Madame Bergeret, but it -was a very feeble one. He felt fierce and cruel, but the sensation -was so short-lived and so weak that no act was born of the thought, -and even the expression of the idea was so swift that it entirely -escaped the notice of the two witnesses who were most concerned in -its manifestation. In less than a second M. Bergeret had ceased to -be purely instinctive, primitive, and destructive, without, however, -ceasing at the same time to be jealous and irritated. On the contrary, -his indignation went on increasing. In this new frame of mind his -thoughts were no longer simple; they began to centre round the social -problem; confusedly there seethed in his mind fragments of ancient -theologies, bits of the Decalogue, shreds of ethics, Greek, Scotch, -German and French maxims, scattered portions of the moral code which, -by striking his brain like so many flint stones, set him on fire. He -felt patriarchal, the father of a family after the Roman style, an -overlord and justiciar. He had the virtuous idea of punishing the -guilty. After having wanted to kill Madame Bergeret and M. Roux by -mere bloodthirsty instinct, he now wanted to kill them out of regard -for justice. He mentally sentenced them to terrible and ignominious -punishments. He lavished upon them every ignominy of mediæval custom. -This journey across the ages of civilisation was longer than the first. -It lasted for two whole seconds, and during that time the two culprits -so discreetly changed their attitude that these changes, though -imperceptible, were fundamental, and completely altered the character -of their relationship. - -Finally, religious and moral ideas becoming completely confounded -with one another in his mind, M. Bergeret felt nothing but a sense of -misery, while disgust, like a vast wave of dirty water, poured across -the flame of his wrath. Three full seconds passed; he was plunged in -the depths of irresolution and did nothing. By an obscure, confused -instinct which was characteristic of his temperament, from the first -moment he had turned his eyes away from the sofa and fixed them on -the round table near the door. This was covered with a table-cloth -of olive-green cotton on which were printed coloured figures of -mediæval knights in imitation of ancient tapestry. During these three -interminable seconds M. Bergeret clearly made out a little page-boy who -held the helmet of one of the tapestry knights. Suddenly he noticed -on the table, among the gilt-edged, red-bound books that Madame -Bergeret had placed there as handsome ornaments, the yellow cover of -the _University Bulletin_ which he had left there the night before. -The sight of this magazine instantly suggested to him the act most -characteristic of his turn of mind: putting out his hand, he took up -the _Bulletin_ and left the drawing-room, which a most unlucky instinct -had led him to enter. - -Once alone in the dining-room a flood of misery overwhelmed him. He -longed for the relief of tears, and was obliged to hold on by the -chairs in order to prevent himself from falling. Yet with his pain -was mingled a certain bitterness that acted like a caustic and burnt -up the tears in his eyes. Only a few seconds ago he had crossed this -little dining-room, yet now it seemed that, if ever he had set eyes on -it before, it must have been in another life. It must surely have been -in some far-off stage of existence, in some earlier incarnation, that -he had lived in intimate relations with the small sideboard of carved -oak, the mahogany shelves loaded with painted cups, the china plates -on the wall, that he had sat at this round table between his wife and -daughters. It was not his happiness that was dead, for he had never -been happy; it was his poor little home life, his domestic relations -that were gone. These had always been chilly and unpleasant, but now -they were degraded and destroyed; they no longer even existed. - -When Euphémie came in to lay the cloth he trembled at the sight of her; -she seemed one of the ghosts of the vanished world in which he had once -lived. - -Shutting himself up in his study, he sat down at his table, and opening -the _University Bulletin_ quite at random, leant his head deliberately -between his hands and, through sheer force of habit, began to read. - -He read: - -“_Notes on the purity of language._—Languages are like nothing so much -as ancient forests in which words have pushed a way for themselves, as -chance or opportunity has willed. Among them we find some weird and -even monstrous forms, yet, when linked together in speech, they compose -into splendid harmonies, and it would be a barbarous act to prune -them as one trims the lime-trees on the public roads. One must tread -with reverence on what, in the grand style, is termed _the boundless -peaks_....” - -“And my daughters!” thought M. Bergeret. “She ought to have thought of -them. She ought to have thought of our daughters....” - -He went on reading without comprehending a word: - -“Of course, such a word as this is a mere abortion. We say _le -lendemain_, that is to say, _le le en demain_, when, evidently, what we -ought to say is _l’en demain_; we say _le lierre_ for _l’ierre_, which -alone is correct. The foundations of language were laid by the people. -Everywhere in it we find ignorance, error, whim; in its simplicity -lies its greatest beauty. It is the work of ignorant minds, to whom -everything save nature is a sealed book. It comes to us from afar, and -those who have handed it down to us were by no means grammarians after -the style of Noël and Chapsal.” - -Then he thought: - -“At her age, in her humble, struggling position.... I can understand -that a beautiful, idle, much idolised woman ... but she!” - -Yet, as he was a reader by instinct, he still went on reading: - -“Let us treat it as a precious inheritance, but, at the same time, let -us never look too closely into it. In speaking, and even in writing, it -is a mistake to trouble too much about etymology....” - -“And he, my favourite pupil, whom I have invited to my house ... ought -he not?...” - -“Etymology teaches us that God is _He Who shines_, and that the _soul_ -is a _breath_, but into these old words men have read meanings which -they did not at first possess.” - -“Adultery!” - -This word came to his lips with such force that he seemed to feel it in -his mouth like a coin, like a thin medal. Adultery!... - -Suddenly he saw a picture of all that this word implied, its -associations—commonplace, domestic, absurd, clumsily tragic, sordidly -comic, ridiculous, uncouth; even in his misery he chuckled. - -Being well read in Rabelais, La Fontaine, and Molière, he called -himself by the downright, outspoken name that he knew beyond the shadow -of a doubt was fitted to his case. But that stopped his laugh, if it -could be truthfully said that he had laughed. - -“Of course,” said he to himself, “it is a petty, commonplace incident -in reality. But I am myself suitably proportioned to it, being but -an unimportant item in the social structure. It seems, therefore, an -important thing to me, and I ought to feel no shame at the misery it -brings me.” - -Following up this thought, he drew his grief round him like a cloak, -and wrapped himself in it. Like a sick man full of pity for himself, -he pursued the painful visions and the haunting ideas which swarmed -endlessly in his burning head. What he had seen caused him physical -pain; noticing this fact, he instantly set himself to find the cause -of it, for he was always ruled by the philosophical bent of his -temperament. - -“The objects,” thought he, “which are associated with the most powerful -desires of the flesh cannot be regarded with indifference, for when -they do not give delight, they cause disgust. It is not in herself -that Madame Bergeret possesses the power of putting me between these -two alternatives; it is as a symbol of that Venus who is the joy of -gods and men. For to me, although she may indeed be one of the least -lovable and least mysterious of these symbols of Venus, yet at the same -time she must needs be one of the most characteristic and vivid. And -the sight of her linked in community of act and feeling with my pupil, -M. Roux, reduced her instantly to that elementary type-form which, as -I said, must either inspire attraction or repulsion. Thus we may see -that every sexual symbol either satisfies or disappoints desire, and -for that reason attracts or repels our gaze with equal force, according -to the physiological condition of the spectators, and sometimes even -according to the successive moods of the same witness. - -“This observation brings one to the true reason for the fact that, in -all nations and at all periods, sexual rites have been performed in -secret, in order that they might not produce violent and conflicting -emotions in the spectators. At length it became customary to conceal -everything that might suggest these rites. Thus was born Modesty, which -governs all men, but particularly the more lascivious nations.” - -Then M. Bergeret reflected: - -“Accident has enabled me to discover the origin of this virtue which -varies most of all, merely because it is the most universal, this -Modesty, which the Greeks call Shame. Very absurd prejudices have -become connected with this habit which arises from an attitude of -mind peculiar to man and common to all men, and these prejudices have -obscured its true character. But I am now in a position to formulate -the true theory of Modesty. It was at a smaller cost to himself that -Newton discovered the laws of gravitation under a tree.” - -Thus meditated M. Bergeret from the depths of his arm-chair. But -his thoughts were still so little under control that he rolled his -bloodshot eyes, gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists, until he -drove his nails into his palms. Painted with merciless accuracy on his -inner eye was the picture of his pupil, M. Roux, in a condition which -ought never to be seen by a spectator, for reasons which the professor -had first accurately deduced. M. Bergeret possessed a measure of that -faculty which we call visual memory. Without possessing the rich power -of vision of the painter, who stores numberless vast pictures in a -single fold of his brain, he could yet recall, accurately and easily -enough, sights seen long ago which had caught his attention. Thus there -lived in the album of his memory the outline of a beautiful tree, of -a graceful woman, when once these had been impressed on the retina of -his eye. But never had any mental impression appeared to him as clear, -as exact, as vividly, accurately and powerfully coloured, as full, -compact, solid and masterful, as there appeared to him at this moment -the daring picture of his pupil, M. Roux, in the act of embracing -Madame Bergeret. This accurate reproduction of reality was hateful; -it was also false, inasmuch as it indefinitely prolonged an action -which must necessarily be a fleeting one. The perfect illusion which -it produced showed up the two characters with obstinate cynicism and -unbearable permanence. Again M. Bergeret longed to kill his pupil, M. -Roux. He made a movement as if to kill; the idea of murder that his -brain formulated had the force of a deed and left him overwhelmed. - -Then came a moment of reflection and slowly, quietly he strayed away -into a labyrinth of irresolution and contradiction. His ideas flowed -together and intermingled, losing their distinctive tints like specks -of paint in a glass of water. Soon he even failed to grasp the actual -event that had happened. - -He cast miserable looks around him, examined the flowers on the -wall-paper and noticed that there were badly-joined bunches, so -that the halves of the red carnations never met. He looked at the -books stacked on the deal shelves. He looked at the little silk and -crochet pin-cushion that Madame Bergeret had made and given him some -years before on his birthday. Then he softened at the thought of the -destruction of their home life. He had never been deeply in love with -this woman, whom he had married on the advice of friends, for he had -always found a difficulty in settling his own affairs. Although he no -longer loved her at all, she still made up a large part of his life. -He thought of his daughters, now staying with their aunt at Arcachon, -especially of his favourite Pauline, the eldest, who resembled him. At -this he shed tears. - -Suddenly through his tears he caught sight of the wicker-work woman -on which Madame Bergeret draped her dresses and which she always kept -in her husband’s study in front of the book-case, disregarding the -professor’s resentment when he complained that every time he wanted to -put his books on the shelves, he had to embrace the wicker-work woman -and carry her off. At the best of times M. Bergeret’s teeth were set -on edge by this contrivance which reminded him of the hen-coops of the -cottagers, or of the idol of woven cane which he had seen as a child in -one of the prints of his ancient history, and in which, it was said, -the Phœnicians burnt their slaves. Above all, the thing reminded him -of Madame Bergeret, and although it was headless, he always expected -to hear it burst out screaming, moaning, or scolding. This time the -headless thing seemed to be none other than Madame Bergeret herself, -Madame Bergeret, the hateful, the grotesque. Flinging himself upon -it, he clasped the thing in his arms and made its wicker breast crack -under his fingers, as though it were the gristles of ribs that broke. -Overturning it, he stamped on it with his feet and carrying it off, -threw it creaking and mutilated, out of window into the yard belonging -to Lenfant, the cooper, where it fell among buckets and tubs. In doing -this, he felt as though he were performing an act that symbolised a -true fact, yet was at the same time ridiculous and absurd. On the -whole, however, he felt somewhat relieved, and when Euphémie came to -tell him that déjeuner was getting cold, he shrugged his shoulders, and -walking resolutely across the still deserted dining-room, took up his -hat in the hall and went downstairs. - -In the gateway he remembered that he knew neither where to go nor what -to do and that he had come to no decision at all. Once outside, he -noticed that it was raining and that he had no umbrella. He was rather -annoyed at the fact, though the sense of annoyance came quite as a -relief. As he stood hesitating as to whether he should go out into the -shower or not, he caught sight of a pencil drawing on the plaster of -the wall, just below the bell and just at the height which a child’s -arm would reach. It represented an old man; two dots and two lines -within a circle made the face, and the body was depicted by an oval; -the arms and legs were shown by single lines which radiated outwards -like wheel-spokes and imparted a certain air of jollity to this scrawl, -which was executed in the classic style of mural ribaldry. It must -have been drawn some time ago, for it showed signs of friction and in -places was already half rubbed out. But this was the first time that M. -Bergeret had noticed it, doubtless because his powers of observation -were just now in a peculiarly wide-awake condition. - -“A _graffito_,” said the professor to himself. - -He noticed next that two horns stuck out from the old man’s head and -that the word _Bergeret_ was written by the side, so that no mistake -might be made. - -“It is a matter of common talk, then,” said he, when he saw this name. -“Little rascals on their way to school proclaim it on the walls and -I am the talk of the town. This woman has probably been deceiving me -for a long time, and with all sorts of men. This mere scrawl tells me -more of the truth than I could have gained by a prolonged and searching -investigation.” - -And standing in the rain, with his feet in the mud, he made a closer -examination of the _graffito_; he noticed that the letters of the -inscription were badly written and that the lines of the drawing -corresponded with the slope of the writing. - -As he went away in the falling rain, he remembered the _graffiti_ once -traced by clumsy hands on the walls of Pompeii and now uncovered, -collected and expounded by philologists. He recalled the clumsy furtive -character of the Palatine _graffito_ scratched by an idle soldier on -the wall of the guard-house. - -“It is now eighteen hundred years since that Roman soldier drew a -caricature of his comrade Alexandros in the act of worshipping an -ass’s head stuck on a cross. No monument of antiquity has been more -carefully studied than this Palatine _graffito_: it is reproduced in -numberless collections. Now, following the example of Alexandros, I, -too, have a _graffito_ of my own. If to-morrow an earthquake were to -swallow up this dismal, accursed town, and preserve it intact for the -scientists of the thirtieth century, and if in that far distant future -my _graffito_ were to be discovered, I wonder what these learned men -would say about it. Would they understand its vulgar symbolism? Or -would they even be able to spell out my name written in the letters of -a lost alphabet?” - -With a fine rain falling through the dreary dimness, M. Bergeret -finally reached the Place Saint-Exupère. Between the two buttresses -of the church he could see the stall which bore a red boot as a sign. -At the sight, he suddenly remembered that his shoes, being worn out -by long service, were soaked with water; now, too, he remembered that -henceforth he must look after his own clothes, although hitherto he had -always left them to Madame Bergeret. With this thought in his mind, -he went straight into the cobbler’s booth. He found the man hammering -nails into the sole of a shoe. - -“Good-day, Piedagnel!” - -“Good-day, Monsieur Bergeret! What can I do for you, Monsieur Bergeret?” - -So saying, the fellow, turning his angular face towards his customer, -showed his toothless gums in a smile. His thin face, which ended in a -projecting chin and was furrowed by the dark chasm of his eyes, shared -the stern, poverty-stricken air, the yellow tint, the wretched aspect -of the stone figures carved over the door of the ancient church under -whose shadow he had been born, had lived, and would die. - -“All right, Monsieur Bergeret, I have your size and I know that you -like your shoes an easy fit. You are quite in the right, Monsieur -Bergeret, not to try to pinch your feet.” - -“But I have a rather high instep and the sole of my foot is arched,” -protested M. Bergeret. “Be sure you remember that.” - -M. Bergeret was by no means vain of his foot, but it had so happened -one day that in his reading he came upon a passage describing how -M. de Lamartine once showed his bare foot with pride, that its high -curve, which rested on the ground like the arch of a bridge, might be -admired. This story made M. Bergeret feel that he was quite justified -in deriving pleasure from the fact that he was not flat-footed. Now, -sinking into a wicker chair decorated with an old square of Aubusson -carpet, he looked at the cobbler and his booth. On the wall, which -was whitewashed and covered with deep cracks, a sprig of box had been -placed behind the arms of a black, wooden cross. A little copper figure -of Christ nailed to this cross inclined its head over the cobbler, -who sat glued to his stool behind the counter, which was heaped with -pieces of cut leather and with the wooden models which all bore leather -shields to mark the places where the feet that the models represented -were afflicted with painful excrescences. A small cast-iron stove was -heated white-hot and a strong smell of leather and cookery combined was -perceptible. - -“I am glad,” said M. Bergeret, “to see that you have as much work as -you can wish for.” - -In answer to this remark, the man began to give vent to a string of -vague, rambling complaints which yet had an element of truth in them. -Things were not as they used to be in days gone by. Nowadays, nobody -could stand out against factory competition. Customers just bought -ready-made shoes, in stores exactly like the Paris ones. - -“My customers die, too,” added he. “I have just lost the curé, M. Rieu. -There is nothing left but the re-soling business and there isn’t much -profit in that.” - -The sight of this ancient cobbler groaning under his own little -crucifix filled M. Bergeret with sadness. He asked, rather hesitatingly: - -“Your son must be quite twenty by now. What has become of him?” - -“Firmin? I expect you know,” said the man, “that he left the seminary -because he had no vocation. But the gentlemen there were kind enough to -interest themselves in him, after they had expelled him. Abbé Lantaigne -found a place for him as tutor at a Marquis’s house in Poitou. But -Firmin refused it just out of spite. He is in Paris now, teaching at an -institution in the Rue Saint-Jacques, but he doesn’t earn much.” And -the cobbler added sadly: - -“What I want....” - -He stopped and then began again. - -“I have been a widower for twelve years. What I want is a wife, because -it needs a woman to manage a house.” - -Relapsing into silence, he drove three nails into the leather of the -sole and added: - -“Only I must have a steady woman.” - -He returned to his task. Then suddenly raising his worn and sorrowful -face towards the foggy sky, he muttered: - -“And besides, it is so sad to be alone!” - -M. Bergeret felt pleased, for he had just caught sight of Paillot -standing on the threshold of his shop. He got up to leave: - -“Good-day, Piedagnel!” said he. “Mind and keep the instep high enough!” - -But the cobbler would not let him go, asking with an imploring glance -whether he did not know of any woman who would suit him. She must be -middle-aged, a good worker, and a widow who would be willing to marry a -widower with a small business. - -M. Bergeret stood looking in astonishment at this man who actually -wanted to get married; Piedagnel went on meditating aloud: - -“Of course,” said he, “there’s the woman who delivers bread on the -Tintelleries. But she likes a drop. Then there’s the late curé of -Sainte-Agnès’s servant, but she is too haughty, because she has saved -a little.” - -“Piedagnel,” said M. Bergeret, “go on re-soling the townsfolks’ shoes, -remain as you are, alone and contented in the seclusion of your shop. -Don’t marry again, for that would be a mistake.” - -Closing the glazed door behind him, he crossed the Place Saint-Exupère -and entered Paillot’s shop. - -The shop was deserted, save for the bookseller himself. Paillot’s -mind was a barren and illiterate one; he spoke but little and thought -of nothing but his business and his country-house on Duroc Hill. -Notwithstanding these facts, M. Bergeret had an inexplicable fondness -both for the bookseller and for his shop. At Paillot’s he felt quite at -ease and there ideas came on him in a flood. - -Paillot was rich, and never had any complaints to make. Yet he -invariably told M. Bergeret that one no longer made the profit on -educational books that was once customary, for the practice of allowing -discount left but little margin. Besides, the supplying of schools had -become a veritable puzzle on account of the changes that were always -being made in the curricula. - -“Once,” said he, “they were much more conservative.” - -“I don’t believe it,” replied M. Bergeret. “The fabric of our -classical instruction is constantly in course of repair. It is an -old monument which embodies in its structure the characteristics of -every period. One sees in it a pediment in the Empire style on a -Jesuit portico; it has rusticated galleries, colonnades like those of -the Louvre, Renaissance staircases, Gothic halls, and a Roman crypt. -If one were to expose the foundations, one would come upon _opus -spicatum_[7] and Roman cement. On each of these parts one might place -an inscription commemorating its origin: ‘The Imperial University of -1808—Rollin—The Oratorians—Port-Royal—The Jesuits—The Humanists -of the Renaissance—The Schoolmen—The Latin Rhetoricians of Autun and -Bordeaux.’ Every generation has made some change in this palace of -wisdom, or has added something to it.” - - [7] Brickwork laid in the shape of ears of corn. - -M. Paillot rubbed the red beard that hung from his huge chin and looked -stupidly at M. Bergeret. Finally he fled panic-stricken and took refuge -behind his counter. But M. Bergeret followed up his argument to its -logical conclusion: - -“It is thanks to these successive additions that the house is still -standing. It would soon crumble to pieces if nothing were ever changed -in it. It is only right to repair the parts that threaten to fall -in ruin and to add some halls in the new style. But I can hear some -ominous cracking in the structure.” - -As honest Paillot carefully refrained from making any answer to this -occult and terrifying talk, M. Bergeret plunged silently into the -corner where the old books stood. - -To-day, as always, he took up the thirty-eighth volume of _l’Histoire -Générale des Voyages_. To-day, as always, the book opened of its own -accord at page 212. Now on this page he saw the picture of M. Roux and -Madame Bergeret embracing.... Now he re-read the passage he knew so -well, without paying any heed to what he read, but merely continuing -to think the thoughts that were suggested by the present state of his -affairs: - -“‘a passage to the North. It is to this check,’ said he (I know that -this affair is by no means an unprecedented one, and that it ought not -to astonish the mind of a philosopher), ‘that we owe the opportunity of -being able to visit the Sandwich Islands again’ (It is a domestic event -that turns my house upside down. I have no longer a home), ‘and to -enrich our voyage with a discovery (I have no home, no home any more) -which, although the last (I am morally free though, and that is a great -point), seems in many respects to be the most important that Europeans -have yet made in the whole expanse of the Pacific Ocean....’” - -M. Bergeret closed the book. He had caught a glimpse of liberty, -deliverance, and a new life. It was only a glimmer in the darkness, -but bright and steady before him. How was he to escape from this dark -tunnel? That he could not tell, but at any rate he perceived at the -end of it a tiny white point of light. And if he still carried about -with him a vision of Madame Bergeret embraced by M. Roux, it was to -him but an indecorous sight which aroused in him neither anger nor -disgust—just a vignette, the Belgian frontispiece of some lewd book. -He drew out his watch and saw that it was now two o’clock. It had taken -him exactly ninety minutes to arrive at this wise conclusion. - - - - -VII - - -After M. Bergeret had taken the _University Bulletin_ from the table -and gone out of the room without saying a word, M. Roux and Madame -Bergeret together emitted a long sigh of relief. - -“He saw nothing,” whispered M. Roux, trying to make light of the affair. - -But Madame Bergeret shook her head with an expression of anxious doubt. -For her part, what she wanted was to throw on her partner’s shoulders -the whole responsibility for any consequences that might ensue. -She felt uneasy and, above all, thwarted. She was also a prey to a -certain feeling of shame at having allowed herself, like a fool, to be -surprised by a creature who was so easily hoodwinked as M. Bergeret, -whom she despised for his credulity. Finally, she was in that state of -anxiety into which a new and unprecedented situation always throws one. - -M. Roux repeated the comforting assurance which he had first made to -himself: - -“I am sure he did not see us. He only looked at the table.” - -And when Madame Bergeret still remained doubtful, he declared that -anyone sitting on the couch could not be seen from the doorway. Of this -Madame Bergeret tried to make sure. She went and stood in the doorway, -while M. Roux stretched himself on the sofa, to represent the surprised -lovers. - -The test did not seem conclusive, and it fell next to M. Roux’s turn to -go to the door, while Madame Bergeret reconstructed their love scene. - -Solemnly, coldly, and even with some show of sulkiness to each other, -they repeated this process several times. But M. Roux did not succeed -in soothing Madame Bergeret’s doubts. - -At last he lost his temper and exclaimed: - -“Well! if he did see us, anyway he’s a precious——.” - -Here he used a word which was unfamiliar to Madame Bergeret’s ears, but -which sounded to her coarse, unseemly and abominably offensive. She was -disgusted with M. Roux for having permitted himself to use such a term. - -Thinking that he would only injure Madame Bergeret more by remaining -longer in her company, M. Roux whispered a few consoling phrases in -her ear and then began to tiptoe towards the door. His natural sense -of decorum made him unwilling to risk a meeting with the kindly master -whom he had wronged. Left alone in this way, Madame Bergeret went to -her own room to think. - -It did not seem to her that what had just taken place was important in -itself. In the first place, if this was the first time that she had -permitted herself to be compromised by M. Roux, it was not the first -time that she had been indiscreet with others, few in number as they -might be. Besides, an act like this may be horrible in thought, while -in actual performance it merely appears commonplace, dependent upon -circumstances and naturally innocent. In face of reality, prejudice -dies away. Madame Bergeret was not a woman carried away from her -homely, middle-class destiny by invincible forces hidden in the secret -depths of her nature. Although she possessed a certain temperament, she -was still rational and very careful of her reputation. She never sought -for adventures, and at the age of thirty-six she had only deceived M. -Bergeret three times. But these three occasions were enough to prevent -her from exaggerating her fault. She was still less disposed to do so, -since this third adventure was in essentials only a repetition of the -first two, and these had been neither painful nor pleasurable enough -to play a large part in her memory. No phantoms of remorse started -up before the matron’s large, fishy eyes. She regarded herself as an -honourable woman in the main, and only felt irritated and ashamed at -having allowed herself to be caught by a husband for whom she had the -most profound scorn. She felt this misfortune the more, because it had -come upon her in maturity, when she had arrived at the period of calm -reflection. On the two former occasions the intrigue had begun in the -same way. Usually Madame Bergeret felt much flattered whenever she made -a favourable impression on any man of position. She watched carefully -for any signs of interest they might show in her, and she never -considered them exaggerated in any way, for she believed herself to be -very alluring. Twice before the affair with M. Roux, she had allowed -things to go on up to the point where, for a woman, there is henceforth -neither physical power to put a stop to them, nor moral advantage to -be gained by so doing. The first time the intrigue had been with an -elderly man who was very experienced, by no means egotistic, and very -anxious to please her. But her pleasure in him was spoilt by the worry -which always accompanies a first lapse. The second time she took more -interest in the affair, but unfortunately her accomplice was lacking -in experience, and now M. Roux had caused her so much annoyance that -she was unable even to remember what had happened before they were -surprised. If she attempted to recall to herself their posture on the -sofa, it was only in order to guess at what M. Bergeret had been able -to deduce from it, so that she might make sure up to what point she -could still lie to him and deceive him. - -She was humiliated and annoyed, and whenever she thought of her big -girls, she felt ashamed: she knew that she had made herself ridiculous. -But fear was the last feeling in her mind, for either by craft or -audacity, she felt sure she could manage this gentle, timid man, so -ignorant of the ways of the world, so far inferior to herself. - -She had never lost the idea that she was immeasurably superior to M. -Bergeret. This notion inspired all her words and acts, nay, even her -silence. She suffered from the pride of race, for she was a Pouilly, -the daughter of Pouilly, the University Inspector, the niece of Pouilly -of the Dictionary, the great-granddaughter of a Pouilly who, in 1811, -composed _la Mythologie des Demoiselles_ and _l’Abeille des Dames_. She -had been encouraged by her father in this sentiment of family pride. - -What was a Bergeret by the side of a Pouilly? She had, therefore, no -misgivings as to the result of the struggle which she foresaw, and she -awaited her husband’s return with an attitude of boldness dashed with -cunning. But when, at lunch time, she heard him going downstairs, a -shade of anxiety crept over her mind. When he was out of her sight, -this husband of hers disquieted her: he became mysterious, almost -formidable. She wore out her nerves in imagining what he would say to -her and in preparing different deceitful or defiant answers, according -to the circumstances. She strained and stiffened her courage, in order -to repel attack. She pictured to herself pitiable attitudes and threats -of suicide followed by a scene of reconciliation. By the time evening -came, she was thoroughly unnerved. She cried and bit her handkerchief. -Now she wanted, she longed for explanations, abuse, violent speeches. -She waited for M. Bergeret with burning impatience, and at nine o’clock -she at last recognised his step on the landing. But he did not come -into her room; the little maid came instead: - -“Monsieur says,” she announced, with a sly, pert grin, “that I’m to put -up the iron bedstead for him in the study.” - -Madame Bergeret said not a word, for she was thunderstruck. - -Although she slept as soundly as usual that night, yet her audacious -spirit was quelled. - - - - -VIII - - -The curé of Saint-Exupère, the arch-priest Laprune, had been invited to -déjeuner by Abbé Guitrel. They were now both seated at the little round -table on which Joséphine had just set a flaming rum omelette. - -M. Guitrel’s maid had reached the canonical age some years ago; she -wore a moustache; and assuredly bore no resemblance to the imaginary -portrait of her which set the town guffawing in the ribald tales of the -old Gallic type that were bandied about. Her face gave the lie to the -jovial slanders which circulated from the Café du Commerce to Paillot’s -shop, and from the pharmacy of the radical M. Mandar, to the jansenist -salon of M. Lerond, the retired judge. Even if it were true that the -professor of rhetoric used to allow his servant to sit at table with -him when he was dining alone, if he was in the habit of sharing with -her the little cakes that he chose with such anxious care at Dame -Magloire’s, it was only because of his pure and innocent regard for -a poor old woman, who was, in truth, both illiterate and rough, but -at the same time full of crafty wisdom and devoted to her master. She -was, in fact, filled with ambition for him and ready in her loyalty to -betray the whole world for his sake. - -Unfortunately Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of the high seminary, paid -too much heed to these prurient tales about Guitrel and his domestic, -which everyone repeated and which no one believed, not even M. Mandar, -the chemist of the Rue Culture, the most rabid of the town councillors. -He had, in fact, added too much out of his own stock-in-trade to these -merry tales not to suspect in his own mind the authenticity of the -whole collection. For quite a voluminous cycle of romance had grown up -round these two prosaic people. Had he only known the _Decameron_, the -_Heptameron_ and the _Cent Nouvelles nouvelles_ better, M. Lantaigne -would frequently have discovered the source of this droll adventure, or -of that weird anecdote, which the county town generously added to the -legend of M. Guitrel and his servant Joséphine. M. Mazure, the keeper -of the municipal archives, never failed for his part, whenever he had -found some lewd story of a Churchman in an old book, to assign it to -M. Guitrel. Only M. Lantaigne actually swallowed what everyone else -said without believing. - -“Patience, Monsieur l’abbé!” said Joséphine; “I will go and fetch a -spoon to baste it with.” - -So saying she took a long-handled pewter spoon from the sideboard -drawer and handed it to M. Guitrel. Whilst the priest poured the -flaming spirit over the frizzling sugar, which gave out a smell of -caramel, the servant leant against the sideboard with her arms crossed -and stared at the musical clock which hung on the wall in a gilt frame; -a Swiss landscape, with a train coming out of a tunnel, a balloon in -the air, and the enamelled dial affixed to a little church tower. The -observant woman was really watching her master, for his short arm was -beginning to ache with wielding the hot spoon. She began to spur him on: - -“Look sharp, Monsieur l’abbé! Don’t let it go out.” - -“This dish,” said the arch-priest, “really gives out a most delicious -odour. The last time I had one like it made for me, the dish split on -account of the heat and the rum ran over the table-cloth. I was much -vexed, and what annoyed me still more was to see the consternation on -M. Tabarit’s face, for it happened when he was dining with me.” - -“That’s just it!” exclaimed the servant. “M. _l’archiprêtre_ had it -served on a dish of fine porcelain. Of course, nothing could be too -fine for Monsieur. But the finer the china is, the worse it stands -fire. This dish here is of earthenware, and heat or cold makes no odds -to it. When my master is a bishop he’ll have his omelettes soufflées -served on a silver dish.” - -All of a sudden the flame flickered out in the pewter spoon and M. -Guitrel stopped basting the omelette. Then he turned towards the woman -and said with a stern glance: - -“Joséphine, you must never, in future, let me hear you talk in that -fashion.” - -“But, my dear Guitrel,” said the curé of Saint-Exupère, “it is only -you yourself who can take exception to such words, for to others it -would seem only natural. You have been endowed with the precious gift -of intelligence. Your knowledge is profound and, were you raised to -a bishopric, it would only seem a fitting thing. Who knows whether -this simple woman has not uttered a true prophecy? Has not your name -been mentioned among those of the priests considered eligible for the -episcopal chair of Tourcoing?” - -M. Guitrel pricked up his ears and gave a side-long glance, with one -eye full on the other’s profile. - -He was, indeed, feeling very anxious, for his affairs were by no means -in a promising state. At the nunciature he had been obliged to content -himself with vague promises and he was beginning to be afraid of their -Roman caution. It seemed to him that M. Lantaigne was in good odour at -the Department of Religion, and, in short, his visit to Paris had only -filled him with disquieting fancies. And now, if he was giving a lunch -to the curé of Saint-Exupère, it was merely because the latter had the -key to all the wire-pulling in M. Lantaigne’s party. M. Guitrel hoped, -therefore, to worm out of the worthy curé all his opponent’s secrets. - -“And why,” continued the arch-priest, “should you not be a bishop one -of these days, like M. Lantaigne?” - -In the silence that followed the utterance of this name, the musical -clock struck out a shrill little tune of the olden days. It was the -hour of noon. - -The hand with which Abbé Guitrel passed the earthenware dish to the -arch-priest trembled a little. - -“There is,” said the latter, “a mellowness about this dish, a -mellowness that is not insipid. Your servant is a first-rate cook.” - -“You were speaking of M. Lantaigne?” queried Abbé Guitrel. - -“I was,” replied the arch-priest. “I don’t mean to say that at this -precise moment M. Lantaigne is the bishop-designate of Tourcoing, -for to say that would be to anticipate the course of events. But I -heard this very morning from someone who is very intimate with the -Vicar-General that the nunciature and the ministry are practically in -agreement as to the appointment of M. Lantaigne. But this, of course, -still lacks confirmation and it is quite possible that M. de Goulet -may have taken his hopes for accomplished facts, for, as you know, -he ardently desires M. Lantaigne’s success. But that the principal -will be successful seems quite probable. It is true that some time -ago a certain uncompromising attitude, which it was believed might be -justly attributed to M. Lantaigne’s opinions, may perchance have given -offence to the powers that be, inspired as they were with a harassing -distrust of the clergy. But times are changed. These heavy clouds of -mistrust have rolled away. Certain influences, too, that were formerly -considered outside the sphere of politics are beginning to work now, -even in governmental circles. They tell me, in fact, that General -Cartier de Chalmot’s support of M. Lantaigne’s candidature has been -all-powerful. This is the gossip, the still unauthenticated report, -that I have heard.” - -The servant Joséphine had left the room, but her anxious shadow still -flashed from moment to moment through the half-open door. - -M. Guitrel neither spoke nor ate. - -“This omelette,” said the arch-priest, “has a curious mixture of -flavours which tickles the palate without allowing one to distinguish -just what it is that is so delightful. Will you permit me to ask your -servant for the recipe?” - -An hour later M. Guitrel bade farewell to his guest, and set out, with -shoulders bent low, for the seminary. Buried in thought, he descended -the winding, slanting street of the Chantres, crossing his great-coat -over his chest against the icy wind which was buffeting the gable of -the cathedral. It was the coldest, darkest corner of the town. He -hastened his pace as far as the Rue du Marché, and there he stopped -before the butcher’s shop kept by Lafolie. - -It was barred like a lion’s cage. Under the quarters of mutton hung -up by hooks, the butcher lay asleep on the ground, close against the -board used for cutting up the meat. His brawny limbs were now relaxed -in utter weariness, for his day’s work had begun at daybreak. With -his bare arms crossed, he lay slowly nodding his head. His steel was -still hanging at his side and his legs were stretched out under a -blood-stained white apron. His red face was shining, and under the -turned-down collar of his pink shirt the veins of his neck swelled up. -From the recumbent figure breathed a sense of quiet power. M. Bergeret, -indeed, always used to say of Lafolie that from him one could gather -some idea of the Homeric heroes, because his manner of life resembled -theirs since, like them, he shed the blood of victims. - -Butcher Lafolie slept. Near him slept his son, tall and strong like -his father, and with ruddy cheeks. The butcher’s boy, with his head -in his hands, was asleep on the marble slab, with his hair dangling -among the spread-out joints of meat. Behind her glazed partition at the -entrance of the shop sat Madame Lafolie, bolt upright, but with heavy -eyes weighed down by sleep. She was a fat woman, with a huge bosom, her -flesh saturated with the blood of beasts. The whole family had a look -of brutal, yet masterly, power, an air of barbaric royalty. - -With his quick glance shifting from one to the other, M. Guitrel -stood watching them for a long while. Again and again he turned with -special interest towards the master, the colossus whose purpled cheeks -were barred by a long reddish moustache, and who, now that his eyes -were shut, showed on his temples the little wrinkles that speak of -cunning. Then, surfeited of the sight of this violent, crafty brute, -and gripping his old umbrella under his arm, he crossed his great-coat -over his chest once more, and continued his way. He was quite in good -spirits once more, as he thought to himself: - -“Eight thousand, three hundred and twenty-five francs last year. One -thousand, nine hundred and six this year. Abbé Lantaigne, principal of -the high seminary, owes ten thousand, two hundred and thirty-one francs -to Lafolie the butcher, who is by no means an easy-going creditor. Abbé -Lantaigne will not be a bishop.” - -For a long while he had been aware that M. Lantaigne was in financial -straits, and that the college was heavily in debt. To-day his servant -Joséphine had just informed him that Lafolie was showing his teeth and -talking of suing the seminary and the archbishopric for debt. Trotting -along with his mincing step, M. Guitrel murmured: - -“M. Lantaigne will never be a bishop. He is honest enough, but he is a -bad manager. Now a bishopric is just an administration. Bossuet said -so in express terms when he was delivering the funeral oration of the -Prince de Condé.” - -And in mentally recalling the horrible face of Lafolie the butcher, M. -Guitrel felt no repugnance whatever. - - - - -IX - - -Meanwhile M. Bergeret was re-reading the meditations of Marcus -Aurelius. He had a fellow-feeling for Faustina’s husband, yet he found -it impossible really to appreciate all the fine thought contained in -this little book, so false to nature seemed its sentiments, so harsh -its philosophy, so scornful of the softer side of life its whole tone. -Next he read the tales of Sieur d’Ouville, and those of Eutrapel, the -_Cymbalum_ of Despériers, the _Matinées_ of Cholière and the _Serées_ -of Guillaume Bouchet. He took more pleasure in this course of reading, -for he perceived that it was suitable to one in his position and -therefore edifying, that it tended to diffuse serene peace and heavenly -gentleness in his soul. He returned grateful thanks to the whole band -of romance-writers who all, from the dweller in old Miletus, where was -told the Tale of the Wash-tub, to the wielders of the spicy wit of -Burgundy, the charm of Touraine, and the broad humour of Normandy, -have helped to turn the sorrow of harassed hearts into the ways of -pleasant mirth by teaching men the art of indulgent laughter.[8] - - [8] In his study of mediæval romances, M. Bergeret devotes - himself to the _Conte badin_, or jesting tale of ludicrous - adventure by which so much of Chaucer’s work was inspired. - This school of short stories starts with the tales of - Aristeides of Miletus, a writer of the second century - B.C. His _Milésiaques_, as they are called, - were followed by the fabliaux of the Middle Ages, and in - the fifteenth century and onwards by the _Cent Nouvelles - nouvelles_ of Louis XI’s time, by the _Heptaméron_ of the - Queen of Navarre, the _Decameron_ of Boccaccio and the - _Contes_ of Despériers, of Guillaume Bouchet, of Noël du - Fail and others. La Fontaine retold many of the older tales - in verse and Balzac tried to revive the Gallic wit and even - the language of the fabliaux in his _Contes drôlatiques_. - -“These romancers,” thought he, “who make austere moralists knit their -brows, are themselves excellent moralists, who should be loved and -praised for having gracefully suggested the simplest, the most natural, -the most humane solutions of domestic difficulties, difficulties which -the pride and hatred of the savage heart of man would fain solve by -murder and bloodshed. O Milesian romancers! O shrewd Petronius! O Noël -du Fail,” cried he, “O forerunners of Jean de La Fontaine! what apostle -was wiser or better than you, who are commonly called good-for-nothing -rascals? O benefactors of humanity! you have taught us the true science -of life, a kindly scorn of the human race!” - -Thus did M. Bergeret fortify himself with the thought that our pride -is the original source of all our misery, that we are, in fact, but -monkeys in clothes, and that we have solemnly applied conceptions of -honour and virtue to matters where these are ridiculous. Pope Boniface -VIII, in fact, was wise in thinking that, in his own case, a mountain -was being made out of a mole-hill, and Madame Bergeret and M. Roux -were just about as worthy of praise or blame as a pair of chimpanzees. -Yet, he was too clear-sighted to pretend to deny the close bond that -united him to these two principal actors in his drama. But he only -regarded himself as a meditative chimpanzee, and he derived from the -idea a sensation of gratified vanity. For wisdom invariably goes astray -somewhere. - -M. Bergeret’s, indeed, failed in another point: he did not really -adapt his conduct to his maxims, and although he showed no violence, -he never gave the least hint of forbearance. Thus he by no means -proved himself the follower of those Milesian, Latin, Florentine, or -Gallic romance-writers whose smiling philosophy he admired as being -well suited to the absurdity of human nature. He never reproached -Madame Bergeret, it is true, but neither did he speak a word, or throw -a glance in her direction. Even when seated opposite her at table, -he seemed to have the power of never seeing her. And if by chance he -met her in one of the rooms of the flat, he gave the poor woman the -impression that she was invisible. - -He ignored her, he treated her not only as a stranger, but as -non-existent. He ousted her both from visual and mental consciousness. -He annihilated her. In the house, among the numberless preoccupations -of their life together, he neither saw her, heard her, nor formed any -perception of her. Madame Bergeret was a coarse-grained, troublesome -woman, but she was a homely, moral creature after all; she was human -and living, and she suffered keenly at not being allowed to burst -out into vulgar chatter, into threatening gestures and shrill cries. -She suffered at no longer feeling herself the mistress of the house, -the presiding genius of the kitchen, the mother of the family, the -matron. Worst of all, she suffered at feeling herself done away with, -at feeling that she no longer counted as a person, or even as a thing. -During meals she at last reached the point of longing to be a chair -or a plate, so that her presence might at least be recognised. If M. -Bergeret had suddenly drawn the carving-knife on her, she would have -cried for joy, although she was by nature timid of a blow. But not to -count, not to matter, not to be seen, was insupportable to her dull, -heavy temperament. The monotonous and incessant punishment that M. -Bergeret inflicted on her was so cruel that she was obliged to stuff -her handkerchief into her mouth to stifle her sobs. And M. Bergeret, -shut up in his study, used to hear her noisily blowing her nose in the -dining-room while he himself was placidly sorting the slips for his -_Virgilius nauticus_, unmoved by either love or hate. - -Every evening Madame Bergeret was sorely tempted to follow her husband -into the study that had now become his bedroom as well, and the -impregnable fastness of his impregnable will. She longed either to ask -his forgiveness, or to overwhelm him with the lowest abuse, to prick -his face with the point of a kitchen-knife or to slash herself in the -breast—one or the other, indifferently, for all she wanted was to -attract his notice to herself, just to exist for him. And this thing -which was denied her, she needed with the same overpowering need with -which one craves bread, water, air, salt. - -She still despised M. Bergeret, for this feeling was hereditary and -filial in her nature. It came to her from her father and flowed in her -blood. She would no longer have been a Pouilly, the niece of Pouilly of -the Dictionary, if she had acknowledged any kind of equality between -herself and her husband. She despised him because she was a Pouilly -and he was a Bergeret, and not because she had deceived him. She had -the good sense not to plume herself too much on this superiority, but -it is more than probable that she despised him for not having killed -M. Roux. Her scorn was a fixed quantity, capable neither of increase -nor decrease. Nevertheless, she felt no hatred for him, although until -lately, she had rather enjoyed tormenting and annoying him in the -ordinary affairs of every day, by scolding him for the untidiness of -his clothes and the tactlessness of his behaviour, or by telling him -interminable anecdotes about the neighbours, trivial and silly stories -in which even the malice and ill-nature were but commonplace. For this -windbag of a mind produced neither bitter venom nor strange poison and -was but puffed up by the breath of vanity. - -Madame Bergeret was admirably calculated to live on good terms with a -mate whom she could betray and brow-beat in the calm assurance of her -power and by the natural working of her vigorous physique. Having no -inner life of her own and being exuberantly healthy of body, she was -a gregarious creature, and when M. Bergeret was suddenly withdrawn -from her life, she missed him as a good wife misses an absent husband. -Moreover, this meagre little man, whom she had always considered -insignificant and unimportant, but not troublesome, now filled her -with dread. By treating her as an absolute nonentity, M. Bergeret made -her really feel that she no longer existed. She seemed to herself -enveloped in nothingness. At this new, unknown, nameless state, akin -to solitude and death, she sank into melancholy and terror. At night, -her anguish became cruel, for she was sensitive to nature and subject -to the influence of time and space. Alone in her bed, she used to -gaze in horror at the wicker-work woman on which she had draped her -dresses for so many years and which, in the days of her pride and -light-heartedness, used to stand in M. Bergeret’s study, proudly -upright, all body and no head. Now, bandy-legged and mutilated, it -leant wearily against the glass-fronted wardrobe, in the shadow of -the curtain of purple rep. Lenfant the cooper had found it in his -yard amongst the tubs of water with their floating corks, and when he -brought it to Madame Bergeret, she dared not set it up again in the -study, but had carried it instead into the conjugal chamber where, -wounded, drooping, and struck by emblematic wrath, it now stood like a -symbol that represented notions of black magic to her mind. - -She suffered cruelly. When she awoke one morning a melancholy ray -of pale sunlight was shining between the folds of the curtain on -the mutilated wicker dummy and, as she lay watching it, she melted -with self-pity at the thought of her own innocence and M. Bergeret’s -cruelty. She felt instinct with rebellion. It was intolerable, she -thought, that Amélie Pouilly should suffer by the act of a Bergeret. -She mentally communed with the soul of her father and so strengthened -herself in the idea that M. Bergeret was too paltry a man to make her -unhappy. This sense of pride gave her relief and supplied her with -confidence to bedeck herself, buoying her mind with the assurance that -she had not been humiliated and that everything was as it always had -been. - -It was Madame Leterrier’s At Home day, and Madame Bergeret set out, -therefore, to call on the rector’s highly respected wife. In the blue -drawing-room she found her hostess sitting with Madame Compagnon, the -wife of the mathematical professor, and after the first greetings were -over, she heaved a deep sigh. It was a provocative sigh, rather than a -down-trodden one, and while the two university ladies were still giving -ear to it, Madame Bergeret added: - -“There are many reasons for sadness in this life, especially for anyone -who is not naturally inclined to put up with everything.... You are a -happy woman, Madame Leterrier, and so are you, Madame Compagnon!...” - -And Madame Bergeret, becoming humble, discreet and self-controlled, -said nothing more, though fully conscious of the inquiring glances -directed towards her. But this was quite enough to give people to -understand that she was ill-used and humiliated in her home. Before, -there had been whispers in the town about M. Roux’s attentions to her, -but from that day forth Madame Leterrier set herself to put an end -to the scandal, declaring that M. Roux was a well-bred, honourable -young man. Speaking of Madame Bergeret, she added, with moist lips and -tear-filled eyes: - -“That poor woman is very unhappy and very sensitive.” - -Within six weeks the drawing-rooms of the county town had made up their -minds and come over to Madame Bergeret’s side. They declared that M. -Bergeret, who never paid calls, was a worthless fellow. They suspected -him of secret debauchery and hidden vice, and his friend, M. Mazure, -his comrade at the academy of old books, his colleague at Paillot’s, -was quite sure that he had seen him one evening going into the -restaurant in the Rue des Hebdomadiers, a place of questionable repute. - -Whilst M. Bergeret was thus being tried by the tribunal of society -and found wanting, the popular voice was crowning him with quite a -different reputation. Of the vulgar symbol that had lately appeared on -the front of his own house only very indistinct traces remained. But -phantoms of the same design began to increase and multiply in the town, -and now M. Bergeret could not go to the college, nor on the Mall, nor -to Paillot’s shop, without seeing his own portrait on some wall, drawn -in the primitive style of all such ribaldries, surrounded by obscene, -suggestive, or idiotic scrawls, and either pencilled or chalked or -traced with the point of a stone and accompanied by an explanatory -legend. - -M. Bergeret was neither angered nor vexed at the sight of these -_graffiti_; he was only annoyed at the increasing number of them. There -was one on the white wall of Goubeau’s cow-house on the Tintelleries; -another on the yellow frontage of Deniseau’s agency in the Place -Saint-Exupère; another on the grand theatre under the list of admission -rates at the second pay-box; another at the corner of the Rue de la -Pomme and the Place du Vieux-Marché; another on the outbuildings of -the Nivert mansion, next to the Gromances’ residence; another on the -porter’s lodge at the University; and yet another on the wall of the -gardens of the prefecture. And every morning M. Bergeret found yet -newer ones. He noted, too, that these _graffiti_ were not all from the -same hand. In some, the man’s figure was drawn in quite primitive -style; others were better drawn, without showing, however, upon -examination, any approach to individual likeness or the difficult art -of portraiture. But in every case the bad drawing was supplemented by a -written explanation, and in all these popular caricatures M. Bergeret -wore horns. He noticed that sometimes these horns projected from a bare -skull, sometimes from a tall hat. - -“Two schools of art!” thought he. - -But his refined nature suffered. - - - - -X - - -M. Worms-Clavelin had insisted on his old friend, Georges Frémont, -staying to déjeuner. Frémont, an inspector of fine art, was going -on circuit through the department. When they had first met in the -painters’ studios at Montmartre, Frémont was young and Worms-Clavelin -very young. They had not a single idea in common, and they had -no points of agreement at all. Frémont loved to contradict, and -Worms-Clavelin put up with it; Frémont was fluent and violent in -speech, Worms-Clavelin always yielded to his vehemence and spoke but -little. For a time they were comrades, and then life separated them. -But every time that they happened to meet, they once more became -intimate and quarrelled zestfully. For Georges Frémont, middle-aged, -portly, beribboned, well-to-do, still retained something of his -youthful fire. This morning, sitting between Madame Worms-Clavelin in -a morning gown and M. Worms-Clavelin in a breakfast jacket, he was -telling his hostess how he had discovered in the garrets at the museum, -where it had been buried in dust and rubbish, a little wooden figure -in the purest style of French art. It was a Saint Catherine habited in -the garb of a townswoman of the fifteenth century, a tiny figure with -wonderful delicacy of expression and with such a thoughtful, honest -look that he felt the tears rise to his eyes as he dusted her. M. -Worms-Clavelin inquired if it were a statue or a picture, and Georges -Frémont, glancing at him with a look of kindly scorn, said gently: - -“Worms, don’t try to understand what I am saying to your wife! You are -utterly incapable of conceiving the Beautiful in any form whatever. -Harmonious lines and noble thoughts will always be written in an -unknown tongue as far as you are concerned.” - -M. Worms-Clavelin shrugged his shoulders: - -“Shut up, you old communard!” said he. - -Georges Frémont actually was an old communard. A Parisian, the son -of a furniture maker in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and a pupil at -the Beaux-Arts, he was twenty at the time of the German invasion, and -had enlisted in a regiment of _francs-tireurs_ who never saw service. -For this slight Frémont had never forgiven Trochu. At the time of the -capitulation he was one of the most excited, and shouted with the -rest that Paris had been betrayed. But he was no fool, and really -meant that Paris had been badly defended, which was true enough, of -course. He was for war to the knife. When the Commune was proclaimed, -he declared for it. On the proposition of one of his father’s old -workmen, a certain citizen Charlier, delegate for the Beaux-Arts, he -was appointed assistant sub-director of the Museum of the Louvre. -It was an honorary appointment and he performed his duties booted, -with cartridges in his belt, and on his head a Tyrolese hat adorned -with cock feathers. At the beginning of the siege the canvases had -been rolled up, put into packing-cases and carried away to warehouses -from which he never succeeded in unearthing them. The only duty that -remained to him was to smoke his pipe in galleries that had been -transformed into guard-rooms and to gossip with the National Guard, to -whom he denounced Badinguet for having destroyed the Rubens pictures by -a cleaning process which had removed the glaze. He based his grounds -for this accusation on the authority of a newspaper article, backed up -by M. Vitet’s opinion. The federalists sat on the benches and listened -to him, with their guns between their legs, whilst they drank their -pints of wine in the palace precincts, for it was warm weather. When, -however, the people of Versailles forced their way into Paris by the -broken-down Porte du Point-du-Jour and the cannonade approached the -Tuileries, Georges Frémont was much distressed to see the National -Guard of the federalists rolling casks of petroleum into the Apollo -gallery. It was with great difficulty that he at length succeeded in -dissuading them from saturating the wainscoting to make it blaze. Then, -giving them money for drink, he got rid of them. After they had gone, -he managed, with the assistance of the Bonapartist guards, to roll -these dangerous casks to the foot of the staircase and to push them -as far as the bank of the Seine. When the colonel of the federalists -was informed of this, he suspected Frémont of betraying the popular -cause and ordered him to be shot. But as soon as the Versailles mob -was approaching and the smoke of the blazing Tuileries rising into the -air, Frémont fled, cheek by jowl with the squad that had been ordered -out to execute him. Two days later, being denounced to the Versailles -party, he was a fugitive from the military tribunal for having taken -part in a rebellion against the established Government. And it was -perfectly certain that the Versailles party was in direct succession, -since having followed the Empire on September 4th, 1870, it had adopted -and retained the recognised procedure of the preceding Government, -whilst the Commune, which had never succeeded in establishing those -telegraphic communications that are absolutely essential to a -recognised government, found itself undone and destroyed—and, in -fact, very much in the wrong. Besides, the Commune was the outcome of -a revolution carried out in face of the enemy, and this the Versailles -administration could never forgive, for its origin recalled their -own. It was for this reason that a captain of the winning side, being -employed in shooting rebels in the neighbourhood of the Louvre, ordered -his men to search for Frémont and shoot him. At last, after remaining -in hiding for a fortnight with citizen Charlier, a member of the -Commune, under a roof in the Place de la Bastille, Frémont left Paris -in a smock-frock, with a whip in his hand, behind a market-gardener’s -cart. And whilst a court-martial at Versailles was condemning him to -death, he was earning his livelihood in London by drawing up a complete -catalogue of Rowlandson’s works for a rich City amateur. Being an -intelligent, industrious and honourable man, he soon became well known -and respected among the English artists. He loved art passionately, -but politics scarcely interested him at all. He remained friendly -towards the Commune through loyalty alone and in order to avoid the -shame of deserting vanquished friends. But he dressed well and moved -in good society. He worked strenuously and, at the same time, knew how -to profit by his work. His _Dictionnaire des monogrammes_ not only -established his reputation, but brought him in some money. After the -amnesty had been passed and the last fluttering rags of civil strife -had blown away, there landed at Boulogne, after Gambetta’s motion, a -certain gentleman, haughty and smiling, yet not unsociable. He was -youngish, but a little worn by work, and with a few grey hairs; he was -correctly dressed in a travelling costume and carried a portmanteau -packed with sketches and manuscripts. Establishing himself in modest -style at Montmartre, Georges Frémont quickly became intimate with -the artist colony there. But the labours upon the emoluments from -which he had mainly supported himself in England only brought him the -satisfaction of gratified vanity in France. Then Gambetta obtained -for him an appointment as inspector of museums, and Frémont fulfilled -his duties in this department both conscientiously and skilfully. -He had a true and delicate taste in art. The nervous sensitiveness -which had moved him deeply in his youth before the spectacle of his -country’s wounds, still affected him, now that he was growing old, -when confronted by unhappy social conditions, but enabled him, too, -to derive delight from the graceful expression of human thought, from -exquisite shapes, from the classic line, and the heroic cast of a face. -With all this he was patriotic even in art, never jesting about the -Burgundian school, faithful to political sentiment, and relying on -France to bring justice and liberty to the universe. - -“You old communard!” repeated M. Worms-Clavelin. - -“Hold your tongue, Worms! Your soul is ignoble and your mind obtuse. -You have no meaning in yourself, but, in the phrase of to-day, you are -a representative type. Just Heavens! how many victims were butchered -during a whole century of civil war just that M. Worms-Clavelin might -become a republican _préfet_! Worms, you are lower in the scale than -the _préfets_ of the Empire.” - -“The Empire!” exclaimed M. Worms-Clavelin. “Blast the Empire! First of -all it swept us all into the abyss, and then it made me an official. -But, all the same, wine is made, corn is grown, just as in the time -of the Empire; they bet on the Bourse, as under the Empire; one eats, -drinks, and makes love, as under the Empire. At bottom, life is just -the same. How could government and administration be different? -There are certain shades of difference, I grant you. We have more -liberty; we even have too much of it. We have more security. We enjoy -a government which suits the ideals of the people. As far as such a -thing is possible, we are the masters of our fate. All the social -forces are now held in just balance, or nearly so. Now just you show me -what there is that could be changed. The colour of our postage stamps -perhaps ... and after that!... As old Montessuy used to say, ‘No, no, -friend, short of changing the French, there is nothing in France to -change.’ Of course, I am all for progress. One must talk about moving, -were it only in order to dispense with movement. ‘Forward! forward!’ -The _Marseillaise_ must have been useful in _not_ carrying one to the -frontier!...” - -The look which Georges Frémont turned on the _préfet_ was full of deep, -affectionate, kindly, thoughtful scorn: - -“Everything is as perfect as it can be, then, Worms?” - -“Don’t make out that I speak like an utter dolt. Nothing is perfect, -but all things cling together, prop one another up, dovetail with one -another. It is just like père Mulot’s wall which you can see from here -behind the orangery. It is all warped and cracked and leans forward. -For the last thirty years that fool of a Quatrebarbe, the diocesan -architect, has been stopping dead in front of Mulot’s house. Then, with -his nose in air, his hands behind his back and his legs apart, he says: -‘I really don’t see how that holds together!’ The little imps coming -out from school stand behind him and shout in mockery of his gruff -tones: ‘I really don’t see how that holds together!’ He turns round -and, seeing nobody, looks at the pavement as though the echo of his -voice had risen from the earth. Then he goes away repeating, ‘I really -don’t see how that holds together!’ It holds together because nobody -touches it; because père Mulot summons neither masons nor architects; -above all, because he takes good care not to ask M. Quatrebarbe for his -advice. It holds together because up till now it has held together. It -holds together, you old dreamer, because they neither revise the taxes -nor reform the Constitution.” - -“That is to say, it holds together through fraud and iniquity,” said -Georges Frémont. “We have fallen into a cauldron of shame. Our finance -ministers are under the thumb of the cosmopolitan banking-houses. -And, sadder still, it is France—France, of old the deliverer of -the nations—that has no care in European politics save to avenge -the rights of titled sovereigns. Without even daring to shudder, we -permitted the massacre of three hundred thousand Christians in the -East, although, by our traditions, we had been constituted their -revered and august protectors. We have betrayed not only the interests -of humanity, but our own; and now you may see the Republic floating in -Cretan waters among the Powers of Europe, like a guinea-fowl amid a -flock of gulls. It was to this point, then, that our friendship with -our ally was to lead us.” - -The _préfet_ protested: - -“Don’t attack the Russian entente, Frémont. It’s the very best of all -the electioneering baits.” - -“The Russian alliance,” replied Frémont, waving his fork, “I hailed -the birth of it with joyful expectation. But, alas, did it not, at the -very first test, fling us into the arms of that assassin the Sultan and -lead us to Crete, there to hurl melinite shell at Christians whose only -fault was the long oppression they had suffered? But it was not Russia -that we took such pains to humour, it was the great bankers interested -in Ottoman bonds. And you saw how the glorious victory of Canea was -hailed by the Jewish financiers with a burst of generous enthusiasm.” - -“There you go,” cried the _préfet_, “that’s just sentimental politics! -You ought to know, at any rate, where that sort of thing leads. And why -the deuce you should be excited about the Greeks, I don’t see. They’re -not at all interesting.” - -“You are right, Worms,” said the inspector of fine arts. “You are -perfectly right. The Greeks are not interesting, for they are poor. -They have nothing but their blue sea, their violet hills and the -fragments of their statues. The honey of Hymettus is never quoted -on the Bourse. The Turks, on the contrary, are well worthy of the -attention of European financiers. They have internal dissensions; above -all they have resources. They pay badly and they pay much. One can do -business with them. Stocks rise. All is well then. Such are the ideals -of our foreign policy!” - -M. Worms-Clavelin interrupted him hurriedly, and casting on him a -reproachful look, said: - -“Ah, now! Georges, don’t be disingenuous. You know well enough that we -neither have, nor can have, any foreign policy.” - - - - -XI - - -“It seems that it is fixed for to-morrow,” said M. de Terremondre as he -entered Paillot’s shop. - -Everyone understood the allusion: he was referring to the execution -of Lecœur, the butcher’s assistant, who had been sentenced to -death on the 27th of November, for the murder of Madame Houssieu. -This young criminal supplied the entire township with an interest in -life. Judge Roquincourt, who had a reputation in society as a ladies’ -man, had courteously admitted Madame Dellion and Madame de Gromance -to the prison and allowed them a glimpse of the prisoner through the -barred grating of the cell where he was playing cards with a gaoler. -In his turn, the governor of the prison, M. Ossian Colot, an officer -of the Academy, gladly did the honours of his condemned prisoner to -journalists as well as to prominent townsmen. M. Ossian Colot had -written with the knowledge of an expert on various questions of the -penal code. He was proud of his establishment, which was run on the -most up-to-date lines, and he by no means despised popularity. The -visitors cast curious glances at Lecœur, while they speculated on -the relationship between this youth of twenty and the nonagenarian -widow who had become his victim. They stood stupefied by astonishment -before this monstrous brute. Yet Abbé Tabarit, the prison chaplain, -told with tears in his eyes how the poor lad had expressed the most -edifying sentiments of repentance and piety. Meanwhile, from morning -to night throughout three whole months, Lecœur played cards with -his gaolers and disputed the points in their own slang, for they were -of the same class. His darkened soul never revealed its sufferings -in words, but the rosy, chubby lad who, only ten months before, was -to be met whistling in the street with his basket on his head, and -his white apron knotted round his muscular loins, now shivered in his -strait waistcoat with pale, cadaverous face and looked like a sick man -of forty. His herculean neck was wasted and now protruded from his -drooping shoulders, thin and disproportionately long. By this time it -was agreed on all sides that he had exhausted the abhorrence, the pity -and the curiosity of his fellow-citizens, and that it was high time to -put an end to him. - -“For six o’clock to-morrow. I heard it from Surcouf himself,” added M. -de Terremondre. “They’ve got the guillotine at the station.” - -“That’s a good thing,” said Dr. Fornerol. “For three nights the crowd -has been congregating at the cross-roads of les Évées and there have -been several accidents. Julien’s son fell from a tree on his head and -cracked his skull. I’m afraid it’s impossible to save him. - -“As for the condemned,” continued the doctor, “nobody, not even the -President of the Republic, could prolong his life. For this young lad -who was vigorous and sound up to the time of his arrest is now in the -last stage of consumption.” - -“Have you seen him in his cell, then?” asked Paillot. - -“Several times,” answered Dr. Fornerol, “and I have even attended him -professionally at Ossian Colot’s request, for he is always deeply -interested in the moral and physical well-being of his boarders.” - -“He’s a real philanthropist,” answered M. de Terremondre. “And the -fact ought to be recognised that, in its way, our municipal prison is -an admirable institution, with its clean, white cells, all radiating -from a central watch-tower, and so skilfully arranged that all the -occupants are constantly under observation without being aware of the -fact. Nothing can be said against it, it is complete and modern and -all on the newest lines. Last year, when I was on a walking tour in -Morocco, I saw at Tangier, in a courtyard shaded by a mulberry tree, -a wretched building of mud and plaster, with a huge negro dressed in -rags lying asleep in front of it. Being a soldier, he was armed with a -cudgel. Swarthy hands clasping wicker baskets were projecting from the -narrow windows of the building. These belonged to the prisoners, who -were offering the passers-by the products of their lazy efforts, in -exchange for a copper or two. Their guttural voices whined out prayers -and complaints, which were harshly punctuated at intervals by curses -and furious shouts. For they were all shut up together in a vast hall -and spent the time in quarrelling with one another about the apertures, -through which they all wanted to pass their baskets. Whenever a dispute -was too noisy, the black soldier would wake up and force both baskets -and suppliant hands back within the walls by a vigorous onslaught of -his cudgel. In a few seconds, however, more hands would appear, all -sunburnt and tattooed in blue like the first ones. I had the curiosity -to peep into the prison hall through the chinks in an old wooden door. -I could see in the dim-lit, shadowy place a horde of tatterdemalions -scattered over the damp ground, bronzed bodies sleeping on piles of red -rags, solemn faces with long venerable beards beneath their turbans, -nimble blackamoors weaving baskets with shouts of laughter. On swollen -limbs here and there could be seen soiled linen bandages barely hiding -sores and ulcers, and one could see and hear the vermin wave and rustle -in all directions. Sometimes a laugh passed round the room. And a black -hen was pecking at the filthy ground with her beak. The soldier allowed -me to watch the prisoners as long as I liked, waiting for me to go, -before he begged of me. Then I thought of the governor of our splendid -municipal prison, and I said to myself: ‘If only M. Ossian Colot were -to come to Tangier he would soon discover and sweep away this crowding, -this horrible promiscuity.’” - -“You paint a picture of barbarism which I recognise,” answered M. -Bergeret. “It is far less cruel than civilisation. For these Mussulman -prisoners have no sufferings to undergo, save such as arise from the -indifference or the occasional savagery of their gaolers. At least the -philanthropists leave them alone and their life is endurable, for they -escape the torture of the cell system, and in comparison with the cell -invented by the penal code of science, every other sort of prison is -quite pleasant. - -“There is,” continued M. Bergeret, “a peculiar savagery in civilised -peoples, which surpasses in cruelty all that the imagination of -barbarism can conceive. A criminal expert is a much fiercer being than -a savage, and a philanthropist will invent tortures unknown in China or -Persia. A Persian executioner kills his prisoners by starving them, but -it required a philanthropist to conceive the idea of killing them with -solitude. It is on the principle of solitude that the punishment of the -cell system depends, and no other penalty can be compared with it for -duration and cruelty. The sufferer, if he is lucky, becomes mad through -it, and madness mercifully destroys in him all sense of his sufferings. -People imagine they are justifying this abominable system when they -allege that the prisoner must be withdrawn from the bad influence of -his fellows and put in a position where he cannot give way to immoral -or criminal instincts. People who reason in this way are really such -great fools that one can scarcely call them hypocrites.” - -“You are right,” said M. Mazure. “But let us be just to our own age. -The Revolution not only accomplished a reform in judicial procedure, -but also much improved the lot of the prisoner. The dungeons of the -olden times were generally dark, pestilential dens.” - -“It is true,” replied M. Bergeret, “that men have been cruel and -malicious in every age and have always delighted in tormenting the -wretched. But before philanthropists arose, at any rate, men were only -tortured through a simple feeling of hatred and desire for revenge, and -not for the good of their morals.” - -“You forget,” answered M. Mazure, “that the Middle Ages gave birth to -the most accursed form of philanthropy ever known—the spiritual. For -it is just this name that suits the spirit of the holy Inquisition. It -was through pure charity alone that this tribunal handed heretics over -to the stake, and if it destroyed the body, it was, so they said, only -in order to save the soul.” - -“They never said that,” answered M. Bergeret, “and they never thought -it. Victor Hugo did, indeed, believe that Torquemada ordered men to be -burnt for their good, in order that their eternal happiness might be -secured at the price of a short pain. On this theory he constructed -a drama that sparkles with the play of antithesis. But there is no -foundation whatever for this idea of his, and I should never have -imagined that a scholar like you, fattening, as you have done, on old -parchments, would have been led astray by a poet’s lies. The truth -is that the tribunal of the Inquisition, in handing the heretic over -to the secular arm, was simply cutting away a diseased limb from the -Church, for fear lest the whole body should be contaminated. As for -the limb thus cut off, its fate was in the hands of God. Such was the -spirit of the Inquisition, frightful enough, but by no means romantic. -But where the Holy Office showed what you rightly call spiritual -philanthropy was in the treatment it meted out to those converted from -the error of their ways. It charitably condemned them to perpetual -imprisonment, and immured them for the good of their souls. But I was -merely referring to the State prisons, just now, such as they were in -the Middle Ages and in modern times up to the reign of Louis XIV.” - -“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that the system of solitary -confinement has not produced all the happy results that were expected -from it in the reformation of prisoners.” - -“This system,” said Dr. Fornerol, “often produces rather serious mental -disorders. Yet it is only fair to add that criminals are naturally -predisposed to troubles of this kind. We recognise to-day that the -criminal is a degenerate. Thus, for instance, thanks to M. Ossian -Colot’s courtesy, I have been allowed to make an examination of our -murderer, this fellow Lecœur. I found many physiological defects in -him.... His teeth, for instance, are quite abnormal. I argue from that -fact that he is only partially responsible for his acts.” - -“Yet,” said M. Bergeret, “one of the sisters of Mithridates had a -double row of teeth in each jaw, and in her brother’s estimation, at -any rate, she was a woman of noble courage. So dearly did he love her -that when he was a fugitive pursued by Lucullus, he gave orders that -she should be strangled by a mute to prevent her falling alive into the -hands of the Romans. Nor did she then fail to live up to her brother’s -lofty estimation of her character, but suffering death by the bowstring -with joyous calmness, said: ‘I thank the king, my brother, for having -had a care to my honour, even in the midst of his own besetting -troubles.’ You see from this example that heroism is not impossible -even with a row of abnormal teeth.” - -“Lecœur’s case,” replied the doctor, “presents many other -peculiarities which cannot fail to be significant in the eyes of a -scientist. Like so many born criminals his senses are blunted. Thus I -found, when I examined him, that he was tattooed in every part of his -body. You would be surprised at the lewd fancy shown in the choice of -scenes and symbols painted on his skin.” - -“Really?” said M. de Terremondre. - -“The skin of this patient,” said Dr. Fornerol, “really ought to be -properly prepared and preserved in our museum. But it is not the -character of the tattooing that I want to insist upon, but rather the -number of the pictures and their arrangement on the body. Certain parts -of the operation must have caused the patient an amount of pain which -could scarcely have been bearable to a person of ordinary sensibility.” - -“There you are making a mistake!” exclaimed M. de Terremondre. “It -is evident that you don’t know my friend Jilly. Yet he is a very -well-known man. Jilly was quite young when, in 1885 or ’86, he made -the tour of the world with his friend Lord Turnbridge on the yacht -_Old Friend_. Jilly swears that throughout the whole voyage, through -storms and calm, neither Lord Turnbridge nor himself ever put foot on -deck for a single moment. The whole time they remained in the cabin -drinking champagne with an old top-man of the marines who had been -taught tattooing by a Tasmanian chief. In the course of the voyage -this old top-man covered the two friends from head to foot with tattoo -marks, and Jilly returned to France adorned with a fox-hunt that -comprises as many as three hundred and twenty-four figures of men, -women, horses and dogs. He is always delighted to show it when he sups -with boon companions at an inn. Now I really cannot say whether Jilly -is abnormally insensitive to pain, but what I can tell you is that he -is a fine fellow, and a man of honour and that he is incapable of....” - -“But,” asked M. Bergeret, “do you think it right that this butcher’s -boy should be guillotined? For you confess that there are such things -as born criminals, and in your own phrase it seems that Lecœur -was only partially responsible for his acts, through a congenital -predisposition to crime.” - -The doctor shrugged his shoulders. - -“Then what would you do with him?” he asked. - -“As a matter of fact,” replied M. Bergeret, “I am but little interested -in the fate of this particular man. But I am, nevertheless, opposed to -the death penalty.” - -“Let’s hear your reasons, Bergeret,” said Mazure, the archivist, for -to him, living as he did in admiration of ’93 and the Terror, the idea -of the guillotine carried with it mystic suggestions of moral beauty. -“For my part, I would prohibit the death penalty in common law, but -re-establish it in political cases.” - -M. de Terremondre had appointed Paillot’s shop as a rendezvous for M. -Georges Frémont, the inspector of fine arts, and just at the moment -when this civic discussion was in progress, he entered the shop. They -were going together to inspect Queen Marguerite’s house. Now, M. -Bergeret stood rather in awe of M. Frémont, for he felt himself a poor -creature by the side of such a great man. For M. Bergeret, who feared -nothing in the world of ideas, was very diffident where living men were -concerned. - -M. de Terremondre had not got the key of the house, so he sent Léon to -fetch it, while he made M. Georges Frémont sit down in the corner among -the old books. - -“Monsieur Bergeret,” said he, “is singing the praises of the -old-fashioned prisons.” - -“Not at all,” said M. Bergeret, a little annoyed, “not at all. They -were nothing but sewers where the poor wretches lived chained to the -wall. But, at any rate, they were not alone—they had companions—and -the citizens, as well as the lords and ladies, used to come and visit -them. Visiting the prisons was one of the seven works of mercy. Nobody -is tempted to do that now, and if they were, the prison regulations -would not allow it.” - -“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that in olden times it was -customary to visit the prisoners. In my portfolios I have an engraving -by Abraham Bosse, which represents a nobleman wearing a plumed felt -hat, accompanying a lady in a veil of Venice point and a peaked brocade -bodice, into a dungeon which is swarming with beggars clothed in a few -shreds of filthy rags. The engraving is one of a set of seven original -proofs which I possess. And with these one always has to be on one’s -guard, for nowadays they reprint them from the old worn plates.” - -“Visiting the prisons,” said Georges Frémont, “is a common subject -of Christian art in Italy, Flanders and France. It is treated with -peculiar vigour and truth in the Della Robbias on the frieze of painted -terra-cotta that surrounds the hospital at Pistoia in its superb -embrace.... You know Pistoia, Monsieur Bergeret?...” - -The Professor had to acknowledge that he had never been in Tuscany. - -Here M. de Terremondre, who was standing near the door, touched M. -Frémont’s arm. - -“Look, Monsieur Frémont,” said he, “towards the square at the right of -the church. You will see the prettiest woman in the town go by.” - -“That’s Madame de Gromance,” said M. Bergeret. “She is charming.” - -“She occasions a lot of gossip,” said M. Mazure. “She was a Demoiselle -Chapon. Her father was a solicitor, and the greatest skinflint in the -department. Yet she is a typical aristocrat.” - -“What is called the aristocratic type,” said Georges Frémont, “is a -pure conception of the brain. There is no more reality in it than in -the classic type of the Bacchante or the Muse. I have often wondered -how this aristocratic type of womanhood arose, how it managed to -root itself in the popular conception. It takes its origin, I think, -from several elements of real life. Among these I should point to -the actresses in tragedy and comedy, both those of the old Gymnase -and of the Théâtre-Français, as well as of the Boulevard du Crime -and the Porte-Saint-Martin. For a whole century these actresses have -been presenting to our spectacle-loving people numberless studies of -princesses and great ladies. Besides these, one must include the models -from whom painters create queens and duchesses for their genre, or -historical pictures. Nor must one overlook the more recent and less -far-reaching, yet still powerful, influence of the mannequins, or -lay-figures, of the great dressmakers, those beautiful girls with tall -figures who show off a dress so superbly. Now these actresses, these -models, these shop-girls, are all women of the lower class. From this -I deduce the fact that the aristocratic type proceeds entirely from -plebeian elegance. Hence there is nothing surprising in the fact that -Madame de Gromance, _née_ Chapon, should be found to belong to this -type. She is graceful, and what is a rare thing in our towns, with -their sharp paving-stones and dirty footpaths—she walks well. But I -rather fancy she falls a little short of perfection as regards the -hips. That’s a serious defect!” - -Lifting his nose from the thirty-eighth volume of _l’Histoire générale -des Voyages_, M. Bergeret looked with admiring awe at this red-bearded -Parisian who could thus pass judgment on Madame de Gromance’s -delicious beauty and worshipful shape in the cold and measured accents -of an inquisitor. - -“Now I know your tastes,” said M. de Terremondre, “I will introduce you -to my aunt Courtrai. She is heavily built and can only sit down in a -certain family arm-chair, which, for the past three hundred years, has -been in the habit of receiving all the old ladies of Courtrai-Maillan -within its capaciously wide and complacent embrace. As for her face, -it suits well with the rest of her, and I hope you will like it. -My aunt Courtrai is as red as a tomato, with fair moustaches that -wave negligently in their beauty. Ah! my aunt Courtrai’s type has no -connection with your actresses, models, and dressmakers’ dummies.” - -“I feel myself,” said M. Frémont, “already much enamoured of your -worthy aunt.” - -“The ancient nobility,” said M. Mazure, “used to live the life of -our large farmers of to-day, and, of course, they could not avoid -resembling those whose lives they led.” - -“It is a well-proved fact,” said Dr. Fornerol, “that the human race is -degenerating.” - -“Do you really think so?” asked M. Frémont. “Yet in France and Italy, -during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the flower of their -chivalry must have been very slender. The royal coats of mail belonging -to the end of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance times were skilfully -wrought, and damascened and chased with exquisite art, yet so narrow -in the shoulders are they and so meagre in figure, that a man of our -day could only wear them with difficulty. They were almost all made -for small, slight men, and in fact, French portraits of the fifteenth -century, and the miniatures of Jehan Foucquet show us a world of almost -stunted folk.” - -Léon entered with the key, in a great state of excitement. - -“It is fixed for to-morrow,” he said to his master. “Deibler and his -assistants came by the half-past three train. They went to the Hôtel -de Paris, but there they wouldn’t take them in. Then they went to the -inn at the bottom of Duroc Hill, _le Cheval Bleu_, a regular cut-throat -place.” - -“Ah, yes,” said Frémont, “I heard this morning at the prefecture that -there was an execution in your town. The topic was in everybody’s -mouth.” - -“There are so few amusements in the provinces!” said M. de Terremondre. - -“But that spirit,” said M. Bergeret, “is revolting. A legal execution -takes place in secret. But why should we still carry it on at all, -if we are ashamed of it? President Grévy, who was a man of great -insight, practically abolished the death penalty, by never passing a -sentence of death. Would that his successors had followed his example! -Personal security in the modern state is not obtained by mere fear of -punishment. Many European nations have now abolished the death penalty, -and in such countries crime is no more common than in the nations where -this base custom yet exists. And even in countries where this practice -is still found, it is in a weak and languishing condition, no longer -retaining power or efficacy. It is nothing but a piece of useless -unseemliness, for the practice is a mere survival of the principle on -which it rested. Those ideas of right and justice which formerly laid -men’s heads low in majestic fashion are now shaken to their roots by -the morality which has blossomed upon the natural sciences. And since -the death penalty is visibly on the point of death, the wisest thing -would be to let it die.” - -“You are right,” said M. Frémont. “The death penalty has become an -intolerable practice, since now we no longer connect any idea of -expiation with it, for expiation is a purely theological notion.” - -“The President would certainly have sent a pardon,” said Léon, with a -consequential air. “But the crime was too horrible.” - -“The power of pardon,” said M. Bergeret, “was one of the attributes -of divine right. The king could only exercise it because, as the -representative of God on earth, he was above the ordinary human -justice. In passing from the king to the President of the Republic, -this right lost its essential character and therefore its legality. -It thenceforth became a flimsy prerogative, a judicial power -outside justice and yet no longer above it; it created an arbitrary -jurisdiction, foreign to our conception of the lawgiver. In practice -it is good, since by its action the wretched are saved. But bear in -mind that it has become ridiculous. The mercy of the king was the mercy -of God Himself, but just imagine M. Félix Faure invested with the -attributes of divinity! M. Thiers, who did not fancy himself the Lord’s -Anointed, and who, indeed, was not consecrated at Rheims, released -himself from this right of pardon by appointing a commission which was -entrusted with the task of being merciful for him.” - -“It was only moderately so,” said M. Frémont. - -Here a young soldier entered the shop and asked for _Le Parfait -Secrétaire_. - -“Remains of barbarism,” said M. Bergeret, “still persist in modern -civilisation. Our code of military justice, for instance, will make -our memory hateful in the eyes of the near future. That code was -framed to deal with the bands of armed brigands who ravaged Europe in -the eighteenth century. It was perpetuated by the Republic of ’92 -and reduced to a system during the first half of this century. When a -nation had taken the place of an army, they forgot to change the code, -for one cannot think of everything. Those brutal laws which were framed -in the first place to curb a savage soldiery are now used to govern -scared young peasants, or the children of our towns, who could easily -be led by kindness. And that is considered a natural proceeding!” - -“I don’t follow you,” said M. de Terremondre. “Our military code, -prepared, I believe, at the Restoration, only dates from the Second -Empire. About 1875 it was revised and made to suit the new organisation -of the army. You cannot, therefore, say that it was framed for the -armies of former times.” - -“I can with truth,” answered M. Bergeret, “for this code is nothing -more than a mere collection of orders respecting the armies of -Louis XIV and Louis XV. Everyone knows what these armies were, a -conglomeration of kidnappers and kidnapped, the scourings of the -country, divided into lots which were bought by the young nobles, often -mere children. In such regiments discipline was maintained by perpetual -threats of death. But everything is now changed: the soldiery of the -monarchy and the two Empires has given place to a vast and peaceful -national guard. There is no longer any fear of mutiny or violence. -Nevertheless, death at every turn still threatens these gentle flocks -of peasants and artisans clumsily disguised as soldiers. The contrast -between their harmless conduct and the savage laws in force against -them is almost laughable. And a moment’s reflection would prove that -it is as absurd as it is hateful to punish with death crimes which -could easily be dealt with by the simple penal code devised for the -maintenance of public order.” - -“But,” said M. de Terremondre, “the soldiers of to-day are armed as -were the soldiers of former ages, and it is quite necessary that a -small, unarmed body of officers should be able to ensure obedience and -respect from a mob of men armed with muskets and cartridges. That’s the -gist of the whole matter.” - -“It is an ancient prejudice,” said M. Bergeret, “to believe in the -necessity of punishment and to fancy that the severer the punishment -the more efficacious it is. The death penalty for assaulting a superior -officer is a survival of the time when the officers were not of the -same blood as the soldiers. These penalties were still retained in the -republican armies. Brindamour, who became a general in 1792, employed -the customs of bygone days in the service of the Revolution and shot -volunteers in grand style. At any rate, it may be said that Brindamour -waged war and fought strenuously from the time that he became general. -It was a matter of keeping the upper hand: it was not a man’s life that -was at stake, but the safety of the country.” - -“It was theft especially,” said M. Mazure, “that the generals of the -year II punished with relentless severity. A light-infantry man in the -Army of the North, who had merely exchanged his old hat for a new one, -was shot. Two drummers, the eldest of whom was only eighteen, were shot -in sight of their comrades for having stolen some worthless ornaments -from an old peasant. It was the heroic age.” - -“It was not only thieves,” answered M. Bergeret, “who were shot down -from day to day in the republican armies, it was also mutineers. And -those soldiers, who have been so much belauded since, were dragooned -like convicts, even to the point of semi-starvation. It is true that -they were occasionally in an awkward mood. Witness the three hundred -gunners of the 33rd demi-brigade who, at Mantua in the year IV, -demanded their pay by turning their cannon on the generals. - -“They were jolly dogs with whom jesting was not safe! If enemies -were not come-at-able they were capable of spitting a dozen of their -superior officers. Such is the heroic temperament. But Dumanet is not -a hero nowadays, since peace no longer produces such beings. Sergeant -Bridoux has nothing to fear in his peaceful quarters, yet it pleases -him to be still able to say that a man cannot raise a hand against him -without being immediately shot with musical honours. However, in the -present state of our manners and in time of peace, such a circumstance -is out of proportion, although nobody can see it. It is true that -when a sentence of death has been passed by court-martial it is never -carried out, save in Algeria, and that, as far as possible, we avoid -giving these martial and musical entertainments in France. It is -recognised that here they would produce a bad effect: and in that fact -you have a tacit condemnation of the military code.” - -“Take care,” said M. de Terremondre, “lest you impair discipline in any -way.” - -“If,” answered M. Bergeret, “you had only seen a batch of raw recruits -filing into the barrack yard, you would no longer think it necessary -to be for ever hurling threats of death at these sheep-like creatures -in order to maintain discipline among them. They are thinking of -nothing but of how to get through their three years, as they put it, -and Sergeant Bridoux would be touched even to tears by their pitiful -docility, were it not that he thirsts to terrify them in order that -he may enjoy his own sense of power. It is not that Sergeant Bridoux -was born with a more callous heart than anyone else. But he is doubly -perverted, both as slave and tyrant, and if Marcus Aurelius had been a -non-commissioned officer I would not go so far as to promise that he -would never have tyrannised over his men. However that may be, this -tyranny suffices to produce that submission tempered by deceit that is -the soldier’s most useful virtue in time of peace. - -“It is high time that our military codes of law, with their -paraphernalia of death, should be seen no more, save in the chamber of -horrors, by the side of the keys of the Bastille and the thumb-screws -of the Inquisition.” - -“Army affairs,” said M. de Terremondre, “require most cautious -handling. The army means safety and it means hope. It is also the -training school of duty. Where else, save there, can be found -self-sacrifice and devotion?” - -“It is true,” said M. Bergeret, “that men consider it the primary -social duty to learn to kill their fellows according to rule, and -that, in civilised nations, the glory of massacre is the greatest -glory known. And, after all, though man may be irredeemably evil and -mischievous, the bad work he does is but small in comparison with the -whole universe. For this planet is but a clod of earth in space and -the sun but a gaseous bubble that will soon dissolve.” - -“I see,” said M. Frémont, “that you are no positivist. For you treat -the great fetich but scornfully.” - -“What is the great fetich?” asked M. de Terremondre. - -“You know,” answered M. Frémont, “that the positivists classify man -as the worshipping animal. Auguste Comte was very anxious to provide -for the wants of this worshipping animal and, after long reflection, -supplied him with a fetich. But his choice fell on the earth and not -on God. This was not because he was an atheist. On the contrary, he -held that the existence of a creative power is quite probable. Only -he opined that God was too difficult for comprehension, and therefore -his disciples, who are very religious men, practise the worship of the -dead, of great men, of woman, and of the great fetich, which is the -earth. Hence it comes about that the followers of this cult make plans -for the happiness of men and busy themselves in regulating the affairs -of the planet with a view to our happiness.” - -“They will have a great deal to do,” said M. Bergeret, “and it is -quite evident that they are optimists. They must be optimistic to a -degree, and this temperament of theirs fills me with astonishment, for -it is difficult to realise that intelligent and thoughtful men such -as these can cherish the hope of some day making our sojourn on this -petty ball bearable to us. For this earth, revolving clumsily round a -yellow, half-darkened sun, carries us with it as though we were vermin -on a mouldy crust. The great fetich does not seem to me in any way -worshipful.” - -Dr. Fornerol stooped down to whisper in M. de Terremondre’s ear: - -“Bergeret wouldn’t gird at the universe in this way if he hadn’t some -special trouble. It isn’t natural to see the seamy side of everything.” - -“You’re right,” said M. de Terremondre. - - - - -XII - - -The elm-trees on the Mall were slowly clothing their dusky limbs with -a delicate drapery of pale gauzy green. But on the slope of the hill -crowned with its ancient ramparts, the flowering trees of the orchards -showed their round white heads, or distaffs of rosy bloom, against a -background of cloudless, sunny sky that smiled between the showers. -In the distance flowed the river, swollen with spring rains, a line -of bare, white water, that fretted with its rounded curves the rows -of slender poplars which outlined its course. Beautiful, invincible, -fruitful and eternal, flowed the river, a true goddess, as in the days -when the boatmen of Roman Gaul made their offerings of copper coins to -it and raised, before the temple of Venus and Augustus, a votive pillar -on which they had roughly carved a boat with its oars. Everywhere in -this open valley, the sweet, trembling youth of the year shivered along -the surface of the ancient earth. Under the elm-trees on the Mall -walked M. Bergeret with slow, irregular steps. As he wandered on, his -mind glanced hither and thither; shifting it was and confused; old as -the earth itself, yet young as the flowers on the apple-boughs; empty -of thought, yet full of vague visions; lonely, yet full of desire; -gentle, innocent, wanton, melancholy; dragging behind it a weight of -weariness, yet still pursuing Hopes and Illusions whose very names, -shapes and faces were unknown to him. - -At last he drew near the wooden bench on which he was in the habit of -sitting in summer time, at the hour when the birds are silent on the -trees. Here, where he often sat resting with Abbé Lantaigne, under the -beautiful elm that overheard all their grave talk, he saw that some -words had been recently traced by a clumsy hand in chalk on the green -back of the seat. At first he was seized with a fear lest he should -find his own name written there, for it was quite familiar by now to -all the blackguards of the town. But he soon saw that he need have -no trouble on that score, since it was merely a lewd inscription in -which Narcissus announced to the world the pleasures he had enjoyed on -this very bench in the arms of his Ernestine, doubtless under cover of -the kindly night. The style of the legend was simple and concise, but -coarse and uncomely in its terms. - -M. Bergeret was just about to sit down in his accustomed place, but -he changed his mind, since it did not seem a fitting action for a -decent man to lean publicly against this obscene memorial, dedicated -to the Venus of cross-roads and gardens, especially as it stood on the -very spot where he had expressed so many noble and ironic thoughts -and had so often invoked the muse of seemly meditation. Turning away, -therefore, from the bench, he said to himself: - -“O vain desire for fame! We long to live in the memory of men, and -unless we are consummately well-bred men of the world, we would fain -publish in the market-place our loves, our joys, our sorrows and our -hates. Narcissus, here, can only really believe that he has actually -won his Ernestine, when all the world has heard of it. It was the same -spirit that drove Phidias to trace a beloved name on the great toe of -the Olympian Jove. O thirst of the soul to unburden itself, to plunge -into the ocean of the not-self! ‘_To-day, on this bench, Narcissus...._’ - -“Yet,” thought M. Bergeret once more, “the first virtue of civilised -man and the corner-stone of society is dissimulation. It is just as -incumbent on us to hide our thoughts as it is for us to wear clothes. -A man who blurts out all his thoughts, just as they arise in his mind, -is as inconceivable as the spectacle of a man walking naked through a -town. Talk in Paillot’s shop is free enough, yet were I, for instance, -to express all the fancies that crowd my mind at this moment, all the -notions which pass through my head, like a swarm of witches riding on -broomsticks down a chimney, if I were to describe the manner in which I -suddenly see Madame de Gromance, the incongruous attitudes in which I -picture her, the vision of her which comes to me, more ludicrous, more -weird, more chimerical, more quaint, more monstrous, more perverted -and alien to all seemly conventions, a thousand times more waggish and -indecent than that famous figure introduced in the scene of the Last -Judgment on the north portal of Saint-Exupère by a masterly craftsman -who had caught a glimpse of Lust himself as he leant over a vent-hole -of hell; if I were accurately to reveal the strangeness of my dream, -it would be concluded that I am a prey to some repulsive mania. Yet, -all the same, I know that I am an honourable man, naturally inclined to -purity, disciplined by life and reflection to self-control, a modest -man wholly dedicated to the peaceful pleasures of the mind, a foe to -all excess, and hating vice as a deformity.” - -As he walked on, deep in this singular train of thought, M. Bergeret -caught sight, along the Mall, of Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of the -high seminary, and Abbé Tabarit, the chaplain of the prison. The two -were in close conversation and M. Tabarit was waggling his long body, -with his little pointed head, while he emphasised his words by sweeping -gestures of his bony arms. Abbé Lantaigne, with head erect and chest -projecting, held his breviary under his arm and listened gravely with -far-away gaze and lips locked tightly between stolid cheeks that were -never distended by a smile. - -M. Lantaigne answered M. Bergeret’s bow by a gesture and a word of -greeting: - -“Stop, Monsieur Bergeret,” he cried, “M. Tabarit is not afraid of -infidels.” - -But the prison chaplain was not to be interrupted in the full tide of -his thoughts. - -“Who,” said he, “could have remained unmoved at what I saw? This lad -has taught every one of us a lesson by the sincerity of his repentance, -by the simple, truthful expression of the most Christian sentiments. -His bearing, his looks, his words, his whole being spoke plainly enough -of gentleness and humility, of utter submission to the will of God. -He never ceased to offer a most consoling spectacle, a most salutary -example. Perfect resignation, an awakened faith too long stifled in his -heart, a supreme abasement before the God who pardons: such were the -blessed fruits of my exhortations.” - -The old man was moved with the easy earnestness of the blameless, -buoyant, self-absorbed nature. Real grief stirred in his great, -prominent eyes and his poor, meagre red nose. After a momentary sigh, -he began again, this time turning towards M. Bergeret: - -“Ah, sir,” said he, “in the course of my painful ministry I have -encountered many thorns. But also what fruit I find! Many times in the -course of my long life have I snatched lost souls from the devil, who -was on the alert to lay hold of them. But none of the poor creatures -with whom I have journeyed to the gates of death presented such an -edifying spectacle in their last moments as this young Lecœur.” - -“What!” cried M. Bergeret, “you surely are not speaking like this of -the murderer of Madame Houssieu? Isn’t it well known that——” - -He was just going on to say that, according to the unanimous account -of all those who had witnessed the execution, the poor wretch had been -carried to the scaffold, already half dead with fear. He stopped short, -however, lest he should afflict the old man, who continued in his own -way: - -“It is true that he made no long speeches and indulged in no noisy -demonstrations. But if you had only heard the sighs, the ejaculations, -by which he testified to his repentance! In his melancholy journey from -the prison to the place of expiation, when I reminded him of his mother -and his first communion, he wept.” - -“Certainly,” said M. Bergeret, “Madame Houssieu didn’t die so -edifyingly.” - -At these words M. Tabarit rolled his great eyes from east to west. He -always sought for the solution of metaphysical problems, not within -himself, but without, and whenever he fell into a day dream at table -his old servant, misunderstanding his look, would inquire: “Are you -looking for the cork of the bottle, sir? It’s in your hand.” - -But M. Tabarit’s roving glance had fallen on a great bearded man -in cyclist’s dress who was passing along the Mall. This was Eusèbe -Boulet, editor in chief of the radical paper _le Phare_. Instantly -M. Tabarit bade a hasty good-bye to the professor and the head of -the seminary, and hurrying up to the journalist with great strides, -wished him good-day. Then, with a face reddened by excitement, he drew -some crumpled papers out of his pocket and handed them to him with -a hand that trembled. These were rectifications and supplementary -communications as to the last moments of young Lecœur. For at the -end of his secluded life and humble ministry, a passion for print, a -thirst for interviews and articles, had come upon this holy man. - -It was with something approaching a smile that M. Lantaigne watched the -poor old fellow, with his quick, birdlike movements, handing up his -scrawls to the radical editor. - -“Look!” said he to M. Bergeret, “the miasma of this age has even -infected a man who was marching deathwards by a path long paved with -goodness and virtue. This old fellow, though he is humble and modest -about everything else, is craving for notoriety. He yearns to appear in -print at any cost, even though it be in the pages of an anti-clerical -paper.” - -Then, vexed at having betrayed one of his own people to the enemy, M. -Lantaigne added with a brisk air of indifference: - -“Not much harm done. It’s absurd, that’s all.” - -Thereupon, relapsing into silence, he was his own gloomy self once more. - -M. Lantaigne was a masterful man, and his will forced M. Bergeret -towards their usual seat. Entirely indifferent to the vulgar phenomena -by which the world outside themselves is manifested to the generality -of men, he scorned to notice the lewd inscription of Narcissus and -Ernestine, written in chalk in large running characters on the back -of the seat. Sinking down on the bench with a placid air of mental -detachment, he covered a third of this inscribed memorial with his -broad back. M. Bergeret sat down by M. Lantaigne’s side, first, -however, spreading out his newspaper over the back, so as to conceal -that part of the text which seemed to him the most outspoken. In -his estimation this was the verb—a word which, according to the -grammarians, denotes the existence of an attribute to the subject. But -inadvertently, he had merely substituted one inscription for another. -The paper, in fact, announced in a side-note one of those episodes that -have become so common in parliamentary life since the memorable triumph -of democratic institutions. This spring the scandal period had come -round once more with astronomical exactitude, following the change of -the Seasons and the Dance of the Hours, and during the month several -deputies had been prosecuted, according to custom. The sheet unfolded -by M. Bergeret bore in huge letters this notice: “A Senator at Mazas. -Arrest of M. Laprat-Teulet.” Although there was nothing unusual about -the fact itself, which merely indicated the regular working of the -parliamentary machine, it struck M. Bergeret that there was perhaps -an uncalled-for display of indifference in posting up this notice on -a bench on the Mall, in the very shadow of those elms under which -the honourable M. Laprat-Teulet had so often been the recipient of -the honours which democracy loves to bestow on her greatest citizens. -Here on the Mall, M. Laprat-Teulet, sitting at the right hand of the -President of the Republic, on a rostrum draped in ruby velvet beneath -a trophy of flags, had, on different ceremonial occasions in honour -of great local or national rejoicings, uttered those words which are -so well calculated to exalt the blessings of government, while at the -same time they recommend patience to the toiling and devoted masses. -Laprat-Teulet, who had started as a republican, had now been for -five-and-twenty years the powerful and highly respected leader of the -opportunist party in the department. Now that his hair had grown white -with age and parliamentary toil, he stood out in his native town like -an oak adorned with tricoloured garlands. His enemies had been ruined -and his friends enriched through his exertions and he was loaded with -public honours. He was, moreover, not only august, but also affable, -and every year at prize distributions, he spoke of his poverty to the -little children: he could call himself poor without injuring himself -in any way, for no one believed him, and everyone felt certain that he -was very rich. The sources of his wealth, in fact, were well known, -the thousand channels by means of which his labour and his astuteness -had drained off the money into his own pockets. They could calculate -perfectly what funds had poured into his coffers from the undertakings -that were based on his political credit and from all the concessions -granted on account of his parliamentary interest. For he was a deputy -with famous business capacities, a capital financial orator, and his -friends knew, as well as, and even better, than his enemies, what he -had pocketed through the Panama affair and similar enterprises. Very -far-seeing, moderate in his desires and, above all, anxious not to -tempt fortune too far, this great guardian of our industrious and -intelligent democracy had given up high finance for the last ten years, -thus bowing before the first breath of the storm. He had even left the -Palais-Bourbon and retired to the Luxembourg, to that great Council of -the Commons of France where his wisdom and devotion to the Republic -were duly appreciated. There he was able to pull the strings without -being seen by the public. He only spoke on secret commissions. But -there he still showed those brilliant qualities which for many years -the princes of cosmopolitan finance had justly learnt to appraise -at a high value. He remained the outspoken defender of the fiscal -system introduced at the Revolution and founded, as we are all aware, -on the principles of liberty and justice. He upheld the rights of -capital with that emotion which is always so touching in an old hand -at the game. Even the turn-coats themselves revered in the person of -Laprat-Teulet a pacific and truly conservative mind, regarding him as -the guardian angel of personal property. - -“His notions are honourable enough,” said M. de Terremondre. “But the -worst aspect of it is that to-day he is burdened with the weight of -a difficult past.” But Laprat-Teulet had enemies who were implacable -in their hatred of him. “I have earned this hatred,” said he -magnanimously, “by defending the interests which were entrusted to me.” - -His enemies pursued him even into the sacred precincts of the Senate, -where his misfortunes gave him an air of still greater dignity, for he -had once before been in difficulties and even actually on the verge -of ruin. This came about through a mistake made by a Keeper of the -Seals who was not a member of the syndicate and who had rashly handed -him over into the astonished hands of justice. Neither the honourable -M. Laprat-Teulet, nor his examining judge, nor his barrister, nor the -Public Prosecutor, nor the Keeper of the Seals himself, was capable of -foreseeing, or even understanding, the cause of those sudden partial -cleavages in the machine of government, those catastrophes, farcical -as the collapse of a platform at a show and terrible as the outcome of -what the orator called immanent justice, catastrophes which sometimes -hurl the most respected statesmen from their seats in both Chambers. M. -Laprat-Teulet felt a melancholy surprise at his fate and he scorned to -give any explanation to the authorities, but the number and splendour -of his connections saved him. A plea that there was not sufficient -cause for prosecution was interposed. At first Laprat-Teulet accepted -it with humble gratitude, and next he bore it into the official world -as a regular certificate of innocence. “Almighty God,” said Madame -Laprat-Teulet, who was pious, “Almighty God has been very merciful -to my husband, for to him He has granted the stay of proceedings -he so much desired.” It is matter of common knowledge that Madame -Laprat-Teulet was so grateful that she had a votive-offering hung up -in the chapel of Saint-Antoine, a marble slab bearing the following -inscription: “From a Christian wife, in gratitude for an unhoped-for -blessing.” - -This stay of proceedings reassured Laprat-Teulet’s political friends, -the crowd of ex-ministers and big officials who had shared with him, -not only the time of struggle, but the fruitful years, who had known -both the seven lean kine and the seven fat kine. This stay was a -safeguard, or at any rate was regarded as such. It could be relied -upon for several years to come. Then suddenly, by a stroke of bad luck, -by one of those ill-omened and unforeseen accidents that come secretly -and from underneath, like sudden leaks in rotten vessels, without any -political or moral reason, in the full glory of his honours, this -old servant of the democracy, this heir of its achievements whom M. -Worms-Clavelin had instanced only the night before in the comitia as a -shining light to the whole department, this man of order and progress, -this defender of capital and opponent of clericalism, this intimate -friend of ex-ministers and ex-presidents, this Senator Laprat-Teulet, -this man, though exculpated on the former occasion, was sent to prison -with a batch of members of parliament. And the local paper announced -in large type: “A Senator at Mazas. Arrest of M. Laprat-Teulet.” M. -Bergeret, being a man of delicacy, turned the paper round on the back -of the seat. - -“Well,” said M. Lantaigne in a morose voice, “do you like the look of -what you see there, and do you think it can last long?” - -“What do you mean?” asked M. Bergeret. “Are you referring to the -parliamentary scandals? But let us first ask what a scandal really -is. A scandal is the effect that usually results from the revelation -of some secret deed. For men don’t in general act furtively, save -when they are doing something that runs counter to morality and public -opinion. It is also noticeable that, although public scandals occur -in every period and every nation, they happen most frequently when -the Government is least skilled in dissimulation. It is also evident -that state secrets are never well kept in a democracy. The number of -people concerned, indeed, and the powerful party jealousies invite -revelations, sometimes hushed up, sometimes startling. It should -also be observed that the parliamentary system actually multiplies -the number of those who betray trusts, by putting a crowd of people -in a position where they can do it easily. Louis XIV was robbed by -Fouquet on a large and splendid scale. But in our days, all the while -the melancholy President, who had been chosen merely as a creditable -figure-head, confronted the chastened departments with the mute -countenance of a bearded Minerva, he was distributing largesse at the -Palais Bourbon at a rate past checking. In itself this was no great -evil, for every Government always has a number of needy folks hanging -about it, and it is too much to demand of human nature to ask that they -shall all be honest. Besides, what these paltry thieves have taken is -very little in comparison with what our honest administration wastes -every hour of the day. One point alone should be observed, for it is -of primary importance. The revenue farmers of olden days, this Pauquet -de Sainte-Croix, for instance, who in the time of Louis XV heaped up -the wealth of the province in the very mansion where I now live ‘in the -third room,’ those shameless plunderers robbed their nation and their -king without being in collusion with any of their country’s enemies. -Now, on the contrary, our parliamentary sharks are betraying France to -a foreign power, Finance, to wit. For it is true that Finance is to-day -one of the Powers of Europe, and of her it may be said, as was formerly -said of the Church, that among the nations she remains a splendid -alien. Our representatives, whom she buys over, are not only robbers -but traitors. And, in truth, they rob and betray in paltry, huckstering -fashion. Each one in himself is merely an object of pity: it is their -rapid swarming that alarms me. - -“Meanwhile the honourable M. Laprat-Teulet is at Mazas! He was taken -there on the morning of the very day on which he was due here to -preside over the Social Defence League banquet. This arrest, which was -carried out on the day after the vote that authorised the prosecution, -has taken M. Worms-Clavelin completely by surprise. He had arranged for -M. Dellion to preside at the banquet, since his integrity, guaranteed -by inherited wealth and by forty years of commercial prosperity, is -universally respected. Though the _préfet_ deplores the fact that -the most prominent officials of the Republic are continually subject -to suspicion, yet, at the same time, he congratulates himself on the -loyalty of their constituents, who remain true to the established -system, even when it seems the general wish to bring it into disrepute. -He declares, in fact, that parliamentary episodes such as the one which -has just occurred, even when they follow on others of the same kind, -leave the working-classes of the department absolutely indifferent. -And M. Worms-Clavelin is quite right: he is by no means exaggerating -the phlegmatic calm of these classes, which seem no longer capable of -surprise. The herd of nobodies read in the newspapers that Senator -Laprat-Teulet has been sent to solitary confinement; they manifest no -surprise at the news, and they would have received with the same phlegm -the information that he had been sent as ambassador to some foreign -court. It is even probable that, if the arm of justice sends him back -to parliamentary life, M. Laprat-Teulet will sit next year on the -budget commission. There is, at any rate, no doubt whatever that at the -end of his sentence he will be re-elected.” - -The abbé here interrupted M. Bergeret. - -“There, Monsieur Bergeret, you put your finger on the weak point; -there you make the void to echo. The public is becoming used to the -spectacle of wrong-doing and is losing the power to discriminate -between good and evil. That’s where the danger lies. Now one public -scandal after another arises, only to be at once hushed up. Under the -Monarchy and the Empire there was such a thing as public opinion; -there is none to-day. This nation, once so high-spirited and generous, -has suddenly become incapable of either hatred or love, of either -admiration or scorn.” - -“Like you,” said M. Bergeret, “I have been struck by this change and -I have sought in vain for the causes of it. We read in many Chinese -fables of a very ugly spirit, of lumpish gait, but subtle mind, -who loves to play pranks. He makes his way by night into inhabited -houses, then opening a sleeper’s brain, as though it were a box, he -takes out the brain, puts another in its place and softly closes the -skull. He takes infinite delight in passing thus from house to house, -interchanging brains as he goes, and when, at dawn, this tricksy -elf has returned to his temple, the mandarin awakes with the mind -of a courtesan, and the young girl with the dreams of a hardened -opium-eater. Some spirit of this sort must assuredly have been busy -bartering French brains for those of some tame, spiritless people, who -drag out a melancholy existence without rising to the height of a new -desire, indifferent alike to justice and injustice. For, indeed, we are -no longer at all like ourselves.” - -Stopping suddenly, M. Bergeret shrugged his shoulders. Then he went on, -in a tone of gentle sadness: - -“Yet, it is the effect of age and the sign of a certain wisdom. Infancy -is the age of awe and wonder; youth, of fiery revolt. It is the -mere passing of the years that has brought us this mood of peaceful -indifference: I ought to have understood it better. Our condition of -mind, at any rate, assures us both internal and external peace.” - -“Do you think so?” asked Abbé Lantaigne. “And have you no presentiment -of approaching catastrophe?” - -“Life in itself is a catastrophe,” answered M. Bergeret. “It is a -constant catastrophe, in fact, since it can only manifest itself in -an unstable environment, and since the essential condition of its -existence is the instability of the forces which produce it. The life -of a nation, like that of an individual, is a never-ceasing ruin, a -series of downfalls, an endless prospect of misery and crime. Our -country, though it is the finest in the world, only exists, like -others, by the perpetual renewal of its miseries and mistakes. To live -is to destroy. To act is to injure. But at this particular moment, -Monsieur Lantaigne, the finest country in the world is feeble in -action, and plays but a sluggard’s part in the drama of existence. It -is that fact which reassures me, for I detect no signs in the heavens. -I foresee no evils approaching with special and peculiar menace to our -peaceful land. Tell me, Monsieur l’abbé, when you foretell catastrophe, -is it from within or from without that you see it coming?” - -“The danger is all round us,” answered M. Lantaigne, “and yet you -laugh.” - -“I feel no desire whatever to laugh,” answered M. Bergeret. “There -is little enough for me to laugh at in this sublunary world, on this -terrestrial globe whose inhabitants are almost all either hateful -or ridiculous. But I do not believe that either our peace or our -independence is threatened by any powerful neighbour. We inconvenience -no one. We are not a menace to the comity of nations. We are restrained -and reasonable. So far as we know, our statesmen are not formulating -extravagant schemes which, if successful, would establish our power, or -if unsuccessful, would bring about our ruin. We make no claim to the -sovereignty of the globe. Europe of to-day finds us quite bearable: the -feeling must be a happy novelty. - -“Just look for a moment at the portraits of our statesmen that Madame -Fusellier, the stationer, keeps in her shop-window. Tell me if there -is a single one of them who looks as if he were made to unleash the -dogs of war and lay the world waste. Their talents match their power, -for both are but mediocre. They are not made to be the perpetrators -of great crimes, for, thank God! they are not great men. Hence, we -can sleep in peace. Besides, although Europe is armed to the teeth, -I believe she is by no means inclined to war. For in war there -breathes a generous spirit unpopular nowadays. True, they set the -Turks fighting the Greeks: that is, they bet on them, as men bet on -cocks or horses. But they will not fight between themselves. In 1840 -Auguste Comte foretold the end of war and, of course, the prophecy -was not exactly and literally fulfilled. Yet possibly the vision of -this great man penetrated into the far-distant future. War is, indeed, -the everyday condition of a feudal and monarchical Europe, but the -feudal system is now dead and the ancient despotisms are opposed by -new forces. The question of peace or war in our days depends less on -absolute sovereigns than on the great international banking interests, -more influential than the Powers themselves. Financial Europe is in -a peaceful temper, or, if that be not quite true, she certainly has -no love for war as war, no respect for any sentiment of chivalry. -Besides, her barren influence is not destined to live long and she will -one day be engulfed in the abyss of industrial revolution. Socialistic -Europe will probably be friendly to peace, for there will be a -socialistic Europe, Monsieur Lantaigne, if indeed that unknown power -which is approaching can be rightly called Socialism.” - -“Sir,” answered Abbé Lantaigne, “only one Europe is possible, and -that is Christian Europe. There will always be wars, for peace is not -ordained for this world. If only we could recover the courage and faith -of our ancestors! As a soldier of the Church militant, I know well that -war will only end with the consummation of the ages. And, like Ajax -in old Homer, I pray God that I may fight in the light of day. What -terrifies me is neither the number nor the boldness of our enemies, but -the weakness and indecision which prevail in our own camp. The Church -is an army, and I grieve when I see chasms and openings right along -her battle-front; I rage when I see atheists slipping into her ranks -and the worshippers of the Golden Calf volunteering for the defence -of the sanctuary. I groan when I see the struggle going on all around -me, amidst the confusion of a great darkness propitious to cowards and -traitors. The will of God be done! I am certain of the final triumph, -of the ultimate conquest of sin and error at the last day, which will -be the day of glory and justice.” - -He rose with firm and steady glance, yet his heavy face was downcast. -His soul within him was sorrowful, and not without good reason. For -under his administration the high seminary was on its way to ruin. -There was a financial deficit, and now that he was being prosecuted -by Lafolie the butcher, to whom he owed ten thousand, two hundred and -thirty-one francs, his pride lived in perpetual dread of a rebuke from -the Cardinal-Archbishop. The mitre towards which he had stretched out -his hand was eluding his grasp and already he saw himself banished to -some poor country benefice. Turning towards M. Bergeret, he said: - -“The most terrible storm-cloud is ready to burst over France.” - - - - -XIII - - -Just now M. Bergeret was on his way to the restaurant, for every -evening he spent an hour at the Café de la Comédie. Everybody blamed -him for doing so, but here he could enjoy a cheery warmth which had -nothing to do with wedded bliss. Here, too, he could read the papers -and look on the faces of people who bore him no ill-will. Sometimes, -too, he met M. Goubin here—M. Goubin, who had become his favourite -pupil since M. Roux’s treachery. M. Bergeret had his favourites, for -the simple reason that his artistic soul took pleasure in the very -act of making a choice. He had a partiality for M. Goubin, though -he could scarcely be said to love him, and, as a matter of fact, M. -Goubin was not lovable. Thin and lank, poverty-stricken in physique, -in hair, in voice, and in brain, his weak eyes hidden by eye-glasses, -his lips close-locked, he was petty in every way, and endowed, not only -with the foot, but with the mind of a young girl. Yet, with these -characteristics, he was accurate and painstaking, and to his puny frame -had been fitted vast and powerful protruding ears, the only riches with -which nature had blessed this feeble organism. M. Goubin was naturally -qualified to be a capital listener. - -M. Bergeret was in the habit of talking to M. Goubin, while they sat -with two large beer-glasses in front of them, amidst the noise of the -dominoes clicking on the marble tables all around them. At eleven -o’clock the master rose and the pupil followed his example. Then they -walked across the empty Place du Théâtre and by back ways until they -reached the gloomy Tintelleries. - -In such fashion they proceeded one night in May when the air, which had -been cleared by a heavy storm of rain, was fresh and limpid and full of -the smell of earth and leaves. In the purple depths of the moonless, -cloudless sky hung points of light that sparkled with the white gleam -of diamonds. Amid them, here and there, twinkled bright facets of red -or blue. Lifting his eyes to the sky, M. Bergeret watched the stars. -He knew the constellations fairly well, and, with his hat on the back -of his head and his face turned upwards, he pointed out Gemini with -the end of his stick to the vague, wandering glance of M. Goubin’s -ignorance. Then he murmured: - - “Would that the clear star of Helen’s twin brothers - Might ’neath thy barque the wild waters assuage, - Would that to Pœstum o’er seas of Ionia ...”[9] - - [9] “Oh! soit que l’astre pur des deux frères d’Hélène - Calme sous ton vaisseau la vague ionienne, - Soit qu’aux bords de Pœstum ...” - -Then he said abruptly: - -“Have you heard, Monsieur Goubin, that news of Venus has reached us -from America and that the news is bad?” - -M. Goubin tried obediently to look for Venus in the sky, but the -professor informed him that she had set. - -“That beautiful star,” he continued, “is a hell of fire and ice. I have -it from M. Camille Flammarion himself, who tells me every month, in the -excellent articles he writes, all the news from the sky. Venus always -turns the same side to the sun, as the moon does to the earth. The -astronomer at Mount Hamilton swears that it is so. If we pin our faith -to him, one of the hemispheres of Venus is a burning desert, the other, -a waste of ice and darkness, and that glorious luminary of our evenings -and mornings is filled with naught but silence and death.” - -“Really!” said M. Goubin. - -“Such is the prevailing creed this year,” answered M. Bergeret. “For -my part, I am not far from being convinced that life, at any rate -in the form which it presents on earth, is the result of a disease -in the constitution of the planet, that it is a morbid growth, a -leprosy, something loathsome, in fact, which would never be found in -a healthy, well-constituted star. By life I mean, of course, that -state of activity manifested by organic matter in plants and animals. -I derive pleasure and consolation from this idea. For, indeed, it is -a melancholy thing to fancy that all these suns that flame above our -heads bring warmth to other planets as miserable as our own, and that -the universe gives birth to suffering and squalor in never-ending -succession. - -“We cannot speak of the planets attendant on Sirius or Aldebaran, -on Altaïr or Vega, of those dark masses of dust that may perchance -accompany these points of fire that lie scattered over the sky, for -even that they exist is not known to us, and we only suspect it by -virtue of the analogy existing between our sun and the other stars of -the universe. But if we try to form some conception of the planets in -our own system, we cannot possibly imagine that life exists there in -the mean forms which she usually presents on our earth. One cannot -suppose that beings constructed on our model are to be found in the -weltering chaos of the giants Saturn and Jupiter. Uranus and Neptune -have neither light nor heat, and therefore that form of corruption -which we call organic life cannot exist on them. Neither is it credible -that life can be manifested in that star-dust dispersed in the ether -between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, for that dust is but the -scattered material of a planet. The tiny ball Mercury seems too blazing -hot to produce that mouldy dampness which we call animal and vegetable -life. The moon is a dead world, and we have just discovered that the -temperature of Venus does not suit what we call organic life. Thus, we -can imagine nothing at all comparable with man in all the solar system, -unless it be on the planet Mars, which, unfortunately for itself, -has some points in common with the earth. It has both air and water; -it has, alas! maybe, the materials for the making of animals like -ourselves.” - -“Isn’t it true that it is believed to be inhabited?” asked M. Goubin. - -“We have sometimes been disposed to imagine so,” answered M. Bergeret. -“The appearance of this planet is not very well known to us. It seems -to vary and to be always in confusion. On it canals can be seen, whose -nature and origin we cannot understand. We cannot be absolutely certain -that this neighbour of ours is saddened and degraded by human beings -like ourselves.” - -M. Bergeret had reached his door. He stopped and said: - -“I would fain believe that organic life is an evil peculiar to this -wretched little planet of ours. It is a ghastly idea that in the -infinitude of heaven they eat and are eaten in endless succession.” - - - - -XIV - - -The cab which was carrying Madame Worms-Clavelin into Paris passed -through the Porte Maillot between the gratings crowned in civic style -with a hedge of pike-heads. Near these lay dusty custom-house officers -and sunburnt flower-girls asleep in the sun. As it passed, it left, on -the right, the Avenue de la Révolte, where low, mouldy, red-bedaubed -inns and stunted arbours face the Chapel of Saint-Ferdinand, which -crouches, lonely and dwarfish, on the edge of a gloomy military moat -covered with sickly patches of scorched grass. Thence it emerged into -the melancholy Rue de Chartres, with its everlasting pall of dust -from the stone-cutting yards, and passed down it into the beautiful -shady roads that open into the royal park, now cut up into small, -middle-class estates. As the cab rumbled heavily along the causeway -down an avenue of plane-trees, every second or so, through the silent -solitude, there passed lightly-clad bicyclists who skimmed by with -bent backs and heads cutting the air like quick-moving animals. -With their rapid flight and long, swift, bird-like movements, they -were almost graceful through sheer ease, almost beautiful by the -mere amplitude of the curves they described. Between the bordering -tree-trunks Madame Worms-Clavelin could see lawns, little ponds, steps, -and glass-door canopies in the most correct taste, cut off by rows of -palings. Then she lost herself in a vague dream of how, in her old age, -she would live in a house like those whose fresh plaster and slate she -could see through the leaves. She was a sensible woman and moderate in -her desires, so that now she felt a dawning love of fowls and rabbits -rising in her breast. Here and there, in the larger avenues, big -buildings stood out, chapels, schools, asylums, hospitals, an Anglican -church with its gables of stern Gothic, religious houses, severely -peaceful in appearance, with a cross on the gate and a very black bell -against the wall and, hanging down, the chain by which to ring it. Then -the cab plunged into the low-lying, deserted region of market-gardens, -where the glass roofs of hot-houses glittered at the end of narrow, -sandy paths, or where the eye was caught by the sudden appearance of -one of those ridiculous summer-houses that country builders delight to -construct, or by the trunks of dead trees imitated in stoneware by an -ingenious maker of garden ornaments. In this Bas-Neuilly district one -can feel the freshness of the river hard by. Vapours rise there from a -soil that is still damp with the waters which covered it, up to quite a -late period, according to the geologists—exhalations from marshes on -which the wind bent the reeds scarcely a thousand or fifteen hundred -years ago. - -Madame Worms-Clavelin looked out of the carriage window: she had nearly -arrived. In front of her the pointed tops of the poplars which fringe -the river rose at the end of the avenue. Once more the surroundings -were varied and bustling. High walls and zigzag roof-ridges followed -one another uninterruptedly. The cab stopped in front of a large -modern house, evidently built with special regard to economy and even -stinginess, in defiance of all considerations of art or beauty. Yet the -effect was neat and pleasant on the whole. It was pierced with narrow -windows, among which one could distinguish those of the chapel by the -leaden tracery that bound the window-panes. On its dull, plain façade -one was discreetly reminded of the traditions of French religious art -by means of triangular dormer windows set in the woodwork of the roof -and capped with trefoils. On the pediment of the front door an ampulla -was carved, typifying the phial in which was contained the blood of the -Saviour that Joseph of Arimathæa had carried away in a glove. This was -the escutcheon of the Sisters of the Precious Blood, a confraternity -founded in 1829 by Madame Marie Latreille, which received state -recognition in 1868, thanks to the goodwill of the Empress Eugénie. The -Sisters of the Precious Blood devoted themselves to the training of -young girls. - -Jumping from the carriage, Madame Worms-Clavelin rang at the door, -which was carefully and circumspectly half opened for her. Then she -went into the parlour, while the sister who attended to the turnstile -gave notice through the wicket that Mademoiselle de Clavelin was -wanted to come and see her mother. The parlour was only furnished with -horsehair chairs. In a niche on the whitewashed wall there stood a -figure of the Holy Virgin, painted in pale colours. There was a certain -air of archness about the figure, which stood erect, with the feet -hidden and the hands extended. This large, cold, white room carried -with it a suggestion of peace, order and rectitude. One could feel in -it a secret power, a social force that remained unseen. - -Madame Worms-Clavelin sniffed the air of this parlour with a solemn -sense of satisfaction, though it was damp, and suffused with the stale -smell of cooking. Her own girlhood had been spent in the noisy little -schools of Montmartre, amidst daubs of ink and lumps of sweetmeats, and -in the perpetual interchange of offensive words and vulgar gestures. -She therefore appreciated very highly the austerity of an aristocratic -and religious education. In order that her daughter might be admitted -into a famous convent, she had had her baptized, for she thought to -herself, “Jeanne will then be better bred and she will have a chance of -making a better marriage.” - -Jeanne had accordingly been baptized at the age of eleven and with the -utmost secrecy, because they were then under a radical administration. -Since then the Church and the Republic had become more reconciled -to each other, but in order to avoid displeasing the bigots of the -department, Madame Worms-Clavelin still concealed the fact that her -daughter was being educated in a nunnery. Somehow, however, the secret -leaked out, and now and then the clerical organ of the department -published a paragraph which M. Lacarelle, counsel to the prefecture, -blue-pencilled and sent to M. Worms-Clavelin. For instance, M. -Worms-Clavelin read: - - “Is it a fact that the Jewish persecutor whom the freemasons - have placed at the head of our departmental administration, in - order that he may oppose the cause of God among the faithful, - has actually sent his daughter to be educated in a convent?” - -M. Worms-Clavelin shrugged his shoulders and threw the paper into the -waste-paper basket. Two days later the Catholic editor inserted another -paragraph, as, after reading the first, one would have prophesied his -doing. - - “I asked whether our Jewish _préfet_, Worms-Clavelin, was - really having his daughter educated in a convent. And now that - this freemason has, for good reasons of his own, avoided giving - me any answer, I will myself reply to my own question. After - having had his daughter baptized, this dishonourable Jew sent - his daughter to a Catholic place of education. - - “_Mademoiselle Worms-Clavelin is at Neuilly-sur-Seine, being - educated by the Sisters of the Precious Blood._ - - “What a pleasure it is to witness the sincerity of jesters like - these! - - “A lay, atheistic, homicidal education is good enough for the - people who maintain them! Would that our people’s eyes were - opened to discern on which side are the Tartuffes!” - -M. Lacarelle, the counsel to the prefecture, first blue-pencilled the -paragraph and then placed the open sheet on the _préfet’s_ desk. M. -Worms-Clavelin threw it into his waste-paper basket and warned the -meddlesome papers not to engage in discussions of that sort. Hence this -little episode was soon forgotten and fell into the bottomless pit of -oblivion, into that black darkness of night which, after one outburst -of excitement, swallows up the shame and the honour, the scandals and -the glories of an administration. In view of the wealth and power of -the Church, Madame Worms-Clavelin had stuck energetically to her point -that Jeanne should be left to these nuns who would train the young girl -in good principles and good manners. - -She modestly sat down, hiding her feet under her dress, like the red, -white and blue Virgin of the niche, and holding in her finger-tips by -the string the box of chocolates she had brought for Jeanne. - -A tall girl, looking very lanky in her black dress with the red girdle -of the Middle School, burst into the room. - -“Good morning, mamma!” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin looked her up and down with a curious mixture of -motherly solicitude and horse-dealer’s curiosity. Drawing her close, -she glanced at her teeth, made her stand upright; looked at her figure, -her shoulders and her back, and seemed pleased. - -“Heavens! how tall you are!” she exclaimed. “You have such long -arms!...” - -“Don’t worry me about them, mamma! As it is, I never know what to do -with them.” - -She sat down and clasped her red hands across her knees. She replied -with a graceful air of boredom to the questions which her mother asked -about her health, and listened wearily to her instructions about -healthy habits and to her advice in the matter of cod-liver oil. Then -she asked: - -“And how is papa?” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin was almost astonished whenever anyone asked her -about her husband, not because she was herself indifferent to him, but -because she felt it was impossible to say anything new about this firm, -unchangeable, stolid man, who was never ill and who never said or did -anything original. - -“Your father? What could happen to him? We have a very good position -and no wish to change it.” - -All the same, she thought it would soon be advisable to look out for -a suitable sinecure, either in the treasury, or, perhaps rather, in -the Council of State. At the thought her beautiful eyes grew dim with -reverie. - -Her daughter asked what she was thinking about. - -“I was thinking that one day we might return to Paris. I like Paris for -my part, but there we should hardly count.” - -“Yet papa has great abilities. Sister Sainte-Marie-des-Anges said so -once in class. She said: ‘Mademoiselle de Clavelin, your father has -shown great administrative talents.’” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin shook her head. “One wants so much money to live -in style in Paris.” - -“You like Paris, mamma, but for my part I like the country best.” - -“You know nothing about it, pet.” - -“But, mamma, one doesn’t care only for what one knows.” - -“There is, perhaps, some truth in what you say.” - -“You haven’t heard, mamma?... I have won the prize for history -composition. Madame de Saint-Joseph said I was the only one who had -treated the subject thoroughly.” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin asked gently: - -“What subject?” - -“The Pragmatic Sanction.” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin asked, this time with an accent of real surprise: - -“What is that?” - -“It was one of Charles VII’s mistakes. It was, indeed, the greatest -mistake he ever made.” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin found this answer by no means enlightening. But -since she took no interest in the history of the Middle Ages, she -was willing to let the matter drop. But Jeanne, who was full of her -subject, went on in all seriousness: - -“Yes, mamma. It was the greatest crime of that reign, a flagrant -violation of the rights of the Holy See, a criminal robbery of the -inheritance of St. Peter. But happily the error was set right by -Francis I. And whilst we are on this subject, mamma, do you know we -have found out that Alice’s governess was an old wanton?...” - -Madame Worms-Clavelin begged her daughter anxiously and earnestly not -to join her young friends in research work of this kind. Then she flew -into a rage: - -“You are perfectly absurd, Jeanne, for you use words without paying any -heed...” - -Jeanne looked at her in mysterious silence. Then she said suddenly: - -“Mamma, I must tell you that my drawers are in such a state that they -are a positive sight. You know you have never been overwhelmingly -interested in the question of linen. I don’t say this as a reproach, -for one person goes in for linen, another for dresses, another for -jewels. You, mamma, have always gone in for jewels. For my part it’s -linen that I’m mad about.... And besides, we’ve just had a nine days’ -prayer. I prayed hard both for you and for papa, I can tell you! And, -then, I’ve earned four thousand nine hundred and thirty-seven days of -indulgence.” - - - - -XV - - -“I am rather religiously inclined,” said M. de Terremondre, “but I -still think that the words spoken in Notre Dame by Père Ollivier were -ill advised. And that is the general opinion.” - -“Of course,” replied M. Lantaigne, “you blame him for having explained -this disaster as a lesson given by God against pride and infidelity. -You think him wrong in describing the favoured people as being suddenly -punished for their faithlessness and rebellion. Ought one, then, to -give up attempting to trace a cause for such terrible events?” - -“There are,” answered M. de Terremondre, “certain conventions which -ought to be observed. The mere fact that the head of the State was -present made a certain reserve incumbent on him.” - -“It is true,” said M. Lantaigne, “that this monk actually dared to -declare before the President and the ministers of the Republic, and -before the rich and powerful, who are either the authors or accomplices -of our shame, that France had failed in her age-long vocation, when she -turned her back on the Christians of the East who were being massacred -by thousands, and, like a coward, supported the Crescent against the -Cross. He dared to declare that this once Christian nation had driven -the true God from both its schools and its councils. This is the speech -that you consider a crime, you, Monsieur de Terremondre, one of the -leaders of the Catholic party in our department.” - -M. de Terremondre protested that he was deeply devoted to the interests -of religion, but he still persisted in the opinion he had first held. -In the first place, he was not for the Greeks, but for the Turks, -or, if he could not go so far as that, he was at least for peace and -order. And he knew many Catholics who regarded the Eastern Church with -absolute indifference. Ought one, then, to give offence to them by -attacking perfectly lawful convictions? It is not incumbent on everyone -to be friendly towards Greece. The Pope, for one, is not. - -“I have listened, M. Lantaigne,” said he, “with all the deference in -the world to your opinions. But I still think one ought to use a more -conciliatory style when one has to preach on a day which was one of -mourning and yet, at the same time, one full of a hope that bade fair -to bring about the reconciliation of opposing classes....” - -“Especially while stocks are going up, thus proving the wisdom of the -course pursued by France and Europe on the Eastern question,” added M. -Bergeret, with a malicious laugh. - -“Exactly so,” answered M. de Terremondre. “A Government which fights -the Socialists and in which religious and conservative ideas have made -an undeniable advance ought to be treated with respect. Our _préfet_, -M. Worms-Clavelin, although he is both a Jew and a freemason, shows -keen anxiety to protect the rights of the Church. Madame Worms-Clavelin -has not only had her daughter baptized, but has sent her to a Parisian -convent, where she is receiving an excellent education. I know this -to be the case, for Mademoiselle Jeanne Clavelin is in the same class -as my nieces, the d’Ansey girls. Madame Worms-Clavelin is patroness -of several of our institutions, and in spite of her origin and her -official position, she scarcely attempts the slightest concealment of -her aristocratic and religious sympathies.” - -“I don’t doubt what you say in the least,” said M. Bergeret, “and -you might even go so far as to say that at the present time French -Catholicism has no stronger support than among the rich Jews.” - -“You are not far wrong,” answered M. de Terremondre. “The Jews give -generously in support of Catholic charities.... But the shocking part -of Père Ollivier’s sermon is that he was ready, as it were, to imply -that God Himself was the original author and inspirer of this disaster. -According to his words, it would seem that the God of mercy Himself -actually set fire to the bazaar. My aunt d’Ansey, who was present at -the service, came away in a great state of indignation. I feel sure, -Monsieur l’abbé, that you cannot approve of such errors as these.” - -Usually M. Lantaigne refused to rush into random theological -discussions with worldly-minded people who knew nothing about the -subject, and although he was an ardent controversialist, his priestly -habit of mind deterred him from engaging in disputes on frivolous -occasions, such as the present one. He therefore remained silent, and -it was M. Bergeret who replied to M. de Terremondre: - -“You would have preferred then,” said he, “that this monk should make -excuses for a merciful God who had carelessly allowed a disaster to -happen in a badly-inspected point in His creation. You think that he -should have ascribed to the Almighty the sad, regretful, and chastened -attitude of a police inspector who has made a mistake.” - -“You are making fun of me now,” said M. de Terremondre. “But was it -really necessary to talk about expiatory victims and the destroying -angel? Surely these are ideas that belong to a past age?” - -“They are Christian ideas,” said M. Bergeret. “M. Lantaigne won’t deny -that.” - -But as the priest was still silent, M. Bergeret continued: - -“I advise you to read, in a book of whose teaching M. Lantaigne -approves, in the famous _Essai sur l’indifférence_, a certain theory -of expiation. I remember one sentence in it which I can quote almost -verbatim: “We are ruled,” said Lamennais, “by one law of destiny, an -inexorable law whose tyranny we can never avoid: this law is expiation, -the unbending axis of the moral world on which turns the whole destiny -of humanity.” - -“That may be so,” said M. de Terremondre. “But is it possible that God -can have actually willed to aim a blow at honourable and charitable -women like my cousin Courtrai and my nieces Laneux and Felissay, who -were terribly burnt in this fire? God is neither cruel nor unjust.” - -M. Lantaigne gripped his breviary under his left arm and made a -movement as if to go away. Then, changing his mind, he turned towards -M. de Terremondre and lifting his right hand said solemnly: - -“God was neither cruel nor unjust towards these women when, in His -mercy, He made them sacrificial offerings and types of the Victim -without stain or spot. But since even Christians have lost, not only -the sentiment of sacrifice, but also the practice of contrition, -since they have become utterly ignorant of the most holy mysteries of -religion, before we utterly despair of their salvation, we must expect -warnings still more terrible, admonitions still more urgent, portents -of still greater significance. Good-bye, Monsieur de Terremondre. I -leave you with M. Bergeret, who, having no religion at all, at any rate -avoids the misery and shame of an easy-going faith, and who will play -at the game of refuting your arguments with the feeble resources of the -intellect unsupported by the instincts of the heart.” - -When he had finished his speech, he walked away with a firm, stiff gait. - -“What is the matter with him?” said M. de Terremondre, as he looked -after him. “I believe he has a grudge against me. He is very difficult -to get on with, although he is a man worthy of all respect. The -incessant disputes he engages in have soured his temper and he is at -loggerheads with his Archbishop, with the professors at the college, -and with half the clergy in the diocese. It is more than doubtful -if he will get the bishopric, and I really begin to think that, for -the Church’s sake, as well as for his own, it is better to leave him -where he is. His intolerance would make him a dangerous bishop. What a -strange notion to approve of Père Ollivier’s sermon!” - -“I also approve of his sermon,” said M. Bergeret. - -“It’s quite a different matter in your case,” said M. de Terremondre. -“You are merely amusing yourself. You are not a religious man.” - -“I am not religious,” said M. Bergeret, “but I am a theologian.” - -“On my side,” said M. de Terremondre, “it may be said that I am -religious, but not a theologian; and I am revolted when I hear it said -in the pulpit that God destroyed some poor women by fire, in order that -He might punish our country for her crimes, inasmuch as she no longer -takes the lead in Europe. Does Père Ollivier really believe that, as -things now are, it is so very easy to take the lead in Europe?” - -“He would make a great mistake if he did believe it,” said M. Bergeret. -“But you are, as you have just been told, one of the leading members of -the Catholic party in the department, and therefore you ought to know -that your God used in Biblical times to show a lively taste for human -sacrifices and that He rejoiced in the smell of blood. Massacre was -one of His chief joys, and He particularly revelled in extermination. -Such was His character, Monsieur de Terremondre. He was as bloodthirsty -as M. de Gromance, who, from the beginning of the year to the end, -spends his time in shooting deer, partridges, rabbits, quails, wild -ducks, pheasants, grouse and cuckoos—all according to the season. So -God sacrificed the innocent and the guilty, warriors and virgins, fur -and feather. It even appears that He savoured the blood of Jephthah’s -daughter with delight.” - -“There you are wrong,” said M. de Terremondre. “It is true that she was -dedicated to Him, but that was not a sacrifice of blood.” - -“They argue so, I know,” said M. Bergeret; “but that is just out of -regard for your sensitiveness. But, as a matter of actual fact, she -was butchered, and Jehovah showed Himself a regular epicure for -fresh meat. Little Joas, who had been brought up in the temple, knew -perfectly well the way in which this God showed His love for children, -and when good Jehosheba began to try on him the kingly fillet, he was -much disturbed, and asked this pointed question: - - ‘Must then a holocaust to-day be offered, - And must I now, as once did Jephthah’s daughter, - By death assuage the fervent wrath of God?’[10] - - [10] Est-ce qu’en holocauste aujourd’hui présenté, - Je dois, comme autrefois la fille de Jephté, - Du Seigneur par un mort apaiser la colère? - -“At this time Jehovah bears the closest resemblance to His rival -Chamos; he was a savage being, compact of cruelty and injustice. This -was what he said: ‘You may know that I am the Lord by the corpses laid -out along your path.’ Don’t make any mistake about this, Monsieur de -Terremondre—in passing down from Judaism to Christianity, He still -retains His savagery, and about Him there still lingers a taste for -blood. I don’t go so far as to say that in the present century, at -the close of the age, He has not become somewhat softened. We are -all, nowadays, gliding downwards on an inclined plane of tolerance -and indifference, and Jehovah along with us. At any rate, He has -ceased to pour out a perpetual flood of threats and curses, and at the -present moment He only proclaims His vengeance through the mouth of -Mademoiselle Deniseau, and no one listens to her. But His principles -are the same as of old, and there has been no essential change in His -moral system.” - -“You are a great enemy to our religion,” said M. de Terremondre. - -“Not at all,” said M. Bergeret. “It is true that I find in it what I -will call moral and intellectual stumbling-blocks. I even find cruelty -in it. But this cruelty is now an ancient thing, polished by the -centuries, rolled smooth like a pebble with all its points blunted. -It has become almost harmless. I should be much more afraid of a new -religion, framed with scrupulous exactitude. Such a religion, even if -it were based on the most beautiful and kindly morality, would act -at first with inconvenient austerity and painful accuracy. I prefer -intolerance rubbed smooth, to charity with a fresh edge to it. Taking -one thing with another, it is Abbé Lantaigne who is in the wrong, it -is I who am wrong, and it is you, Monsieur de Terremondre, who are -right. Over this ancient Judaic-Christian religion so many centuries -of human passions, of human hatreds and earthly adorations, so many -civilisations—barbaric or refined, austere or self-indulgent, pitiless -or tolerant, humble or proud, agricultural, pastoral, warlike, -mercantile, industrial, oligarchical, aristocratic, democratic—have -passed, that all is now rolled smooth. Religions have practically no -effect on systems of morality and they merely become what morality -makes them....” - - - - -XVI - - -Madame Bergeret had a horror of silence and solitude, and now that M. -Bergeret never spoke to her and lived apart from her, her room was -as terrifying as a tomb to her mind. She never entered it without -turning white. Her daughters would, at least, have supplied the noise -and movement needed if she were to remain sane; but when an epidemic -of typhus broke out in the autumn she sent them to visit their aunt, -Mademoiselle Zoé Bergeret, at Arcachon. There they had spent the -winter, and there their father meant to leave them, in the present -state of his affairs. Madame Bergeret was a domesticated woman, with a -housewifely mind. To her, adultery had been nothing more than a mere -extension of wedded life, a gleam from her hearth-fire. She had been -driven to it by a matronly pride in her position far more than by the -wanton promptings of the flesh. She had always intended that her slight -lapse with young M. Roux should remain a secret, homely habit, just a -taste of adultery that would merely involve, imply, and confirm that -state of matrimony which is held in honour by the world, as well as -sanctified by the Church, and which secures a woman in a position of -personal safety and social dignity. Madame Bergeret was a Christian -wife and knew that marriage is a sacrament whose lofty and lasting -results cannot be effaced by any fault such as she had committed, for -serious though it might be, it was yet a pardonable and excusable -lapse. Without being in a position to estimate her offence with great -moral perspicuity, she felt instinctively that it was trifling and -simple, being neither malicious, nor inspired by that deep passion -which alone can dignify error with the splendour of crime and hurl the -guilty woman into the abyss. She not only felt that she was no great -criminal, but also that she had never had the chance of being one. -Yet now she had to stand watching the entirely unforeseen results of -such a trifling episode, as to her terror they slowly and gloomily -unfolded themselves before her. She suffered cruel pangs at finding -herself alone and fallen within her own house, at having lost the -sovereignty of her home, and at having been despoiled, as it were, of -her cares of kitchen and store-cupboard. Suffering was not good for -her and brought no purification in its train; it merely awoke in her -paltry mind, at one moment the instinct of revolt, and at another, a -passion for self-humiliation. Every day, about three o’clock in the -afternoon, she went out and paid visits at her friends’ houses. On -these expeditions she walked with great strides, a grim, stiff figure -with bright eyes, flaming cheeks and gaudy dress. She called on all the -lower-middle-class ladies of the town, on Madame Torquet, the dean’s -wife; on Madame Leterrier, the rector’s wife; on Madame Ossian Colot, -the wife of the prison governor, and on Madame Surcouf, the recorder’s -wife. She was not received by the society ladies, nor by the wives of -the great capitalists. Wherever she went, she poured out a flood of -complaints against M. Bergeret, and charged her husband with every -variety of fantastic crime that occurred to her feeble imagination, -focussed on the one point only. Her usual accusations were that he had -separated her from her daughters, had left her penniless, and finally -had deserted his home to run about in cafés and, most probably, in -less reputable resorts. Wherever she went, she gained sympathy and -became an object of the tenderest interest. The pity she aroused grew, -spread, and rose in volume. Even Madame Dellion, the ironmaster’s -wife, although she was prevented from asking her to call, because they -belonged to different sets, yet sent a message to her that she pitied -her with all her heart, and felt the deepest disgust at M. Bergeret’s -shameful behaviour. In this way Madame Bergeret went about the town -every day, fortifying her hungry soul with the social respect and fair -reputation that it craved. But as she mounted her own staircase in the -evening, her heart sank within her. Her weak knees would hardly sustain -her and she forgot her pride, her longing for vengeance, forgot even -the abuse and frivolous scandal that she had spread through the town. -To escape from loneliness she longed sincerely to be on good terms with -M. Bergeret once more. In such a shallow soul as hers this desire was -absolutely sincere and arose quite naturally. Yet it was a vain and -useless thought, for M. Bergeret went on ignoring the existence of his -wife. - -This particular evening Madame Bergeret said as she went into the -kitchen: - -“Go and ask your master, Euphémie, how he would like his eggs to be -cooked.” - -It was quite a new departure on her side to submit the bill of fare -to the master of the house. For of old, in the days of her lofty -innocence, she had habitually forced him to partake of dishes which -he disliked and which upset the delicate digestion of the sedentary -student. Euphémie’s mind was not of wide range, but it was impartial -and unwavering, and she protested to Madame Bergeret, as she had done -several times before on similar occasions, that it was absolutely -useless for her mistress to ask Monsieur anything. He never answered -a word, because he was in a “contrairy” mood. But Madame, turning her -face away and dropping her eyelids as a sign of determination, repeated -the order she had just given. - -“Euphémie,” she said, “do as I tell you. Go and ask your master how he -would like the eggs cooked, and don’t forget to tell him that they are -new-laid and come from Trécul’s.” - -M. Bergeret was sitting in his study at work on the _Virgilius -nauticus_, which a publisher had commissioned him to prepare as an -extra embellishment of a learned edition of the _Æneid_, at which three -generations of philologists had been working for more than thirty -years, and the first sheets of which were already through the press. -And now, slip by slip, the professor sat compiling this special lexicon -for it. He conceived a sort of veneration for himself as he worked at -it, and congratulated himself in these words: - -“Here am I, a land-lubber who has never sailed on anything more -important than the Sunday steamboat which carries the townsfolk up -the river to drink sparkling wine on the slopes of Tuillières in -summer time; here am I, a good Frenchman, who has never seen the -sea except at Villers; here am I, Lucien Bergeret, acting as the -interpreter of Virgil, the seaman. Here I sit in my study explaining -the nautical terms used by a poet who is accurate, learned and exact, -in spite of all his rhetoric, who is a mathematician, a mechanician, -a geometrician, a well-informed Italian, who was trained in seafaring -matters by the sailors who basked in the sun on the sea-shores of -Naples and Misenum, who had, maybe, his own galley, and under the clear -stars of Helen’s twin-brothers, ploughed the blue furrows of the sea -between Naples and Athens. Thanks to the excellence of my philological -methods I am able to reach this point of perfection, but my pupil, M. -Goubin, would be as fully equipped for the task as I.” - -M. Bergeret took the greatest pleasure in this work, for it kept his -mind occupied without any accompanying sense of anxiety or excitement. -It filled him with real satisfaction to trace on thin sheets of -pasteboard his delicate, regular letters, types and symbols as they -were of the mental accuracy demanded in the study of philology. All his -senses joined and shared in this spiritual satisfaction, so true is it -that the pleasures which man can enjoy are more varied than is commonly -supposed. Just now M. Bergeret was revelling in the peaceful joy of -writing thus: - - “Servius believes that Virgil wrote _Attolli malos_[11] in - mistake for _Attolli vela_,[12] and the reason which he gives - for this rendering is that _cum navigarent, non est dubium quod - olli erexerant arbores_.[13] Ascencius takes the same side as - Servius, being either forgetful or ignorant of the fact that, - on certain occasions, ships at sea are dismasted. When the - state of the sea was such that the masts....” - - [11] _Attolli malos_, for the masts to be raised. - - [12] _Attolli vela_, for the sails to be raised. - - [13] _Cum navigarent, non est dubium quod olli erexerant - arbores_, when they were at sea, there is no doubt - that the masts were already up. - -M. Bergeret had reached this point in his work when Euphémie opened -the study door with the noise that always accompanied her slightest -movement, and repeated the considerate message sent by Madame Bergeret -to her husband: - -“Madame wants to know how you would like your eggs cooked?” - -M. Bergeret’s only reply was a gentle request to Euphémie to withdraw. -He went on writing: - - “ran the risk of breaking, it was customary to lower them, - by lifting them out of the well in which their heels were - inserted....” - -Euphémie stood fixed against the door, while M. Bergeret finished his -slip. - - “The masts were then stored abaft either on a crossbar or a - bridge.” - -“Sir, Madame told me to say that the eggs come from Trécul’s.” - - “Una omnes fecere pedem.”[14] - - [14] _Una omnes fecere pedem_, then with one accord they - veered out the sheet. - -Filled with a sense of sadness M. Bergeret laid down his pen, for he -was suddenly overwhelmed with a perception of the uselessness of his -work. Unfortunately for his own happiness, he was intelligent enough to -recognise his own mediocrity, and, at times, it would actually appear -to him in visible shape, like a thin, little, clumsy figure dancing -about on his table between the inkstand and the file. He knew it well -and hated it, for he would fain have seen his personality come to him -under the guise of a lissom nymph. Yet it always appeared to him in its -true form, as a lanky, unlovely figure. It shocked him to see it, for -he had delicate perceptions and a taste for dainty conceits. - -“Monsieur Bergeret,” he said to himself, “you are a professor of -some distinction, an intelligent provincial, a university man with -a tendency to the florid, an average scholar shackled by the barren -quests of philology, a stranger to the true science of language, which -can be plumbed only by men of broad, unbiassed and trenchant views. -Monsieur Bergeret, you are not a scholar, for you are incapable of -grasping or classifying the facts of language. Michel Bréal will never -mention your poor, little, humble name. You will die without fame, and -your ears will never know the sweet accents of men’s praise.” - -“Sir ... Sir,” put in Euphémie in urgent tones, “do answer me. I have -no time to hang about. I have my work to do. Madame wants to know how -you’d like your eggs done. I got them at Trécul’s and they were laid -this morning.” - -Without so much as turning his head, M. Bergeret answered the girl in a -tone of relentless gentleness: - -“I want you to go and never again to enter my study—at any rate, not -until I call you.” - -Then the professor returned to his day-dream: “How happy is Torquet, -our dean! How happy is Leterrier, our rector! No distrust of -themselves, no rash misgivings to interrupt the smooth course of their -equable lives! They are like that old fellow Mesange, who was so -beloved by the immortal goddesses that he survived three generations -and attained to the Collège de France and the Institute without having -learnt anything new since the holy days of his innocent childhood. -He carried with him to his grave the same amount of Greek as he had -at the age of fifteen. He died at the close of this century, still -revolving in his little head the mythological fancies that the poets of -the First Empire had turned into verse beside his cradle. But I—how -comes it that I have such a cruel sense of my own inadequacy and of the -laughable folly of all I undertake? For I have a mind as weak as that -Greek scholar’s, who had a bird’s brain as well as a bird’s name; I am -fully as incapable as Torquet the dean, and Leterrier, the rector, of -either system or initiative. I am, in fact, but a foolish, melancholy -juggler with words. May it not be a sign of mental supereminence -and a mark of my superiority in the realm of abstract thought? This -_Virgilius nauticus_, which I use as the touchstone of my powers, -is it really my own work and the fruit of my mind? No, it is a task -foisted on my poverty by a grasping bookseller in league with a pack of -pseudo-scholars who, on the pretext of freeing French scholarship from -German tutelage, are bringing back the trivial methods of former times, -and forcing me to take part in the philological pastimes of 1820. May -the responsibility for it rest on them and not on me! It was no zeal -for knowledge, but the thirst for gain, that induced me to undertake -this _Virgilius nauticus_, at which I have now been working for three -years and which will bring me in five hundred francs: to wit, two -hundred and fifty francs on delivery of the manuscript, and two hundred -and fifty francs on the day of publication of the volume containing -this article. I determined to slake my horrible thirst for gold! I -have failed, not in brain power, but in force of character. That’s a -very different matter!” - -In this way did M. Bergeret marshal the flock of his wandering -thoughts. All this time Euphémie had not moved, but at last, for the -third time, she spoke to her master: - -“Sir.... Sir....” - -But at this attempt her voice stuck in her throat, strangled by sobs. - -When M. Bergeret at last glanced at her, he could see the tears rolling -down her round, red, shining cheeks. - -She tried to speak, but nothing came from her throat save hoarse -croaks, like the call that the shepherds of her native village sound -on their goat-horns of an evening. Then she crossed her two arms, bare -to the elbow, over her face, showing the fat, white flesh furrowed -with long red scratches, and wiped her eyes with the back of her brown -hands. Sobs tore her narrow chest and shook her stomach, abnormally -enlarged by the tabes from which she had suffered in her seventh year -and which had left her deformed. Then she dropped her arms to her -side, hid her hands under her apron, stifled her sobs, and exclaimed -peevishly, as soon as she could get the words out: - -“I cannot live any longer in this house. I cannot any more. Besides, -it isn’t a life at all. I would rather go away than see what I do.” - -There was as much rage as misery in her voice, and she looked at M. -Bergeret with inflamed eyes. - -She was really very indignant at her master’s behaviour, and this -not at all because she had always been attached to her mistress. For -till quite recently, in the days of her pride and prosperity, Madame -Bergeret had overwhelmed her with insult and humiliation and kept -her half starved. Neither was it because she knew nothing of her -mistress’s lapse from virtue, and believed, with Madame Dellion and -the other ladies, that Madame Bergeret was innocent. She knew every -detail of her mistress’s liaison with M. Roux, as did the concierge, -the bread-woman, and M. Raynaud’s maid. She had discovered the truth -long before M. Bergeret knew it. Neither, on the other hand, was it -because she approved of the affair; for she strongly censured both M. -Roux and Madame Bergeret. For a girl who was mistress of her own person -to have a lover seemed a small thing to her, not worth troubling about, -when one knows how easily these things happen. She had had a narrow -escape herself one night after the fair, when she was close pressed -by a lad who wanted to play pranks at the edge of a ditch. She knew -that an accident might happen all in a moment. But in a middle-aged -married woman with children such conduct was disgusting. She confessed -to the bread-woman one morning that really mistress turned her sick. -Personally, she had no hankering after this kind of thing, and if there -were no one but her to supply the babies, why then, the world might -come to an end for all she cared. But if her mistress felt differently, -there was always a husband for her to turn to. Euphémie considered that -Madame Bergeret had committed a horribly wicked sin, but she could not -bring herself to feel that any sin, however serious, should never be -forgiven and should always remain unpardoned. During her childhood, -before she hired herself out to service, she used to work with her -parents in the fields and vineyards. There she had seen the sun scorch -up the vine-flowers, the hail beat down all the corn in the fields in -a few minutes; yet, the very next year, her father, mother and elder -brothers would be out in the fields, training the vine and sowing the -furrow. There, amid the eternal patience of nature, she had learnt the -lesson that in this world, alternately scorching and freezing, good and -bad, there is nothing that is irreparable, and that, as one pardons the -earth itself, so one must pardon man and woman. - -It was according to this principle that the people at home acted, and -after all, they were very likely quite as good as townsfolk. When -Robertet’s wife, the buxom Léocadie, gave a pair of braces to her -footman to induce him to do what she wanted, she was not so clever that -Robertet did not find out the trick. He caught the lovers just in the -nick of time, and chastised his wife so thoroughly with a horsewhip -that she lost all desire to sin again for ever and ever. Since then -Léocadie has been one of the best women in the country: her husband -hasn’t _that_ to find fault with her for. M. Robertet is a man of sense -and knows how to drive men as well as cattle: why don’t people just do -as he did? - -Having been often beaten by her respected father, and being, moreover, -a simple, untamed being herself, Euphémie fully understood an act -of violence. Had M. Bergeret broken the two house brooms on Madame -Bergeret’s guilty back, she would have quite approved of his act. One -broom, it is true, had lost half its bristles, and the other, older -still, had no more hair than the palm of the hand, and served, with -the aid of a dishcloth, to wash down the kitchen tiles. But when her -master persisted in a mood of prolonged and sullen spite, the peasant -girl considered it hateful, unnatural and positively fiendish. What -brought home to Euphémie all M. Bergeret’s crimes with still greater -force, was that his behaviour made her work difficult and confusing. -For since Monsieur refused to take his meals with Madame, he had to be -served in one place and she in another, for although M. Bergeret might -stubbornly refuse to recognise his wife’s existence, yet she could -not sustain even non-existence without sustenance of some sort. “It’s -like an inn,” sighed the youthful Euphémie. Then, since M. Bergeret no -longer supplied her with housekeeping money, Madame Bergeret used to -say to Euphémie: “You must settle with your master.” And in the evening -Euphémie would tremblingly carry her book to her master, who would wave -her off with an imperious gesture, for he found it difficult to meet -the increased expenditure. Thus lived Euphémie, perpetually overwhelmed -by difficulties with which she could not cope. In this poisoned air -she was losing all her cheerfulness: she was no longer to be heard in -the kitchen, mingling the noise of laughter and shouts with the crash -of saucepans, with the sizzling of the frying-pan upset on the stove, -or with the heavy blows of the knife, as on the chopping-block she -minced the meat, together with one of her finger-tips. She no longer -revelled in joy, or in noisy grief. She said to herself: “This house is -driving me crazy.” She pitied Madame Bergeret, for now she was kindly -treated. They used to spend the evening, sitting side by side in the -lamp-light, exchanging confidences. It was with her heart full of all -these emotions that Euphémie said to M. Bergeret: - -“I am going away. You are too wicked. I want to leave.” - -And again she shed a flood of tears. - -M. Bergeret was by no means vexed at this reproach. He pretended, in -fact, not to hear it, for he had too much sense not to be able to -make allowances for the rudeness shown by an ignorant girl. He even -smiled within himself, for in the secret depths of his heart, beneath -layers of wise thoughts and fine sayings, he still retained that -primitive instinct which persists even in modern men of the gentlest -and sweetest character, and which makes them rejoice whenever they -see they are taken for ferocious beings, as if the mere power of -injuring and destroying were the motive force of living things, their -essential quality and highest merit. This, on reflection, is indeed -true, since, as life is supported and nourished only upon murder, the -best men must be those who slaughter most. Then again, those who, -under the stimulus of racial and food-conquering instincts, deal the -hardest knocks, obtain the reputation of magnanimity, and please -women, who are naturally interested in securing the strongest mates, -and who are mentally incapable of separating the fruitful from the -destructive element in man, since these two forces are, in actual fact, -indissolubly linked by nature. Hence, when Euphémie in a voice as -countrified as a fable by Æsop, told him he was wicked, M. Bergeret, by -virtue of his philosophical temperament, felt flattered and fancied he -heard a murmur which filled out the gaps in the maid’s simple speech, -and said: “Learn, Lucien Bergeret, that you are a wicked man, in the -vulgar sense of the word—that is to say, you are able to injure -and destroy; in other words, you are in a state of defence, in full -possession of life, on the road to victory. In your own way, you must -know, you are a giant, a monster, an ogre, a man of terror.” - -But, being a sceptical man and never given to accepting men’s opinions -unchallenged, he began to ask himself if he were really what Euphémie -said. At the first glance into the inner recesses of his nature he -concluded that, on the whole, he was not wicked; that, on the contrary, -he was full of pity, highly sensitive to the woes of others, and full -of sympathy for the wretched; that he loved his fellow-men, and would -have gladly satisfied their needs by fulfilling all their desires, -whether innocent or guilty, for he refused to trammel his human charity -with the nets of any moral system, and for every kind of misery he -had compassion at his call. And to him everything that harmed no one -was innocent. In this way his heart was kinder than it ought to have -been, according to the laws, the morals, and the varying creeds of the -nations. Looking at himself in this way, he perceived the truth—that -he was not wicked, and the thought caused him some bewilderment. It -pained him to recognise in himself those contemptible qualities of mind -which do nothing to strengthen the life-force. - -With praiseworthy thoroughness, he next set himself to inquire whether -he had not thrown off his kindly temper and his peaceable disposition -in certain matters, and particularly in this affair of Madame Bergeret. -He saw at once that on this special occasion he had acted in opposition -to his general principles and habitual sentiments, and that on this -point his conduct presented several marked singularities of which he -noted down the strangest. - -“Chief singularities: I feign to consider her a criminal, and I act -as if I had really fallen into this vulgar error. And all the time -that her conscience condemns her for having committed adultery with my -pupil, M. Roux, I myself regard her adultery as an innocent act, since -it has harmed no one. Hence Madame Bergeret’s morality is higher than -mine, for, although she believes herself guilty, she forgives herself, -while I, who do not consider her guilty at all, refuse to forgive her. -My judgment of her is immoral, but merciful; my conduct, however, is -moral, but cruel. What I condemn so pitilessly is not her act, which -I consider to be merely ridiculous and unseemly: it is herself that I -condemn, as being guilty, not of what she has done, but of what she is. -The girl Euphémie is in the right: I _am_ wicked!” - -He patted himself on the back, and revolving these new considerations, -said again to himself: - -“I am wicked because I act. I knew, before this experience happened to -me, that there is no such thing as an innocent action, for to act is to -injure or destroy. As soon as I began to act, I became a malefactor.” - -He had an excellent excuse for speaking thus to himself, since all this -time he had been performing a systematic, continuous, and consistent -act, in making Madame Bergeret’s life unbearable to her, by depriving -her of all the comforts needed by her homely common nature, her -domesticated character, and her gregarious mind. In a word, he was -engaged in driving from his house a disobedient and troublesome wife -who had done him good service by being unfaithful to him. - -The opportunity she gave he seized gladly, doing his work with -wonderful vigour, considering the weak character he showed in ordinary -affairs. For, although M. Bergeret was usually vacillating in -purpose and without a will of his own, at this crisis he was driven -on by desire, by an invincible Lust. For it is desire, far stronger -than will, that, having created the world, now upholds it. In this -undertaking of his, M. Bergeret was sustained by unutterable desire, by -a masterful Lust to see Madame Bergeret no more. And this untempered, -transparent desire had the happy force of a great love, for it was -ruffled by no feeling of hatred. - -All this time Euphémie stood waiting for her master to answer her, or, -at any rate, to hurl furious words at her. For on this point she agreed -with Madame Bergeret, and considered silence far more cruel than insult -and invective. - -At last M. Bergeret broke the silence. He said in a quiet voice: “I -discharge you. You will leave this house in a week’s time.” - -Euphémie’s sole response was a plaintive, animal cry. For a moment she -stood motionless. Then, thunderstruck, heart-broken and wretched, she -returned to her kitchen and gazed at the saucepans, now dented like -battle-armour by her valiant hands. She looked at the chair which had -lost its seat—without causing her any inconvenience, however, for the -poor girl hardly ever sat down; at the cistern whose waters had often -swamped the house at night by overflowing from a tap left full on; at -the sink with its wastepipe perpetually choked; at the table notched by -the chopping-knife; at the cast-iron stove all eaten away by the fire; -at the black coal-hole; at the shelves adorned with paper-lace; at the -blacking-box and the bottle of brass-polish. And standing in the midst -of all these witnesses of her weary life, she wept. - -On the next day—that is, as they used to say, _l’en demain_, which -happened to be market-day—M. Bergeret set out early to call on -Deniseau, who kept a registry office for country servants in the Place -Saint-Exupère. In the waiting-room he found a score of country girls -waiting, some young, some old, some short, ruddy and chubby-cheeked, -others tall, yellow and wizened, all differing in face and figure, -but all alike in one respect—that is, in the anxious fixity of their -gaze, for they all saw their own fate in the person of every caller who -happened to open the door. For a moment M. Bergeret stood looking at -the group of girls who waited to be hired. Then he passed on into the -office adorned with calendars, where Deniseau sat at a table covered -with dirty registers and old horse-shoes that served as paper-weights. - -He told the man that he required a servant, and apparently he wanted -one with quite unusual qualities, for after ten minutes’ conversation -he came out in very low spirits. Then, as he crossed the waiting-room -a second time, he caught sight of a woman in a dark corner whom he had -not noticed the first time. It was a long, thin shape that he beheld, -ageless and sexless, crowned by a bald, bony head, with a forehead -set like an enormous sphere on a short nose that seemed nothing but -nostril. Through her open mouth her great horse-teeth were visible in -all their nakedness, and under her drooping lip there was no chin to -speak of. She stayed in her corner, neither moving nor looking, perhaps -realising that she would not easily find anyone to hire her, and that -others would be taken in preference to her. Yet she seemed quite -satisfied with herself and quite easy in her mind. She was dressed like -the women of the low-lying, agueish lands, and to her wide-brimmed, -knitted hat clung pieces of straw. - -For a long time M. Bergeret stood looking at her with saturnine -admiration. Then, pointing her out to Deniseau, he said: “The one over -there will suit me.” - -“Marie?” asked the man in a tone of surprise. - -“Marie,” answered M. Bergeret. - - - - -XVII - - -Now that M. Mazure, the archivist, had at last attained to academic -honours, he began to regard the government with genial tolerance. -But, as he was never happy unless he was at variance with someone, -he now turned his wrath against the clericals, and began to denounce -the scheming of the bishops. Meeting M. Bergeret in the Place -Saint-Exupère, he warned him of the peril threatening from the clerical -party. - -“Finding it impossible,” said he, “to overturn the Republic, the curés -now want to divert it to their own ends.” - -“That is the ambition of every party,” answered M. Bergeret, “and the -natural result of our democratic institutions, for democracy itself -consists entirely in the struggle of parties, since the nation itself -is not at one either in sentiments or interests.” - -“But,” answered M. Mazure, “the unbearable part of this is that the -clericals should put on the mask of liberty in order to deceive the -electors.” - -To this M. Bergeret replied: - -“Every party which finds itself shut out from the Government demands -liberty, because to do so strengthens the opposition and weakens -the party in power. For the same reason the party in power curtails -liberty as much as possible and it passes, in the sacred name of the -sovereign people, the most despotic laws. For there is no charter -which can safeguard liberty against the acts of the sovereign nation. -Democratic despotism theoretically has no limits, but in actual fact, -and considering only the present period, I grant that its power is not -boundless. Democracy has given us ‘the black laws,’ but it never puts -them in force.” - -“Monsieur Bergeret,” said the archivist, “let me give you a piece -of good advice. You are a Republican: then don’t fire on your own -friends. If we don’t look out, we shall fall back into the rule of the -Church. Reaction is making terrible progress. The whites are always -the whites; the blues are always the blues, as Napoleon said. You are -a blue, Monsieur Bergeret. The clerical party will never forgive you -for calling Jeanne d’Arc a mascotte, and even I can scarcely pardon you -for it, for Jeanne d’Arc and Danton are my two special idols. You are a -free-thinker. Then join us in our anti-clerical campaign! Let us unite -our forces! It is union alone that can give us the strength to conquer. -The highest interests are at stake in the fight against the church -party.” - -“It is just party interest that I see mainly at work in that conflict,” -answered M. Bergeret. “But if I were obliged to join a party at all, -it must needs be yours, since it is the only one I could help without -too much hypocrisy. But, happily, I am not reduced to this extremity, -and I am by no means tempted to clip the wings of my mind in order to -force it into a political compartment. To tell the truth, I am quite -indifferent to your disputes, because I feel how empty they are. The -dividing line between you and the clericals is a trifling matter at -bottom. They would succeed you in office, provided there were no change -in the position of the individual. And in the State it is the position -of the individual that alone matters. Opinions are but verbal jugglery, -and it is only opinions that separate you from the church party. You -have no moral system to oppose to theirs, for the simple reason that -in France we have no religious code existing in opposition to a code -of civil morality. Those who believe that we have these two opposing -systems of morality are merely deceived by appearances. I will prove -this to you in a few words. - -“In every era we find that there are habits of life which determine a -line of thought common to all men. Our moral ideas are not the fruit of -thought, but the result of habit. No one dares openly to resist these -ideas, because obedience to them is followed by honours, and revolt -against them by humiliation. They are adopted by the entire community -without question, independently of religious creeds and philosophic -opinions, and they are as keenly upheld by those whose deeds by no -means conform to their dictates, as they are by those who constrain -themselves to live according to the rules laid down by them. The origin -of these ideas is the only point that admits of discussion: so-called -free-thinkers believe that the rules which direct their conduct are -natural in origin, whilst pious souls discern the origin of the rules -they obey in their religion, and these rules are found to agree, or -nearly so, not because they are universal, that is, divine and natural, -as people delight to say, but, on the contrary, because they are the -product of the period and clime, deduced from the same habits, derived -from the same prejudices. Each epoch has its predominant moral idea, -which springs neither from religion nor from philosophy, but from -habit, the sole force that is capable of linking men in the same bond -of feeling, for the moment we touch reason we touch the dividing -principle in humanity, and the human race can only exist on condition -that it never reflects on what is essential to its own existence. -Morality governs creeds, which are ever matters of dispute, whilst -morality itself is never analysed. - -“And simply because a moral code is the sum-total of the prejudices -of the community, there cannot possibly exist two rival codes at the -same time and in the same place. I could illustrate this truth by a -great number of examples, but none of them could be more to the point -than that of the Emperor Julian, with whose works I have lately been -making myself somewhat familiar. Julian, who fought on the side of -the Pagan gods with such staunchness and magnanimity—Julian, who -was a sun-worshipper, yet professed all the moral sentiments of the -Christians. Like them, he scorned the pleasures of the flesh and -vaunted the efficacy of fasting, because it brings a man into union -with the divine. Like them, he upheld the doctrine of atonement -and believed in the purifying effect of suffering. He had himself -initiated, too, into mysteries which satisfied his keen desire for -purity, renunciation and divine love, quite as efficaciously as the -mysteries of the Christian religion. In a word, his neo-paganism was, -morally speaking, own brother to the rising cult of Christianity. -And what is there surprising in that? The two creeds were the twin -children of Rome and of the East. They both corresponded to the same -human habits, to the same deep instincts in the Asiatic and Latin -worlds. Their souls were alike, though in name and phraseology they -differed from each other. This difference was enough to make them -deadly enemies, for it is about mere words that men usually quarrel. It -is for the sake of words that they most willingly kill and are killed. -Historians are in the habit of asking anxiously what would have become -of civilisation, if the philosopher-emperor had conquered the Galilean -by winning a victory that he had rightly earned by his constancy and -moderation. It is no easy game thus to reconstruct history. Yet it -seems clear enough that in this case, polytheism, which had already -by the reign of Julian been reduced to a species of monotheism, would -have submitted to the new mental habits of the time and would have -assumed precisely the same moral form that one sees it taking under -Christianity. Look at all the great revolutionary leaders and tell me -if there is a single one who showed himself in any way an original -thinker, as far as morality is concerned. Robespierre’s ideas of -righteousness were to the end those in which he had been trained by the -priests of Arras. - -“You are a free-thinker, Monsieur Mazure, and you think that man’s -object on this planet ought to be to get the maximum amount of -happiness out of it. M. de Terremondre, who is a Catholic, believes, -on the contrary, that we are all here in a place of expiation in order -that we may gain eternal life through suffering. Yet, notwithstanding -the contradiction in your creeds, you have both practically the same -moral code, because morality is independent of creeds.” - -“You make fun of things,” said M. Mazure, “and you make me want to -swear like a trooper. Religious ideas, when all is said and done, enter -into the formation of moral ideas to a degree that one cannot ignore. -I am therefore right in saying that there is such a thing as Christian -morality, and that I heartily disapprove of it.” - -“But, my dear sir,” answered the professor gently, “there are as many -Christian codes of morality as there are ages during which Christianity -has lasted and countries into which she has penetrated. Religions, -like chameleons, copy the colours of the soil over which they run. -Morality, though it is peculiar to each generation, since it is the one -link to bind it together, changes incessantly along with the habits -and customs of which she is the most striking representative, like -an enlarged reflection on a wall. So true is this fact that it may -actually be affirmed that the morality of these Catholics who offend -you resembles your own very closely, and yet differs widely from that -of a Catholic at the time of the League—to say nothing of those -Christians of the apostolic ages who would seem to M. de Terremondre -most extraordinary beings, were it possible for him to see them at -close quarters. Be impartial and just, if you can, and tell me this: -in what essential respect does your morality as a free-thinker differ -from the morality of those good people who to-day go to Mass? They -profess, as the bedrock of their creed, the doctrine of the atonement, -but they are as indignant as you when that doctrine is put before them -in a striking manner by their own priests. They profess to believe that -suffering is good and pleasing to God. But—do you ever see them sit -down on nails? You have proclaimed toleration for every creed: they -marry Jewesses and have stopped burning their fathers-in-law. What -ideas have you which they do not share with you about sexual questions, -about the family, about marriage, except that you allow divorce, though -you take good care not to recommend it? They believe it is damnation -to look at a woman and lust after her. Yet at dinners and parties -are the necks of their women any less bare than the necks of yours? -Do they wear dresses that reveal less of their figures? And do they -bear in mind the words of Tertullian about widows’ raiment? Are they -veiled and do they hide their hair? Do you not settle their fashions? -Do you insist that they shall go naked because you don’t believe -that Eve covered herself with a branch of a fig-tree under the curse -of Javeh? In what way do your ideas about your country differ from -theirs? For they exhort you to serve and defend it, just as if their -own abiding city were not in the heavens. Or about forced military -service, to which they submit, with the solitary reservation of one -point in ecclesiastical discipline, which in practice they yield? Or -on war, in which they will fight side by side with you, whenever you -wish, although their God gave them the command: “Thou shalt not kill.” -Are you anarchical and cosmopolitan enough to separate from them on -these important questions in practical life? What can you name which -is peculiar to you alone? You cannot even adduce the duel, which, on -account of its being fashionable, is a part of their code as of yours, -although it is neither in accordance with their principles, since both -their kings and priests forbid it, nor with yours, for it is based -on the incredible intervention of God Himself. Have you not the same -moral code with respect to the organisation of labour, to private -property and capital, to the whole organisation of society as it is -to-day, under which you both endure injustice with equal patience—as -long as you don’t personally suffer from it? You would have to -become Socialists for things to be otherwise, and were you to become -socialistic, so doubtless would they. You are willing to tolerate -injustice that survives from bygone days, every time that it works in -your favour. And, on their side, your ostensible opponents gratefully -accept the results of the Revolution, whenever it is a question of -acquiring a fortune derived from some former impropriator of national -property. They are parties to the Concordat, and so are you; so that -even religion links you together. - -“Their creed has so little effect on their feelings that they love the -life they ought to despise, quite as much as you do; and they cling as -closely to their possessions, which are a stumbling-block in the way of -their salvation. Having practically the same customs as you, they have -practically the same moral code. You quibble with them as to matters -which only interest politicians and which have no connection with the -organisation of a society which cares not a whit about your rival -claims. Faithful to the same traditions, ruled by the same prejudices, -living in the same depths of ignorance, you devour one another like -crabs in a basket. As one watches your conflicts of frogs and mice, one -no longer craves for undiluted civil government.” - - - - -XVIII - - -The coming of Marie was like the entrance of death into the house. At -the very first sight of her, Madame Bergeret knew that her day was over. - -Euphémie sat for a long while on her caneless chair, silent and -motionless, but with flushed cheeks. Her deep-rooted attachment to her -employers and her employers’ house was instinctive, but sure, and, like -a dog’s love, not dependent on reason. She shed no tears, but fever -spots came out on her lips. Her good-bye to Madame Bergeret was said -with all the solemnity of a pious, countrified heart. During the five -years of her service in the house she had endured at Madame Bergeret’s -hands, not only abusive violence, but hard avarice, for she was fed -but meagrely; on her side, she had given way to fits of insolence -and disobedience, and she had slandered her mistress among the other -servants. But she was a Christian, and at the bottom of her heart -she revered her pastors and masters as she did her father and mother. -Snivelling with grief, she said: - -“Good-bye, Madame. I will pray to the good God for you, that He may -make you happy. I wish I could have said good-bye to the young ladies.” - -Madame Bergeret knew that she was being hunted out of the house, like -this young girl, but she would not show how moved she was, for fear of -seeming undignified. - -“Go, child,” said she, “and settle your wages with Monsieur.” - -When M. Bergeret handed her her wages, she slowly counted out the -amount and moving her lips as though in prayer, made her calculations -three times over. She examined the coins anxiously, not being sure -of her bearings among so many different varieties. Then she put this -little property, her sole wealth in all the world, into the pocket of -her skirt, under her handkerchief. Next she dug her hand deep into her -pocket, and having taken all these precautions, said: - -“You have always been good to me, Monsieur, and I wish you every -happiness. But, all the same, you have driven me away.” - -“You think I am a wicked man,” answered M. Bergeret. “But if I send -you away, my good girl, I do it regretfully and only because it is -absolutely necessary. If I can help you in any way, I shall be very -glad to do so.” - -Euphémie passed the back of her hand over her eyes, sniffed aloud and -said softly, with big tears flowing down her cheeks: - -“There’s nobody wicked here.” - -She went out, closing the door behind her as noiselessly as possible, -and M. Bergeret began to picture her standing at the bottom of the -waiting-room in Deniseau’s office, with anxious looks fixed on the -door, among the melancholy crowd of girls waiting to be hired, in her -white head-dress with her blue cotton umbrella stuck between her knees. - -Meanwhile Marie, the stable-girl, who had never in her life waited on -anything but beasts, was filled with amazement and stupefaction at -the ways of these townsfolk, till the terror that she communicated to -others began to overwhelm her own mind. She squatted in her kitchen and -gazed at the saucepans. Bacon soup was the only thing she could make -and dialect the only language she understood. She was not even well -recommended, for it turned out that she had not only lived loosely, but -was in the habit of drinking brandy and even spirits of wine. - -The first visitor to whom she opened the door was Captain Aspertini, -who, in passing through the town, had called to see M. Bergeret. She -evidently made a deep impression on the Italian savant’s mind, for no -sooner had he greeted his host than he began to speak of the maid with -that interest which ugliness always inspires when it is overwhelmingly -terrible. - -“Your maid, Monsieur Bergeret,” said he, “reminds me of that expressive -face which Giotto has painted on an arch of the church at Assisi. It -represents that Being to whom no one ever opens the door with a smile, -and was suggested by a verse in Dante. - -“That reminds me,” continued the Italian; “have you seen the portrait -of Virgil in mosaic that your compatriots have just discovered at -Sousse in Algeria? It is a picture of a Roman with a wide, low -forehead, a square head and a strong jaw, and is not in the least like -the beautiful youth whom they used to tell us was Virgil. The bust -which for a long time was taken for a portrait of the poet is really a -Roman copy of a Greek original of the fourth century and represents a -young god worshipped in the mysteries of Eleusis. I think I may claim -the honour of being the first to give the true explanation of this -figure in my pamphlet on the child Triptolemus. But do you know this -Virgil in mosaic, Monsieur Bergeret?” - -“As well as I can judge from the photograph I have seen,” answered -M. Bergeret, “this African mosaic seems the copy of an original full -of character. This portrait might quite stand for Virgil, and it -is by no means impossible that it is an authentic portrait of him. -Your Renaissance scholars, Monsieur Aspertini, always depicted the -author of the _Æneid_ with the features of a sage. The old Venetian -editions of Dante that I have turned over in our library are full of -wood engravings in which Virgil wears the beard of a philosopher. -The next age made him as beautiful as a young god. Now we have him -with a square jaw and wearing a fringe of hair across his forehead in -the Roman style. The mental effect produced by his work has varied -just as much. Every literary age creates pictures from it which are -entirely different according to the period. And without recalling the -legends of the Middle Ages about Virgil the necromancer, it is a fact -that the Mantuan is admired for reasons that change according to the -period. In him Macrobius hailed the Sibyl of the Empire. It was his -philosophy that Dante and Petrarch seized upon, while Chateaubriand -and Victor Hugo discovered in him the forerunner of Christianity. For -my part, being but a juggler with words, I only use his works as a -philological pastime. You, Monsieur Aspertini, see him in the guise -of a great storehouse of Roman antiquities, and that is perhaps the -most solidly valuable part of the _Æneid_. The truth is that we are -in the habit of hanging our ideas upon the letter of these ancient -texts. Each generation forms a new conception of these masterpieces of -antiquity and thus endows them with a kind of progressive immortality. -My colleague Paul Stapfer has said many good things on this head.” - -“Very noteworthy things indeed,” answered Captain Aspertini. “But he -does not entertain such hopeless views as yours as to the ebb and flow -of human opinions.” - -Thus did these two good fellows toss from one to the other those -glorious and beautiful ideas by which life is embellished. - -“Do tell me what has become,” asked Captain Aspertini, “of that -soldierly Latinist whom I met here, that charming M. Roux, who seemed -to value military glory at its true worth, for he disdained to be a -corporal.” - -M. Bergeret replied curtly that M. Roux had returned to his regiment. - -“When last I passed through the town,” continued Captain Aspertini, “on -the second of January I think it was, I caught this young savant under -the lime-tree in the courtyard of the library, chatting with the young -porteress, whose ears, I remember, were very red. And you know that is -a sign that she was listening with pleased excitement. There could be -nothing prettier than that dainty little ruby shell clinging above the -white neck. With great discretion I pretended not to see them, in order -that I might not be like the Pythagorean philosopher who used to harass -lovers in Metapontus. That is a very charming young girl, with her red, -flame-like hair and her delicate skin, faintly dappled with freckles, -yet so pearly that it seems lit up from within. Have you ever noticed -her, Monsieur Bergeret?” - -M. Bergeret replied by a nod, for he had often noticed her, and found -her very much to his taste. He was too honourable a man and had too -much prudence and respect for his position ever to have taken any -liberty with the young porteress at the library. But the delicate -colouring, the thin, supple figure, the graceful beauty of this girl -had more than once floated before his eyes in the yellow pages of -Servius and Domat, when he had been sitting over them a long while. -Her name was Mathilde and she had the reputation of being fond of -pretty lads. Although M. Bergeret was usually very indulgent towards -lovers, the idea of M. Roux finding favour with Mathilde was distinctly -distasteful to him. - -“It was in the evening, after I had been reading there,” continued -Captain Aspertini. “I had copied three unpublished letters of Muratori, -which were not in the catalogue. As I was crossing the court where -they keep the remains of ancient buildings in the town, I saw, under -the lime-tree near the well and not far from the pillar of the -Romano-Gallic boatmen, the young porteress with the golden hair. She -was listening with downcast eyes to the remarks of your pupil, M. Roux, -while she balanced the great keys at the end of her fingers. What he -said was doubtless very like what the herdsman of the Oaristys[15] said -to the goat-girl. There was little doubt as to the gist of his remarks. -I felt sure, in fact, that he was making an assignation. For, thanks to -the skill I have acquired in interpreting the monuments of ancient art, -I immediately grasped the meaning of this group.” - - [15] First idyll of André Chénier. - -He went on with a smile: - -“I cannot, Monsieur Bergeret, really feel all the subtleties, all the -niceties of your beautiful French tongue, but I do not like to use the -word ‘girl’ or ‘young girl’ to describe a child like this porteress of -your municipal library. Neither can one use the word maid,[16] which is -obsolete and has degenerated in meaning. And I would say in passing, -it is a pity that this is the case. It would be ungracious to call -her a young person, and I can see nothing but the word nymph to suit -her. But, pray, Monsieur Bergeret, do not repeat what I told you about -the nymph of the library, lest it should get her into trouble. These -secrets need not be divulged to the mayor or the librarians. I should -be most distressed, if I thought I had inadvertently done the slightest -harm to your nymph.” - - [16] _Pucelle._ - -“It is true,” thought M. Bergeret, “that my nymph is pretty.” - -He felt vexed, and at this moment could scarcely have told whether he -was more angry with M. Roux for having found favour in the eyes of the -library porteress, or for having seduced Madame Bergeret. - -“Your nation,” said Captain Aspertini, “has attained to the highest -mental and moral culture. But it still retains, as a relic of the -barbarism in which it was so long plunged, a kind of uncertainty and -awkwardness in dealing with love affairs. In Italy love is everything -to the lovers, but of no concern to the outside world. Society in -general feels no interest in a matter which only concerns the chief -actors in it. An unbiassed estimate of licence and passion saves us -from cruelty and hypocrisy.” - -For some considerable time Captain Aspertini continued to entertain his -French friend with his views on different points in morals, art and -politics. Then he rose to take leave, and catching sight of Marie in -the hall, said to M. Bergeret: - -“Pray don’t take offence at what I said about your cook. Petrarch also -had a servant of rare and peculiar ugliness.” - - - - -XIX - - -As soon as he had removed from Madame Bergeret, deposed, the management -of his house, M. Bergeret himself took command, and a very bad job he -made of it. Yet in excuse it should be said that the maid Marie never -carried out his orders, since she never understood them. But since -action is the essential condition of life and one can by no means avoid -it, Marie acted, and was led by her natural gifts into the most unlucky -decisions and the most noxious deeds. Sometimes, however, the light -of her genius was quenched by drunkenness. One day, having drunk all -the spirits of wine kept for the lamp, she lay stretched unconscious -on the kitchen tiles for forty hours. Her awaking was always terrible, -and every movement she made was followed by catastrophe. She succeeded -in doing what had been beyond the powers of anyone else—in splitting -the marble chimney-piece by dashing a candlestick on it. She took to -cooking all the food in a frying-pan, amid deafening clamour and -poisonous smells, and nothing that she served was eatable. - -Shut up alone in the solitude of her bedroom, Madame Bergeret screamed -and sobbed with mingled grief and rage, as she watched the ruin of her -home. Her misery took on strange, unheard-of shapes that were agony -to her conventional soul and became ever more formidable. Until now -M. Bergeret had always handed over to her the whole of his monthly -salary, without even keeping back his cigarette money from it. But -she no longer received a penny from him, and as she had dressed -expensively during the gay time of her liaison with M. Roux, and even -more expensively during her troublous times when she was upholding her -dignity by constantly visiting her entire circle, she was now beginning -to be dunned by her milliner and dressmaker, and Messrs. Achard, a firm -of outfitters, who did not regard her as a regular customer, actually -issued a writ against her, which on this particular evening struck -consternation into the proud heart of the daughter of Pouilly. When -she perceived that these unprecedented trials were the unexpected, but -fatal, results of her sin, she began to perceive the heinousness of -adultery. With this thought came a memory of all she had been taught in -her youth about this unparalleled, this unique crime; for, in truth, -neither envy, nor avarice, nor cruelty bring such shame to the sinner -as this one offence of adultery. - -As she stood on the hearthrug before stepping into bed, she opened the -neck of her nightdress, and dropping her chin, looked down at the shape -of her body. Foreshortened in this way beneath the cambric, it looked -like a warm white mass of cushions and pillows, lit up by the rays -of the lamplight. She knew nothing of the beauty of the simple human -form, having merely the dressmaker’s instinct for style, and never -asked herself whether these outlines below her eyes were lovely or not. -Neither did she find grounds for humiliation or self-glorification -in this fleshly envelope; she never even recalled the memory of past -pleasures: the only feeling that came was one of troubled anxiety -at the sight of the body whose secret impulses had worked such -consequences in her home and outside it. - -She was a being of moral and religious instincts, and sufficiently -philosophic to grasp the absolute value of the points in a game of -cards: the idea came to her then that an act in itself entirely trivial -might be great in the world of ideas. She felt no remorse, because she -was devoid of imagination, and having a rational conception of God, -felt that she had already been sufficiently punished. But, at the -same time, since she followed the ordinary line of thought in morality -and conceived that a woman’s honour could only be judged by the common -criterion, since she had formed no colossal plan of overthrowing -the moral scheme in order to manufacture for herself an outrageous -innocence, she could feel no quietness, no satisfaction in life, nor -could she enjoy any sense of the inner peace that sustains the mind in -tribulation. - -Her troubles were the more harassing because they were so mysterious, -so indefinitely prolonged. They unwound themselves like the ball -of red string that Madame Magloire, the confectioner in the Place -Saint-Exupère, kept on her counter in a boxwood case, and which she -used to tie up hundreds of little parcels by means of the thread that -passed through a hole in the cover. It seemed to Madame Bergeret that -she would never see the end of her worries; she even, under sadness and -regret, began to acquire a certain look of spiritual beauty. - -One morning she looked at an enlarged photograph of her father, whom -she had lost during the first year of her married life, and standing in -front of it, she wept, as she thought of the days of her childhood, of -the little white cap worn at her first communion, of her Sunday walks -when she went to drink milk at the Tuilerie with her cousins, the two -Demoiselles Pouilly of the Dictionary, of her mother, still alive, but -now an old lady living in her little native town, far away at the other -end of France in the _département du Nord_. Madame Bergeret’s father, -Victor Pouilly, a headmaster and the author of a popular edition of -Lhomond’s grammar, had entertained a lofty notion of his social dignity -in the world and of his intellectual prowess. Being overshadowed and -patronised by his elder brother, the great Pouilly of the Dictionary, -being also under the thumb of the University authorities, he took it -out of everybody else and became prouder and prouder of his name, his -Grammar, and his gout, which was severe. In his pose he expressed the -Pouilly dignity, and to his daughter his portrait seemed to say: “My -child, I pass over, I purposely pass over everything in your conduct -which cannot be considered exactly conventional. You should recognise -the fact that all your troubles come from having married beneath you. -In vain I flattered myself that I had raised him to our level. This -Bergeret is an uneducated man, and your original mistake, the source -of all your troubles, my daughter, was your marriage.” And Madame -Bergeret gave ear to this speech, while the wisdom and kindness of her -father, so clearly stamped on it, sustained her drooping courage in a -measure. Yet, step by step, she began to yield to fate. She ceased to -pay denunciatory visits in the town, where, in fact, she had already -tired out the curiosity of her friends by the monotonous tenour of her -complaints. Even at the rector’s house they began to believe that the -stories which were told in the town about her liaison with M. Roux were -not entirely fables. She had allowed herself to be compromised, and -she wearied them; they let her plainly see both facts. The only person -whose sympathy she still retained was Madame Dellion, and to this lady -she remained a sort of allegorical figure of injured innocence. But -although Madame Dellion, being of higher rank, pitied her, respected -her, admired her, she would not receive her. Madame Bergeret was -humiliated and alone, childless, husbandless, homeless, penniless. - -One last effort she made to resume her rightful position in the house. -It was on the morning after the most miserable and wretched day that -she had ever spent. After having endured the insolent demands of -Mademoiselle Rose, the modiste, and of Lafolie, the butcher, after -having caught Marie stealing the three francs seventy-five centimes -left by the laundress on the dining-room sideboard, Madame Bergeret -went to bed so full of misery and fear that she could not sleep. Her -overwhelming troubles brought on an attack of romantic fancy, and in -the shades of night she saw a vision of Marie pouring out a poisonous -potion that M. Bergeret had prepared for her. With the dawn her fevered -terrors fled, and having dressed carefully, she entered M. Bergeret’s -study with an air of quiet gravity. So little had he expected her that -she found the door open. - -“Lucien! Lucien!” said she. - -She called upon the innocent names of their three daughters. She begged -and implored, while she gave a fair enough description of the wretched -state of the house. She promised that for the future she would be good, -faithful, economical and good-tempered. But M. Bergeret would not -answer. - -Kneeling at his feet, she sobbed and twisted the arms that had once -been so imperious in their gestures. He deigned neither to see nor to -hear her. - -She showed him the spectacle of a Pouilly at his feet. But he only took -up his hat and went out. Then she got up and ran after him, and with -outstretched fist and lips drawn back shouted after him from the hall: - -“I never loved you. Do you hear that? Never, not even when I first -married you! You are hideous, you are ridiculous and everything else -that’s horrid. And everyone in the town knows that you are nothing but -a ninnyhammer ... yes, a ninnyhammer....” - -She had never heard this word save on the lips of Pouilly of the -Dictionary, who had been in his grave for more than twenty years, and -now it recurred to her mind suddenly, as though by a miracle. She -attached no definite meaning to it, but as it sounded excessively -insulting, she shouted down the staircase after him, “Ninnyhammer, -ninnyhammer!” - -It was her last effort as a wife. A fortnight after this interview -Madame Bergeret appeared before her husband and said, this time in -quiet, resolute tones, “I cannot remain here any longer. It is your -doing entirely. I am going to my mother’s; you must send me Marianne -and Juliette. Pauline I will let you have....” - -Pauline was the eldest; she was like her father, and between them there -existed a certain sympathy. - -“I hope,” added Madame Bergeret, “that you will make a suitable -allowance for your two daughters who will live with me. For myself I -ask nothing.” - -When M. Bergeret heard these words, when he saw her at the goal whither -he had guided her by foresight and firmness, he tried to conceal his -joy, for fear lest, if he let it be detected, Madame Bergeret might -abandon an arrangement that suited him admirably. - -He made no answer, but he bent his head in sign of consent. - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: - -Hyphenation and spelling have been retained as appeared in the original -publication except as follows: - - Page 68 - For you’re no stranger to _changed to_ - “For you’re no stranger to - - Page 76 - tho most respected families _changed to_ - the most respected families - - Page 93 - which are associdate _changed to_ - which are associated - - Page 229 - Servius believes that Virgil wrote _changed to_ - “Servius believes that Virgil wrote - - masts were already up _changed to_ - masts were already up. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wicker Work Woman, by Anatole France - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WICKER WORK WOMAN *** - -***** This file should be named 50286-0.txt or 50286-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/8/50286/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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width: auto; height: auto;} - .tn {width: 80%; margin: 0 10%; background: #dcdcdc; padding: 1em;} - .poem {display: block; margin-left: 1.5em;} - .hidehand {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - .box {width: 50%; margin: 0 25%;} - a.label:link {vertical-align: top; text-decoration: none;} - .footnote {margin: 0;} - } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wicker Work Woman, by Anatole France - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Wicker Work Woman - -Author: Anatole France - -Editor: Frederic Chapman - -Translator: M. P. Willcocks - -Release Date: October 23, 2015 [EBook #50286] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WICKER WORK WOMAN *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="hidehand"> -<div class="figcenter width490"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="490" height="800" alt="Cover" /> -</div></div> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="box"> -<span class="smcap">This Edition is limited to<br /> -Five Hundred Copies for<br /> -Sale in the United States<br /> -of America</span> -</div></div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr /> -<p class="noi center">THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE<br /> -IN AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION<br /> -EDITED BY FREDERIC CHAPMAN</p> - -<h1>THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN</h1> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<img src="images/title.jpg" width="400" height="445" alt="" /> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr /> -<p class="title"><span class="p200">THE WICKER<br /> -WORK WOMAN</span></p> - -<p class="title">A CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES</p> - -<p class="title">BY ANATOLE FRANCE</p> - -<p class="title">A TRANSLATION BY<br /> -M. P. WILLCOCKS</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<img src="images/title2.jpg" width="400" height="631" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="title mt4">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD<br /> -NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMX</p> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="title">WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH</p> -</div> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center p150">THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center p150"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> -THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN</p> -<h2 style="page-break-before: avoid;"><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-red_i_drop.jpg" width="80" height="87" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">In</span> his study M. Bergeret, professor of literature at the University, -was preparing his lesson on the eighth book of the <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite> to the -shrill mechanical accompaniment of the piano, on which, close by, his -daughters were practising a difficult exercise. M. Bergeret’s room -possessed only one window, but this was a large one, and filled up one -whole side. It admitted, however, more draught than light, for the -sashes were ill-fitting and the panes darkened by a high contiguous -wall. M. Bergeret’s table, pushed close against this window, caught -the dismal rays of niggard daylight that filtered through. As a matter -of fact this study, where the professor polished and repolished his -fine, scholarly phrases, was nothing more than a shapeless cranny, or -rather a double recess, behind the framework of the main staircase -which, spreading out most inconsiderately in a great curve towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> -the window, left only room on either side for two useless, churlish -corners. Trammelled by this monstrous, green-papered paunch of masonry, -M. Bergeret had with difficulty discovered in his cantankerous study—a -geometrical abortion as well as an æsthetic abomination—a scanty flat -surface where he could stack his books along the deal shelves, upon -which yellow rows of Teubner classics were plunged in never-lifted -gloom. M. Bergeret himself used to sit squeezed close up against the -window, writing in a cold, chilly style that owed much to the bleakness -of the atmosphere in which he worked. Whenever he found his papers -neither torn nor topsy-turvy and his pens not gaping cross-nibbed, he -considered himself a lucky man! For such was the usual result of a -visit to the study from Madame Bergeret or her daughters, where they -came to write up the laundry list or the household accounts. Here, too, -stood the dressmaker’s dummy, on which Madame Bergeret used to drape -the skirts she cut out at home. There, bolt upright, over against the -learned editions of Catullus and Petronius, stood, like a symbol of the -wedded state, this wicker-work woman.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was preparing his lesson on the eighth book of the -<cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite>, and he ought to have been devoting himself exclusively to -the fascinating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> details of metre and language. In this task he would -have found, if not joy, at any rate mental peace and the priceless -balm of spiritual tranquillity. Instead, he had turned his thoughts -in another direction: he was musing on the soul, the genius, the -outward features of that classic world whose books he spent his life in -studying. He had given himself up to the longing to behold with his own -eyes those golden shores, that azure sea, those rose-hued mountains, -those lovely meadows through which the poet leads his heroes. He was -bemoaning himself bitterly that it had never been his lot to visit the -shores where once Troy stood, to gaze on the landscape of Virgil, to -breathe the air of Italy, of Greece and holy Asia, as Gaston Boissier -and Gaston Deschamps had done. The melancholy aspect of his study -overwhelmed him and great waves of misery submerged his mind. His -sadness was, of course, the fruit of his own folly, for all our real -sorrows come from within and are self-caused. We mistakenly believe -that they come from outside, but we create them within ourselves from -our own personality.</p> - -<p>So sat M. Bergeret beneath the huge plaster cylinder, manufacturing -his own sadness and weariness as he reflected on his narrow, cramped, -and dismal life: his wife was a vulgar creature, who had by now lost -all her good looks; his daughters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> even, had no love for him, and -finally the battles of Æneas and Turnus were dull and boring. At last -he was aroused from this melancholy train of thought by the arrival of -his pupil, M. Roux, who made his appearance in red trousers and a blue -coat, for he was still going through his year of military service.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” said M. Bergeret, “so I see they’ve turned my best Latin scholar -into a hero.”</p> - -<p>And when M. Roux denied the heroic impeachment, the professor -persisted: “I know what I’m talking about. I call a man who wears a -sabre a hero, and I’m quite right in so doing. And if you only wore a -busby, I should call you a great hero. The least one can decently do is -to bestow a little flattery on the people one sends out to get shot. -One couldn’t possibly pay them for their services at a cheaper rate. -But may you never be immortalised by any act of heroism, and may you -only earn the praises of mankind by your attainments in Latin verse! It -is my patriotism, and nothing else, that moves me to this sincere wish. -For I am persuaded by the study of history that heroism is mainly to -be found among the routed and vanquished. Even the Romans, a people by -no means so eager for war as is commonly supposed, a people, too, who -were often beaten, even the Romans only produced a Decius in a moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> -of defeat. At Marathon, too, the heroism of Kynegeirus was shown -precisely at the moment of disaster for the Athenians, who, if they did -succeed in arresting the march of the barbarian army, could not prevent -them from embarking with all the Persian cavalry which had just been -recuperating on the plains. Besides, it is not at all clear that the -Persians made any special effort in this battle.”</p> - -<p>M. Roux deposited his sabre in a corner of the study and sat down in a -chair offered him by the professor.</p> - -<p>“It is now four months,” said he, “since I have heard a single -intelligent word. During these four months I have been concentrating -all the powers of my mind on the task of conciliating my corporal and -my sergeant-major by carefully calculated tips. So far, that is the -only side of the art of warfare that I can really say I have mastered. -It is, however, the most important side. Yet I have in the process -lost all power of grasping a general idea or of following a subtle -thought. And here you are, my dear sir, telling me that the Greeks were -conquered at Marathon and that the Romans were not warlike. My head -whirls.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret calmly replied:</p> - -<p>“I merely said that Miltiades did not succeed in breaking through the -forces of the barbarians. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> for the Romans, they were not essentially -a military people, since they made profitable and lasting conquests, in -contradistinction to the true military nations, such as the French, for -instance, who seize all, but retain nothing.</p> - -<p>“It is also to be noted that in Rome, in the time of the kings, aliens -were not allowed to serve as soldiers. But in the reign of the good -king Servius Tullius the citizens, being by no means anxious to reserve -to themselves alone the honour of fatigue and perils, admitted aliens -resident in the city to military service. There are such things as -heroes, but there are no nations of heroes, nor are there armies of -heroes. Soldiers have never marched save under penalty of death. -Military service was hateful even to those Latin herdsmen who gained -for Rome the sovereignty of the world and the glorious name of goddess -among the nations. The wearing of the soldier’s belt was to them such -a hardship that the very name of this belt, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ærumna</i>, eventually -expressed for them the ideas of dejection, weariness of body and mind, -wretchedness, misfortune and disaster. When well led they made, not -heroes, but good soldiers and good navvies; little by little they -conquered the world and covered it with roads and highways. The Romans -never sought glory: they had no imagination. They only waged absolutely -necessary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> wars in defence of their own interests. Their triumph was -the triumph of patience and good sense.</p> - -<p>“The make of a man is shown by his ruling passion. With soldiers, as -with all crowds, the ruling passion, the predominant thought, is fear. -They go to meet the enemy as the foe from whom the least danger is to -be feared. Troops in line are so drawn up on both sides that flight -is impossible. In that lies all the art of battle. The armies of the -Republic were victorious because the discipline of the olden times -was maintained in them with the utmost severity, while it was relaxed -in the camp of the Allied Armies. Our generals of the second year -after the Revolution were none other than sergeants like that la Ramée -who used to have half a dozen conscripts shot every day in order to -encourage the others, as Voltaire put it, and to arouse them with the -trumpet-note of patriotism.”</p> - -<p>“That’s very plausible,” said M. Roux. “But there is another point. -There is such a thing as the innate joy of firing a musket-shot. As you -know, my dear sir, I am by no means a destructive animal. I have no -taste for military life. I have even very advanced humanitarian ideas, -and I believe that the brotherhood of the nations will be brought about -by the triumph of socialism.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> In a word, I am filled with the love of -humanity. But as soon as they put a musket in my hand I want to fire at -everyone. It’s in the blood....”</p> - -<p>M. Roux was a fine hearty fellow who had quickly shaken down in his -regiment. Violent exercise suited his robust temperament, and being -in addition very adaptable, although he had acquired no special taste -for the profession, he found life in barracks quite bearable, and so -remained both healthy and happy.</p> - -<p>“You have left the power of suggestion out of your calculations, sir,” -said he. “Only give a man a bayonet at the end of a musket and he will -instantly be ready to plunge it into the body of the first comer and so -make himself a hero, as you call it.”</p> - -<p>The rich southern tones of M. Roux were still echoing through the room -when Madame Bergeret came in. As a rule she seldom entered the study -when her husband was there. To-day M. Bergeret noticed that she wore -her fine pink and white <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">peignoir</i>.</p> - -<p>Expressing great surprise at finding M. Roux in the study, she -explained that she had just come in to ask her husband for a volume of -poems with which she might while away an hour or two.</p> - -<p>She was suddenly a charming, good-tempered woman: the professor noticed -the fact, as a fact, though he felt no special interest in it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> -Removing Freund’s Dictionary from an old leather arm-chair, M. Roux -cleared a seat for Madame Bergeret, while her husband’s thoughts -strayed, first to the quartos stacked against the wall and then to his -wife who had taken their place in the arm-chair. These two masses of -matter, the dictionary and the lady, thought he, were once but gases -floating in the primitive nebulosity. Though now they are strangely -different from one another in look, in nature and in function, they -were once for long ages exactly similar.</p> - -<p>“For,” thought he to himself, “Madame Bergeret once swam in the vasty -abyss of the ages, shapeless, unconscious, scattered in light gleams of -oxygen and carbon. At the same time, the molecules that were one day -to make up this Latin dictionary were whirling in this same vapour, -which was destined at last to give birth to monstrous forms, to minute -insects and to a slender thread of thought. These imperfect and often -harassing creations, these monuments of my weary life, my wife and my -dictionary, needed the travail of eternity to produce them. Yet Amélie -is just a paltry mind in a coarsened body, and my dictionary is full of -mistakes. We can see from this example alone that there is very little -hope that even new æons of time would ever give us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> perfect knowledge -and beauty. As it is, we live but for a moment, yet by living for ever -we should gain nothing. The faults we see in nature, and how faulty she -is we know, are produced neither by time nor space!”</p> - -<p>And in the restless perturbation of his thoughts M. Bergeret continued:</p> - -<p>“But what is time itself, save just the movements of nature, and how -can I judge whether these are long or short? Granted that nature is -cruel in her cast-iron laws, how comes it that I recognise the fact? -And how do I manage to place myself outside her, so that I can weigh -her deeds in my scales? Had I but another standpoint in it, perchance -the universe might even seem to me a happier place.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret hereupon suddenly emerged from his day-dream, and leant -forward to push the tottering pile of quartos close against the wall.</p> - -<p>“You are somewhat sunburnt, Monsieur Roux,” said Madame Bergeret, “and -rather thinner, I fancy. But it suits you well enough.”</p> - -<p>“The first few months are trying,” answered M. Roux. “Drill, of course, -in the barrack-yard at six o’clock in the morning and with eight -degrees of frost is rather a painful process, and just at first one -finds it difficult to look on the mess as appetising. But weariness -is, after all, a great blessing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> stupefaction a priceless remedy and -the stupor in which one lives is as soporific as a feather-bed. And -because at night one only sleeps in snatches, by day one is never wide -awake. And this state of automatic lethargy in which we all live is -admirably conducive to discipline, it suits the tone of military life -and produces physical and moral efficiency in the ranks.”</p> - -<p>In short, M. Roux had nothing to complain of, but one of his friends, a -certain Deval, a student of Malay at the school of Oriental languages, -was plunged in the depths of misery and despair. Deval, an intelligent, -well-educated, intrepid man, was cursed with a sort of rigidity of mind -and body that made him tactless and awkward. In addition to this he was -harassed by a painfully exact sense of justice which gave him peculiar -views of his rights and duties. This unfortunate turn of mind landed -him in all sorts of troubles, and he had not been more than twenty-four -hours in barracks before Sergeant Lebrec demanded, in terms which must -needs be softened for Madame Bergeret’s sake, what ill-conducted being -had given birth to such a clumsy cub as Number Five. It took Deval a -long time to make sure that he, and none other, was actually Number -Five. He had, in fact, to be put under arrest before he was convinced -on the subject. Even then he could not see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> why the honour of Madame -Deval, his mother, should be called in question because he himself was -not exactly in line. His sense of justice was outraged by his mother’s -being unexpectedly declared responsible in this matter, and at the end -of four months he was still a prey to melancholy amazement at the idea.</p> - -<p>“Your friend Deval,” answered M. Bergeret, “put a wrong construction on -a warlike speech that I should be inclined to count among those which -exalt men’s moral tone. Such speeches, in fact, arouse the spirit of -emulation by exciting a desire to earn the good-conduct stripes, which -confer on their wearers the right to make similar speeches in their -turn, speeches which obviously stamp the speaker of them as head and -shoulders above those humble beings to whom they are addressed. The -authority of officers in the army should never be weakened, as was done -in a recent circular issued by a War Minister, which laid down the law -that officers and non-commissioned officers were to avoid the practice -of addressing the men with the contemptuous ‘thou.’ The minister, -himself a well-bred, courteous, urbane and honourable man, was full of -the idea of the dignified position of the citizen soldier and failed, -therefore, to perceive that the power of scorning an inferior is -the guiding principle in emulation and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> foundation-stone of all -governance. Sergeant Lebrec spoke like a hero who is schooling heroes, -for, being a philologist, I am able to reconstruct the original form -his speech took. This being the case, I have no hesitation in declaring -that, in my opinion, Sergeant Lebrec rose to sublimity when he -associated the good fame of a family with the port of a conscript, when -he thus linked the life of Number Five, even before he saw the light, -with the regiment and the flag. For, in truth, does not the issue of -all warfare rest on the discipline of the recruit?</p> - -<p>“After this, you will probably tell me that I am indulging in the -weakness common to all commentators and reading into the text of my -author meanings which he never intended. I grant you that there is -a certain element of unconsciousness in Sergeant Lebrec’s memorable -speech. But therein lies the genius of it. Unaware of his own range, he -hurls his bolts broadcast.”</p> - -<p>M. Roux answered with a smile that there certainly was an unconscious -element in Sergeant Lebrec’s inspiration. He quite agreed with M. -Bergeret there. But Madame Bergeret interposed drily:</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand you at all, Lucien. You always laugh when there is -nothing funny, and really one never knows whether you are joking or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> -serious. It’s positively impossible to talk rationally to you.”</p> - -<p>“My wife reasons after the dean’s fashion,” said M. Bergeret, “and the -only thing to do with either is to give in.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Madame Bergeret, “you do well to talk about the dean! -You have always set yourself to annoy him and now you are paying for -your folly. You have also managed to fall out with the rector. I met -him on Sunday when I was out with the girls and he hardly so much as -bowed.” And turning towards the young soldier, she continued:</p> - -<p>“I know that my husband is very much attached to you, Monsieur Roux. -You are his favourite pupil and he foretells a brilliant future for -you.”</p> - -<p>M. Roux’s swarthy face, with its mat of frizzy hair, flashed into a -bold smile that showed the brilliant whiteness of his teeth.</p> - -<p>“Do try, Monsieur Roux, to get my husband to use a little tact with -people who may be useful to him. His conduct is making life a howling -wilderness for us all.”</p> - -<p>“Surely not, Madame,” murmured M. Roux, turning the conversation.</p> - -<p>“The peasants,” said he, “drag out a wretched three years of service. -They suffer horribly, but no one ever guesses it, for they are -quite inarticulate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> when it comes to expressing subtleties. Loving -the land as they do with all the intensity of animal passion, when -they are separated from it their existence is full of deep, silent, -monotonous melancholy, with nothing whatever to distract them from -their sense of exile and imprisonment, save fear of their officers and -weariness of their occupation. Everything around them is strange and -incomprehensible. In my company, for instance, there are two Bretons -who have not learnt the colonel’s name after six months’ training. -Every morning we are drawn up before the sergeant to repeat this name -with them, for every one in the regiment receives exactly the same -instruction. Our colonel’s name is Dupont. It’s the same in all our -exercises: quick, clever men are kept back for ever to wait for the -dolts.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret inquired whether, like Sergeant Lebrec, the officers also -cultivated the art of martial eloquence.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said M. Roux. “My captain—quite a young man he is, -too—is the very pink of courtesy. He is an æsthete, a Rosicrucian, and -he paints pictures of angels and pallid virgins, against a background -of pink and green skies. I devise the legends for his pictures, and -whilst Deval is on fatigue-duty in the barrack-square, I am on duty -with the captain, who employs me to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> produce verses for him. He really -is a charming fellow. His name is Marcel de Lagère; he exhibits at -L’Œuvre under the pseudonym of Cyne.”</p> - -<p>“Is he a hero too?” asked M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“Say rather a Saint George,” answered M. Roux. “He has conceived a -mystic ideal of the military profession and declares that it is the -perfect way of life. We are marching, unawares, to an unknown goal. -Piously, solemnly, chastely, we advance towards the altar of mystic, -fated sacrifice. He is exquisite. I am teaching him to write <i>vers -libre</i> and prose poems and he is beginning to compose prose sketches of -military life. He is happy, placid and gentle, and the only sorrow he -has is the flag. He considers its red, white and blue an intolerably -violent colour scheme and yearns for one of rose-pink or lilac. His -dreams are of the banner of Heaven. ‘If even,’ he says sadly, ‘the -three colours rose from a flower-stalk, like the three flames of the -oriflamme, it would be bearable. But when they are perpendicular, they -cut the floating folds painfully and ridiculously.’ He suffers, but he -bears his suffering bravely and patiently. As I said before, he is a -true Saint George.”</p> - -<p>“From your description,” said Madame Bergeret, “I feel keenly for -the poor young man.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> So speaking, she threw a severe glance in M. -Bergeret’s direction.</p> - -<p>“But aren’t the other officers amazed at him?” asked M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” answered M. Roux. “For at mess, or in society, he says -nothing about his opinions and he looks just like any other officer.”</p> - -<p>“And what do the men think of him?”</p> - -<p>“The men never come in contact with their officers in quarters.”</p> - -<p>“You will dine with us, won’t you, Monsieur Roux?” said Madame -Bergeret. “It will give us great pleasure if you will stay.”</p> - -<p>Her words instantly suggested to M. Bergeret’s mind the vision of a -pie, for whenever Madame Bergeret had informally invited anyone to -dinner she always ordered a pie from Magloire, the pastry-cook, and -usually a pie without meat, as being more dainty. By a purely mental -impetus that had no connection with greed, M. Bergeret now called up -a picture of an egg or fish pie, smoking in a blue-patterned dish on -a damask napkin. Homely and prophetic vision! But if Madame Bergeret -invited M. Roux to dinner, she must think a great deal of him, for -it was most unusual for Amélie to offer the pleasures of her humble -table to a stranger. She dreaded the expense and fuss of doing so, and -justly, for the days when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> had a guest to dinner were made hideous -by the noise of broken dishes, by yells of alarm and tears of rage -from the young maid, Euphémie, by an acrid smoke-reek that filled the -whole flat and by a smell of cooking which found its way to the study -and disturbed M. Bergeret among the shades of Æneas, Turnus, and the -bashful Lavinia. However, the professor was delighted at the idea that -his pupil, M. Roux, would feed to-night at his table. For there was -nothing he liked better than men’s talk, and a long discussion filled -him with joy.</p> - -<p>Madame Bergeret continued:</p> - -<p>“You know, Monsieur Roux, it will be just pot-luck.”</p> - -<p>Then she departed to give Euphémie her orders.</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” said M. Bergeret to his pupil, “are you still asserting -the pre-eminence of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vers libre</i>? Of course, I am aware that poetic -forms vary according to time and place. Nor am I ignorant of the fact -that, in the course of ages, French verse has undergone incessant -alterations, and, hidden behind my books of notes on metre, I can smile -discreetly at the pious prejudices of the poets who refuse to allow -anyone to lay an unhallowed finger on the instrument consecrated by -their genius. I have noticed that they give no reasons for the rules -they follow, and I am inclined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> to think that one must not search for -these reasons in the verse itself, but rather in the music which in -primitive times accompanied it. It is the scientific spirit which I -acknowledge as my guide, and as that is naturally far less conservative -than the artistic spirit, I am therefore ready to welcome innovations. -But I must, nevertheless, confess that <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vers libre</i> baffles me and I -cannot even grasp the definition of it. The vagueness of the limits to -which it must conform is a worry to me and ...”</p> - -<p>At that moment a visitor came into the study. It was a well-built -man in the prime of life, with handsome sunburnt features. Captain -Aspertini of Naples was a student of philology and agriculture and a -member of the Italian Parliament who for the last ten years had been -carrying on a learned correspondence with M. Bergeret, after the style -of the great scholars of the Renaissance and the seventeenth century, -and whenever he visited France he made it his practice to come and -see his correspondent. Savants the world over held a high opinion of -Carlo Aspertini for having deciphered a complete treatise by Epicurus -on one of the charred scrolls from Pompeii. Although his energies -were now absorbed in agriculture, politics and business, he was still -passionately devoted to the art of numismatics and his sensitive hands -still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> itched to have the fingering of medals. Indeed, there were two -attractions which drew him to * * *—the pleasure of seeing M. Bergeret -and the delight of looking once more at the priceless collection of -ancient coins bequeathed to the town library by Boucher de La Salle. -He also came to collate the letters of Muratori which were preserved -there. The two men greeted each other with great pleasure, for a -common love of knowledge had made them fellow-citizens. Then, when the -Neapolitan perceived that they had a soldier with them in the study, M. -Bergeret hastened to inform him that this Gallic warrior was a budding -philologist, inspired by enthusiasm for the Latin tongue.</p> - -<p>“This year, however,” said M. Bergeret, “he is learning in a -barrack-square to put one foot before the other, and in him you see -what our witty commandant, General Cartier de Chalmot, calls the -primary tool of tactics, commonly known as a soldier. My pupil, M. -Roux, is a warrior, and having a high-bred soul, he feels the honour -of the position. Truth to tell, it is an honour which he shares at -this identical moment with all the young men of haughty Europe. Your -Neapolitans, too, rejoice in it, since they became part of a great -nation.”</p> - -<p>“Without wishing in any way to show disloyalty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> to the house of Savoy, -to which I am genuinely attached,” said the captain, “I feel that -military service and taxation weigh so heavily on the Neapolitans as -to make them sometimes regret the happy days of King Bomba and the -pleasure of living ingloriously under an easy-going government. Neither -tax nor conscription is popular with the Neapolitan. What is wanted -is that statesmen should really open their eyes to the necessities of -national life. But, as you know, I have always been an opponent of -megalomaniac politics and have always deplored those great armaments -which hinder all progress in Europe, whether it be intellectual, moral, -or material. It is a great, a ruinous folly which can only culminate in -farce.”</p> - -<p>“I foresee no end to it at all,” replied M. Bergeret. “No one wishes -it to end save certain thinkers who have no means of making their -ideas known. The rulers of states cannot desire disarmament, for such -a movement would render their position difficult and precarious and -would take an admirable tool of empire out of their hands. For armed -nations meekly submit to government. Military discipline shapes them to -obedience, and in a nation so disciplined, neither insurrections, nor -riots, nor tumults of any kind need be feared. When military service is -obligatory upon all, when all the citizens either are, or have been,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> -soldiers, then all the forces of social life are so calculated as to -support power, or even the lack of it. This fact the history of France -can prove.”</p> - -<p>Just as M. Bergeret reached this point in his political reflections, -from the kitchen close by there burst out the noise of grease pouring -over on the fire; from this the professor inferred that the youthful -Euphémie, according to her usual practice on gala days, had upset her -saucepan on the stove, after rashly balancing it on a pyramid of coal. -He had learnt by now that such an event must recur again and again -with the inexorable certainty of the laws that govern the universe. A -shocking smell of burnt meat filled the study, while M. Bergeret traced -the course of his ideas as follows:</p> - -<p>“Had not Europe,” said he, “been turned into a barrack, we should have -seen insurrections bursting out in France, Germany, or Italy, as they -did in former times. But nowadays those obscure forces which from time -to time uplift the very pavements of our city find regular vent in -the fatigue duty of barrack-yards, in the grooming of horses and the -sentiment of patriotism.</p> - -<p>“The rank of corporal supplies an admirable outlet for the energies -of young heroes who, had they been left in freedom, would have been -building barricades to keep their arms lissom. I have only this moment -been told of the sublime<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> speeches made by a certain Sergeant Lebrec. -Were he dressed in the peasant’s blouse this hero would be thirsting -for liberty, but clad in a uniform, it is tyranny for which he yearns, -and to help in the maintenance of order the thing for which he craves. -In armed nations it is easy enough to preserve internal peace, and you -will notice that, although in the course of the last twenty-five years, -Paris has been a little agitated on one occasion, it was only when the -commotion was the work of a War Minister. That is, a general was able -to do what a demagogue could not have done. And the moment this general -lost his hold on the army, he also lost it on the nation, and his power -was gone. Therefore, whether the State be a monarchy, an empire, or a -republic, its rulers have an interest in keeping up obligatory military -service for all, in order that they may command an army, instead of -governing a nation.</p> - -<p>“And, while the rulers have no desire for disarmament, the people have -lost all wish for it, too. The masses endure military service quite -willingly, for, without being exactly pleasurable, it gives an outlet -to the rough, crude instincts of the majority and presents itself as -the simplest, roughest and strongest expression of their sense of duty. -It overawes them by the gorgeous splendour of its outward paraphernalia -and by the amount of metal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> used in it. In short, it exalts them -through the only ideals of power, of grandeur and of glory, which -they are capable of conceiving. Often they rush into it with a song; -if not, they are perforce driven to it. For these reasons I foresee -no termination to this honourable calling which is brutalising and -impoverishing Europe.”</p> - -<p>“There are,” said Captain Aspertini, “two ways out of it: war and -bankruptcy.”</p> - -<p>“War!” exclaimed M. Bergeret. “It is patent that great armaments only -hinder that by aggravating the horrors of it and rendering it of -doubtful issue for both combatants. As for bankruptcy, I foretold it -the other day to Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of our high seminary, as -we sat on a bench on the Mall. But you need not pin your faith on me. -You have studied the history of the Lower Empire too deeply, my dear -Aspertini, not to be perfectly aware that, in questions of national -finance, there are mysterious resources which escape the scrutiny of -political economists. A ruined nation may exist for five hundred years -on robbery and extortion, and how is one to guess what a great people, -out of its poverty, will manage to supply to its defenders in the way -of cannon, muskets, bad bread, bad shoes, straw and oats?”</p> - -<p>“This argument sounds plausible enough,” answered Aspertini. “Yet, with -all due deference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> to your opinion, I believe I can already discern the -dawn of universal peace.”</p> - -<p>Then, in a sing-song voice, the kindly Neapolitan began to describe -his hopes and dreams for the future, to the accompaniment of the heavy -thumping of the chopper with which the youthful Euphémie was preparing -a mince for M. Roux on the kitchen table just the other side of the -wall.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember, Monsieur Bergeret,” said Captain Aspertini, “the -place in <cite>Don Quixote</cite> where Sancho complains of being obliged to -endure a never-ending series of misfortunes and the ready-witted knight -tells him that this protracted wretchedness is merely a sign that -happiness is at hand? ‘For,’ says he, ‘fortune is a fickle jade and our -troubles have already lasted so long that they must soon give place to -good-luck.’ The law of change alone....”</p> - -<p>The rest of these optimistic utterances was lost in the boiling over of -the kettle of water, followed by the unearthly yells of Euphémie, as -she fled in terror from her stove.</p> - -<p>Then M. Bergeret’s mind, saddened by the sordid ugliness of his cramped -life, fell to dreaming of a villa where, on white terraces overlooking -the blue waters of a lake, he might hold peaceful converse with M. Roux -and Captain Aspertini, amid the scent of myrtles, when the amorous moon -rides<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> high in a sky as clear as the glance of a god and as sweet as -the breath of a goddess.</p> - -<p>But he soon emerged from this dream and began once more to take part in -the discussion.</p> - -<p>“The results of war,” said he, “are quite incalculable. My good -friend William Harrison writes to me that French scholarship has been -despised in England since 1871, and that at the Universities of Oxford, -Cambridge and Dublin it is the fashion to ignore Maurice Raynouard’s -text-book of archæology, though it would be more helpful to their -students than any other similar work. But they refuse to learn from the -vanquished. And in order that they may feel confidence in a professor -when he speaks on the characteristics of the art of Ægina or on the -origins of Greek pottery, it is considered necessary that he should -belong to a nation which excels in the casting of cannon. Because -Marshal Mac-Mahon was beaten in 1870 at Sedan and General Chanzy lost -his army at the Maine in the same year, my colleague Maurice Raynouard -is banished from Oxford in 1897. Such are the results of military -inferiority, slow-moving and illogical, yet sure in their effects. And -it is, alas, only too true that the fate of the Muses is settled by a -sword-thrust.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” said Aspertini, “I am going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> answer you with all -the frankness permissible in a friend. Let us first grant that French -thought circulates freely through the world, as it has always done. And -although the archæological manual of your learned countryman Maurice -Raynouard may not have found a place on the desks of the English -Universities, yet your plays are acted in all the theatres of the -world; the novels of Alphonse Daudet and of Émile Zola are translated -into every language; the canvases of your painters adorn the galleries -of two worlds; the achievements of your scientists win renown in -every quarter of the globe. And if your soul no longer thrills the -soul of the nations, if your voice no longer quickens the heart-beats -of mankind, it is because you no longer choose to play the part of -apostles of brotherhood and justice, it is because you no longer utter -the holy words that bring strength and consolation; it is because -France is no longer the lover of the human race, the comrade of the -nations; it is because she no longer opens her hands to fling broadcast -those seeds of liberty which once she scattered in such generous and -sovereign fashion that for long years it seemed that every beautiful -human idea was a French idea; it is because she is no longer the France -of the philosophers and of the Revolution: in the garrets round the -Panthéon and the Luxembourg there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> no longer to be found young -leaders, writing on deal tables night after night, with all the fire of -youth, those pages which make the nations tremble and the despots grow -pale with fear. Do not then complain that the glory which you cannot -view without misgivings has passed away.</p> - -<p>“Especially, do not say that your defeats are the sources of your -misfortunes: say, rather, that they are the outcome of your faults. -A nation suffers no more injury from a battle lost than a robust man -suffers from a sword-scratch received in a duel. It is an injury that -only produces a transient illness in the system, a perfectly curable -weakness. To cure it, all that is needed is a little courage, skill and -political good sense. The first act of policy, the most necessary and -certainly the easiest, is to make the defeat yield all the military -glory it is capable of producing. For in the true view of things, the -glory of the vanquished equals that of the conquerors, and it is, in -addition, the more moving spectacle. In order to make the best of a -disaster it is desirable to fête the general and the army which has -sustained it, and to blazon abroad all the beautiful incidents which -prove the moral superiority of misfortune. Such incidents are to be -found even in the most headlong retreats. From the very first moment, -then, the defeated side ought to decorate, to embellish, to gild their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> -defeat, and to distinguish it with unmistakably grand and beautiful -symbols. In Livy it may be read how the Romans never failed to do -this, and how they hung palms and wreaths on the swords broken at the -battles of the Trebbia, of Trasimene and of Cannæ. Even the disastrous -inaction of Fabius has been so extolled by them that, after the lapse -of twenty-two centuries, we still stand amazed at the wisdom of the -Cunctator, the Lingerer, as he was nicknamed. Yet, after all, he was -nothing but an old fool. In this lies the great art of defeat.”</p> - -<p>“It is by no means a lost art,” said M. Bergeret. “In our own days -Italy showed that she knew how to practise it after Novara, after -Lissa, after Adowa.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” said Captain Aspertini, “whenever an Italian army -capitulates, we rightly reckon this capitulation glorious. A government -which succeeds in throwing a glamour of poetry over a defeat rouses -the spirit of patriotism within the country and at the same time makes -itself interesting in the eyes of foreigners. And to bring about these -two results is a fairly considerable achievement. In the year 1870 it -rested entirely with you Frenchmen to produce them for yourselves. -After Sedan, had the Senate, the Chamber of Deputies, and all the -State officials publicly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> and unanimously congratulated the Emperor -Napoleon and Marshal Mac-Mahon on not having despaired of the salvation -of their country when they gave battle to the enemy, do you not think -that France would have gained a radiant halo of glory from the defeat -of its army? At the same time it would have given forcible expression -of its will to conquer. And pray believe, dear Monsieur Bergeret, that -I am not impertinent enough to be trying to give your country lessons -in patriotism. In doing that, I should be putting myself in a wrong -position. I am merely presenting you with some of the marginal notes -that will be found, after my death, pencilled in my copy of Livy.”</p> - -<p>“It is not the first time,” said M. Bergeret, “that the commentary on -the Decades has been worth more than the text. But go on.”</p> - -<p>With a smile Captain Aspertini once more took up the thread of his -argument.</p> - -<p>“The wisest thing for the country to do is to cast huge handfuls of -lilies over the wounds of war. Then, skilfully and silently, with -a swift glance, she will examine the wound. If the blow has been -a knock-down one, and if the strength of the country is seriously -impaired, she will instantly start negotiating. In treating with the -victorious side, it will be found that the earliest moment is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> the -most propitious. In the first surprise of triumph, the enemy welcomes -with joy any proposal which tends to turn a favourable beginning into -a definite advantage. He has not yet had time for repeated successes -to go to his head, nor for long-continued resistance to drive him to -rage. He will not demand huge damages for an injury that is still -trifling, nor, as yet, have his budding aspirations had time to grow. -It is possible that even under these circumstances he may not grant -you peace on easy terms. But you are sure to have to pay dearer for -it, if you delay in applying for it. The wisest policy is to open -negotiations before one has revealed all one’s weakness. It is possible -then to obtain easy terms, which are usually rendered easier still by -the intervention of neutral powers. As for seeking safety in despair -and only making peace after a victory, these ideas are doubtless fine -enough as maxims, but very difficult to carry out at a time when, for -one thing, the industrial and commercial needs of modern life, and -for another, the immense size of the armies which have to be equipped -and fed, do not permit an indefinite continuance of warfare, and -consequently do not leave the weaker side enough time to straighten out -its affairs. France in 1870 was inspired by the noblest of sentiments, -but if she had acted in accordance with reason, she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> have started -negotiations immediately after her first reverses, honourable as they -were. She had a government which could have undertaken the task, and -which ought to have done so, a government which was, indeed, in a -better position for bringing it to a successful issue than any that -might follow. The sensible thing to have done would have been to -exact this last service from it before getting rid of it altogether. -Instead, they acted the wrong way about. After having maintained that -government for twenty years, France conceived the ill-considered notion -of overturning it just at the very moment when it ought to have been -useful to her, and of substituting another government for it. This -administration, not being jointly liable with the former one, had to -begin the war over again, without, however, bringing any new strength -to its prosecution. After that a third government tried to establish -itself.</p> - -<p>“If it had succeeded, the war would have begun again a third time, -because the first two unfortunate attempts did not count. Honour, say -you, must be satisfied. But you had given satisfaction with your blood -to two honours: the honour of the Empire, as well as of the Republic; -you were also ready to satisfy a third, the honour of the Commune. Yet -it seems to me that even the proudest nation in the world has but one -honour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> to satisfy. You were thrown by this excess of generosity into a -state of great weakness from which you are now happily recovering....”</p> - -<p>“In fact,” said M. Bergeret, “if Italy had been beaten at Weissenburg -and at Reichshoffen, these defeats would have been as valuable to her -as the whole of Belgium. But we are a people of heroes, who always -fancy that we have been betrayed. That sums up our history. Take note -also of the fact that we are a democracy; and that is the state in -which negotiations present most difficulties. Nobody can, however, -deny that we made a long and courageous stand. Moreover, we have a -reputation for magnanimity, and I believe we deserve it. Anyhow, the -feats of the human race have always been but melancholy farces, and the -historians who pretend to discover any sequence in the flow of events -are merely great rhetoricians. Bossuet...”</p> - -<p>Just as M. Bergeret was uttering this name the study door opened with -such a crash that the wicker-work woman was upheaved by it and fell at -the feet of the astonished young soldier. Then there appeared in the -doorway a ruddy, squint-eyed wench, with no forehead worth mentioning. -Her sturdy ugliness shone with the glow of youth and health. Her round -cheeks and bare arms were a fine military red. Planting herself in -front of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> M. Bergeret, she brandished the coal-shovel and shouted:</p> - -<p>“I’m off!”</p> - -<p>Euphémie, having quarrelled with Madame Bergeret, was now giving -notice. She repeated:</p> - -<p>“I’m going off home!”</p> - -<p>Said M. Bergeret:</p> - -<p>“Then go quietly, my child.”</p> - -<p>Again and again she shouted:</p> - -<p>“I’m off! Madame wants to turn me into a regular beast of burden.”</p> - -<p>Then, lowering her shovel, she added in lower tones:</p> - -<p>“Besides, things are always happening here that I would rather not see.”</p> - -<p>Without attempting to unravel the mystery of these words, M. Bergeret -merely remarked that he would not delay her, and that she could go.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, give me my wages.”</p> - -<p>“Leave the room,” answered M. Bergeret. “Don’t you see that I have -something to do besides settling with you? Go and wait elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>But Euphémie, once more waving the dull, heavy shovel, yelled:</p> - -<p>“Give me my money! My wages! I want my wages!”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-a_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">At</span> six o’clock in the evening Abbé Guitrel got out of the train in -Paris and called a cab in the station-yard. Then, driving in the dusk -through the murky, rain-swept streets, dotted with lights, he made -for Number 5, Rue des Boulangers. There, in a narrow, rugged, hilly -street, above the coopers and the cork-dealers, and amidst a smell of -casks, lived his old friend Abbé Le Génil, chaplain to the Convent of -the Seven Wounds, who was a popular Lenten preacher in one of the most -fashionable parishes in Paris. Here Abbé Guitrel was in the habit of -putting up, whenever he visited Paris in the hope of expediting the -progress of his tardy fortunes. All day long the soles of his buckled -shoes tapped discreetly upon the pavements, staircases and floors of -all sorts of different houses. In the evening he supped with M. Le -Génil. The two old comrades from the seminary spun each other merry -yarns, chatted over the rates charged for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> mass and sermon, and played -their game of manille. At ten o’clock Nanette, the maid, rolled into -the dining-room an iron bedstead for M. Guitrel, who always gave her -when he left the same tip—a brand-new twenty-sou piece.</p> - -<p>On this occasion, as in the past, M. Le Génil, who was a tall, stout -man, smacked his great hand down on Guitrel’s flinching shoulder, and -rumbling out a good-day in his deep organ note, instantly challenged -him in his usual jolly style:</p> - -<p>“Well, old miser, have you brought me twelve dozen masses at a crown -each, or are you, as usual, going to keep to yourself the gold that -your pious provincials swamp you with?”</p> - -<p>Being a poor man, and knowing that Guitrel was as poor as himself, he -regarded this sort of talk as a good jest.</p> - -<p>Guitrel went so far as to understand a joke, though, being of a gloomy -temperament, he never jested himself. He had, he explained, been -obliged to come to Paris to carry out several commissions with which -he had been charged, more especially the purchase of books. Would his -friend, then, put him up for a day or two, three at the most?</p> - -<p>“Now do tell the truth for once in your life!” answered M. Le Génil. -“You have just come up to smell out a mitre, you old fox! To-morrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> -morning you will be showing yourself to the nuncio with a sanctimonious -expression. Guitrel, you are going to be a bishop!”</p> - -<p>Hereupon the chaplain of the Convent of the Seven Wounds, the preacher -at the church of Sainte-Louise, made a bow to the future bishop. -Mingled with his ironic courtesy there was, perhaps, a certain strain -of instinctive deference. Then once more his face fell into the harsh -lines that revealed the temperament of a second Olivier Maillard.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1" href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1" class="label">[1]</a> -An eccentric priest of the fifteenth century. His sermons -were full of denunciations against his enemies. He once attacked Louis -XI, who threatened to throw him into the Seine. Maillard replied: “The -King is master, but tell him that I shall get to heaven by water sooner -than he will by his post-horses.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p>“Come in, then! Will you take some refreshment?”</p> - -<p>M. Guitrel was a reserved man, whose compressed lips showed his -determination not to be pumped. As a matter of fact, it was quite true -that he had come up to enlist powerful influence in support of his -candidature, but he had no wish to explain all his wily courses to this -naturally frank friend of his. For M. Le Génil made, not only a virtue -of his natural frankness, but even a policy.</p> - -<p>M. Guitrel stammered:</p> - -<p>“Don’t imagine ... dismiss this notion that ...”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> -M. Le Génil shrugged his shoulders, exclaiming, “You old -mystery-monger!”</p> - -<p>Then, conducting his friend to his bedroom, he sat down once more -beneath the light of his lamp and resumed his interrupted task, which -was that of mending his breeches.</p> - -<p>M. Le Génil, popular preacher as he was both in Paris and Versailles, -did his own mending, partly to save his old servant the trouble and -partly because he was fond of handling a needle, a taste he had -acquired during the years of grinding poverty that he had endured when -he first entered the Church. And now this giant with lungs of brass, -who fulminated against atheists from the elevation of a pulpit, was -meekly sitting on a rush-bottomed chair, occupied in drawing a needle -in and out with his huge red hands. In the midst of his task he raised -his head and glancing shyly towards Guitrel with his big, kindly eyes, -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“We’ll have a game of manille to-night, you old trickster.”</p> - -<p>But Guitrel, hesitating, yet firm, stammered out that he would be -obliged to go out after dinner. He was full of plans, and after pushing -on the preparations for a meal, he gobbled down his food, to the great -disgust of his host, who was not only a great eater, but a great -talker. He refused to wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> for dessert, but, retiring to another room, -shut himself in, drew a layman’s suit from his portmanteau and put it -on.</p> - -<p>When he appeared again, his friend saw that he was dressed in a long, -severe, black frock-coat, which seemed to have the drollery of a -disguise. With his head crowned by a rusty opera-hat of prodigious -height, he hastily gulped down his coffee, mumbled a grace and slipped -out. Leaning over the stair-rail, Abbé Le Génil shouted to him:</p> - -<p>“Don’t ring when you come in, or you’ll wake Nanette. You’ll find the -key under the mat. One moment, Guitrel, I know where you’re going. You -old Quintilian, you, you’re just going to take an elocution lesson.”</p> - -<p>Through the damp fog, Abbé Guitrel followed the quays along by -the river, passed the bridge of Saint-Pères, crossed the Place du -Carrousel, unnoticed by the indifferent passers-by, who scarcely took -the trouble even to glance at his huge hat. Finally he halted under the -Tuscan porch of the Comédie-Française. He carefully read the playbill -in order to make sure that the arrangements had not been changed, and -that <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Andromaque</i> and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Malade Imaginaire</i> would be presented. Then -he asked at the second pay-box for a pit ticket.</p> - -<p>The narrow seats behind the empty stalls were already almost filled -when he sat down and opened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> an old newspaper, not to read, but to keep -himself in countenance, while he listened to the talk going on around -him. He had a quick ear, and it was always by the ear that he observed, -just as M. Worms-Clavelin listened with his mouth. His neighbours were -shop-hands and artists’ assistants who had obtained seats through -friendship with a scene-shifter or a dresser. It is a little world of -simple-minded folk, keenly bent on sight-seeing, very well satisfied -with themselves, and busied with bets and bicycles. The younger members -are peaceful enough in reality, although they assume a jaunty military -air, being automatically democratic and republican, but conservative -in their jokes about the President of the Republic. As Abbé Guitrel -caught the words that flew hither and thither all round him, words -which revealed this frame of mind, he thought of the fancies cherished -by Abbé Lantaigne, who still dreamt, in his hermit-like seclusion, -of bringing such a class as this back to obedience to monarchy and -priestcraft. Behind his paper Abbé Guitrel chuckled at the idea.</p> - -<p>“These Parisians,” thought he, “are the most adaptable people in the -world. To the provincial mind they are quite incomprehensible, but -would to God that the republicans and freethinkers of the diocese of -Tourcoing were cut out on the same model! But the spirit of Northern -France is as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> bitter as the wild hops of its plains. And in my diocese -I shall find myself placed with violent Socialists on one side and -fervid Catholics on the other.”</p> - -<p>He foresaw the trials that awaited him in the see once held by the -blessed Loup, and so far was he from shrinking at the contemplation of -them, that he invoked them on himself, with an accompaniment of such -loud sighs that his neighbour looked at him to see if he were ill. -Thus Abbé Guitrel’s head seethed with fancies of his bishopric amid -the murmur of frivolous chatter, the banging of doors and the restless -movements of the work-girls.</p> - -<p>But when at the signal the curtain slowly rose, he instantly became -absorbed in the play. It was the delivery and the gestures of the -actors on which his attention was riveted. He studied the notes of -their voices, their gait, the play of their features, with all the -intent interest of an experienced preacher who would fain learn the -secret of noble gesture and pathetic intonation. Whenever a long speech -echoed through the theatre, he redoubled his attention and only longed -to be listening to Corneille, whose speeches are longer, who is more -fond of oratorical effects and more skilful in emphasising the separate -points of a speech.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> -At the moment when the actor who played Orestes was reciting the great -classic harangue “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Avant que tous les Grecs ...</i>” the professor of -sacred elocution set himself to store up in his mind every attitude and -intonation. Abbé Le Génil knew his old friend well; he was perfectly -aware that the crafty preacher was in the habit of going to the theatre -to learn the tricks of oratory.</p> - -<p>To the actresses M. Guitrel paid far less attention. He held women -in contempt, which fact by no means implies that his thoughts had -always been chaste. Priest as he was, he had in his time known the -promptings of the flesh. Heaven only knows how often he had dodged, -evaded or transgressed the seventh commandment! And one had better ask -no questions as to the kind of women who also knew this about him. <i>Si -iniquitates observaveris, Domine, Domine quis sustinebit?</i> But he was -a priest, and had the priestly horror of the woman’s body. Even the -perfume of long hair was abhorrent to him, and when his neighbour, a -young shop-assistant, began to extol the beautiful arms of a famous -actress, he replied by a contemptuous sneer that was by no means -hypocritical.</p> - -<p>However, he remained full of interest right up to the final fall of -the curtain, as he saw himself in fancy transferring the passion of -Orestes, as rendered by an expert interpreter, into some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> sermon on -the torments of the damned or the miserable end of the sinner. He was -troubled by a provincial accent which spoilt his delivery, and between -the acts he sat busily trying to correct it in his mind, modelling -his correction on what he had just heard. “The voice of a bishop of -Tourcoing,” thought he, “ought not to savour of the roughness of the -cheap wines of our hills of the Midlands.”</p> - -<p>He was immensely tickled by the play of Molière with which the -performance concluded. Incapable of seeing the humorous side of things -for himself, he was very pleased when anyone else pointed them out to -him. An absurd physical mishap filled him with infinite joy and he -laughed heartily at the grosser scenes.</p> - -<p>In the middle of the last act he drew a roll of bread from his pocket -and swallowed it morsel by morsel, keeping his hand over his mouth as -he ate, and watching carefully lest he should be caught in this light -repast by the stroke of midnight; for next morning he was to say Mass -in the chapel of the Convent of the Seven Wounds.</p> - -<p>He returned home after the play by way of the deserted quays, which he -crossed with his short, tapping steps. The hollow moan of the river -alone filled the silence, as M. Guitrel walked along through the midst -of a reddish fog which doubled the size of everything and made his hat -look an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> absurd height in the dimness. As he stole by, close to the -dripping walls of the ancient Hôtel-Dieu, a bare-headed woman came -limping forward to meet him. She was a fat, ugly creature, no longer -young, and her white chemise barely covered her bosom. Coming abreast -of him, she seized the tail of his coat and made proposals to him. Then -suddenly, even before he had time to free himself, she rushed away, -crying:</p> - -<p>“A priest! What ill luck! Plague take it! What misfortune is coming to -me?”</p> - -<p>M. Guitrel was aware that some ignorant women still cherish the -superstition that it is unlucky to meet a priest; but he was surprised -that this woman should have recognised his profession even in the dress -of a layman.</p> - -<p>“That’s the penalty of the unfrocked,” thought he. “The priest, which -still lives in him, will always peep out. <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Tu es sacerdos in æternum</i>, -Guitrel.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-b_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">Blown</span> by the north wind over the hard, white ground along with a -whirl of dead leaves, M. Bergeret crossed the Mall between the -leafless elms and began to climb Duroc Hill. His footsteps echoed -on the uneven pavements as he walked towards the louring, smoky sky -which painted a barrier of violet across the horizon; to the right he -left the farrier’s forge and the front of a dairy decorated with a -picture of two red cows, to the left stretched the long, low walls of -market-gardens. He had that morning prepared his tenth and last lesson -on the eighth book of the <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite>, and now he was mechanically turning -over in his mind the points in metre and grammar which had particularly -caught his notice. Guiding the rhythm of his thoughts by the beat of -his footsteps, at regular intervals he repeated to himself the rhythmic -words: <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Patrio vocat agmina sistro</i>.... But every now and then his -keen, versatile mind flitted away to critical appreciation of a wider -range.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> The martial rhetoric of this eighth book annoyed him, and it -seemed to him absurd that Venus should give Æneas a shield embossed -with pictures of the scenes of Roman history up to the battle of Actium -and the flight of Cleopatra. <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Patrio vocat agmina sistro.</i> Having -reached the cross-roads at the Bergères, which give toward Duroc Hill, -he paused for a moment before the wine-coloured front of Maillard’s -tavern, now damp, deserted and shuttered. Here the thought occurred -to him that these Romans, although he had devoted his whole life to -the study of them, were, after all, but terrors of pomposity and -mediocrity. As he grew older and his taste became more mellowed, there -was scarcely one of them that he prized, save Catullus and Petronius. -But, after all, it was his business to make the best of the lot to -which fate had called him. <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Patrio vocat agmina sistro.</i> Would Virgil -and Propertius try to make one believe, said he to himself, that the -timbrel, whose shrill sound accompanied the frenzied religious dances -of the priests, was also the instrument of the Egyptian soldiers and -sailors? It was really incredible.</p> - -<p>As he descended the street of the Bergères, on the side opposite Duroc -Hill, he suddenly noticed the mildness of the air. Just here the road -winds downward between walls of limestone, where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> roots of tiny -oak-trees find a difficult foothold. Here M. Bergeret was sheltered -from the wind, and in the eye of the December sun which filtered down -on him in a half-hearted, rayless fashion, he still murmured, but more -softly: <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Patrio vocat agmina sistro</i>. Doubtless Cleopatra had fled from -Actium to Egypt, but still it was through the fleet of Octavius and -Agrippa which tried to stop her passage.</p> - -<p>Allured by the sweetness of air and sun, M. Bergeret sat down by the -side of the road, on one of the blocks which had been quarried out of -the mountain years ago, and which were now covered with a coating of -black moss. Through the delicate tracery of the branches overhead he -noticed the lilac hue of the sky, streaked here and there with smoke -trails. Thus to plunge in lonely reverie filled his soul with peaceful -sadness.</p> - -<p>In attacking Agrippa’s galleys which blocked their way, he reflected, -Antony and Cleopatra had but one object, and that was to clear a -passage. It was this precise feat that Cleopatra, who raised the -blockade of her sixty ships, succeeded in accomplishing. Seated in the -cutting, M. Bergeret enjoyed the harmless elation of settling the fate -of the world on the far-famed waves of Acarnania. Then, as he happened -to throw a glance three paces in front of him, he caught sight of an -old man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> who was sitting on a heap of dead leaves on the other side of -the road and leaning against the grey wall. It was scarcely possible -to distinguish between this wild figure and its surroundings, for his -face, his beard and his rags were exactly the colour of the stones -and the leaves. He was slowly scraping a piece of wood with an old -knife-blade ground thin on the millstone of the years.</p> - -<p>“Good-day to you, sir,” said the old fellow. “The sun is pretty. And -I’ll tell you what’s more—it isn’t going to rain.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret recognised the man: it was Pied d’Alouette, the tramp whom -M. Roquincourt, the magistrate, had wrongly implicated in the murder -that took place in Queen Marguerite’s house and whom he had imprisoned -for six months in the vague hope that unforeseen charges would be laid -at his door. This he did, either because he thought that the longer the -imprisonment continued the more justifiable it would seem, or merely -through spite against a simpleton who had misled the officers of the -law. M. Bergeret, who always had a fellow-feeling for the oppressed, -answered Pied d’Alouette in a kindly style that reflected the old -fellow’s good-will.</p> - -<p>“Good-day, friend,” said he. “I see that you know all the pleasant -nooks. This hillside is warm and well sheltered.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> -There was a moment’s silence, and then Pied d’Alouette answered:</p> - -<p>“I know better spots than this. But they are far away from here. One -mustn’t be afraid of a walk. Feet are all right. Shoes aren’t. I can’t -wear good shoes because they’re strange to my feet. I only rip them up, -when they give me sound ones.”</p> - -<p>And raising his foot from the cushion of dead leaves, he pointed to his -big toe sticking out, wrapped in wads of linen, through the slits in -the leather of his boot.</p> - -<p>Relapsing into silence once more, he began to polish the piece of hard -wood.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret soon returned to his own thoughts.</p> - -<p><i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Pallentem morte futura.</i> Agrippa’s galleys could not bar the way to -Antony’s purple-sailed trireme. This time, at least, the dove escaped -the vulture.</p> - -<p>But hereupon Pied d’Alouette began again:</p> - -<p>“They have taken away my knife!”</p> - -<p>“Who have?”</p> - -<p>Lifting his arm, the tramp waved it in the direction of the town and -gave no other answer. Yet he was following the course of his own slow -thought, for presently he said:</p> - -<p>“They never gave it back to me.”</p> - -<p>He sat on in solemn silence, powerless to express the ideas that -revolved in his darkened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> mind. His knife and his pipe were the only -possessions he had in the world. It was with his knife that he cut -the lump of hard bread and the bacon rind they gave him at farm-house -doors, food which his toothless gums would not bite; it was with his -knife that he chopped up cigar-ends to stuff them into his pipe; it was -with his knife that he scraped out the rotten bits in fruit and with it -he managed to drag out from the dung-heaps things good to eat. It was -with his knife that he shaped his walking-sticks and cut down branches -to make a bed of leaves for himself in the woods at night. With his -knife he carved boats out of oak-bark for the little boys, and dolls -out of deal for the little girls. His knife was the tool with which he -practised all the arts of life, the most skilled, as well as the most -homely, everyday ones. Always famished and often full of ingenuity, he -not only supplied his own wants, but also made dainty reed fountains -which were much admired in the town.</p> - -<p>For, although the man would not work, he was yet a jack of all trades. -When he came out of prison nothing would induce them to restore his -knife to him; they kept it in the record office. And so he went on -tramp once more, but now weaponless, stripped, weaker than a child, -wretched wherever he went. He wept over his loss: tiny<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> tear-drops -came, that scorched his bloodshot eyes without overflowing. Then, as -he went out of the town, his courage returned, for in the corner of -a milestone he came upon an old knife-blade. Now he had cut a strong -beechen handle for it in the woods of the Bergères, and was fitting it -on with skilful hands.</p> - -<p>The idea of his knife suggested his pipe to him. He said:</p> - -<p>“They let me keep my pipe.”</p> - -<p>Drawing from the woollen bag which he wore against his breast, a kind -of black, sticky thimble, he showed the bowl of a pipe without the -fragment of a stem.</p> - -<p>“My poor fellow,” said M. Bergeret, “you don’t look at all like a great -criminal. How do you manage to get put in gaol so often?”</p> - -<p>Pied d’Alouette had not acquired the dialogue habit and he had no -notion of how to carry on a conversation. Although he had a kind of -deep intelligence, it took him some time to grasp the sense of the -words addressed to him. It was practice that he lacked and at first, -therefore, he made no attempt to answer M. Bergeret, who sat tracing -lines with the point of his stick in the white dust of the road. But at -last Pied d’Alouette said:</p> - -<p>“I don’t do any wrong things. Then I am punished for other things.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> -At length he seemed able to talk connectedly, with but few breaks.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say that they put you in prison for doing nothing -wrong?”</p> - -<p>“I know the people who do the wrong things, but I should do myself harm -if I blabbed.”</p> - -<p>“You herd, then, with vagabonds and evil-doers?”</p> - -<p>“You are trying to make me peach. Do you know Judge Roquincourt?”</p> - -<p>“I know him a little. He’s rather stern, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Judge Roquincourt, he is a good talker. I never heard anyone speak so -well and so quickly. A body hasn’t time to understand him. A body can’t -answer. There isn’t anybody who speaks one half as well.”</p> - -<p>“He kept you in solitary confinement for long months and yet you bear -him no grudge. What a humble example of mercy and long-suffering.”</p> - -<p>Pied d’Alouette resumed the polishing of his knife-handle. As the work -progressed, he became quieter and seemed to recover his peace of mind. -Suddenly he demanded:</p> - -<p>“Do you know a man called Corbon?”</p> - -<p>“Who is he, this Corbon?”</p> - -<p>It was too difficult to explain. Pied d’Alouette waved his arm in a -vague semicircle that covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> a quarter of the horizon. Yet his mind -was busy with the man he had just mentioned, for again he repeated:</p> - -<p>“Corbon.”</p> - -<p>“Pied d’Alouette,” said M. Bergeret, “they say you are a queer sort -of vagabond and that, even when you are in absolute want, you never -steal anything. Yet you live with evil-doers and you are the friend of -murderers.”</p> - -<p>Pied d’Alouette answered:</p> - -<p>“There are some who think one thing and others who think another. But -if I myself thought of doing wrong, I should dig a hole under a tree on -Duroc Hill and bury my knife at the bottom of the hole. Then I should -pound down the earth on top of it with my feet. For when people have -the notion of doing wrong, it’s the knife that leads them on. It’s also -pride which leads them on. As for me, I lost my pride when I was a lad, -for men, women and children in my own parts all made fun of me.”</p> - -<p>“And have you never had wicked, violent thoughts?”</p> - -<p>“Sometimes, when I came upon women alone on the roads, for the fancy I -had for them. But that’s all over now.”</p> - -<p>“And that fancy never comes back to you?”</p> - -<p>“Time and again it does.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> -“Pied d’Alouette, you love liberty and you are free. You live without -toil. I call you a happy man.”</p> - -<p>“There are some happy folks. But not me.”</p> - -<p>“Where are these happy folks, then?”</p> - -<p>“At the farms.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret rose and slipping a ten-sou piece into Pied d’Alouette’s -hand, said:</p> - -<p>“So you fancy, Pied d’Alouette, that happiness is to be found under a -roof, by the chimney-corner, or on a feather-bed. I thought you had -more sense.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-o_drop.jpg" width="80" height="87" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">On</span> New Year’s Day M. Bergeret was always in the habit of dressing -himself in his black suit the first thing in the morning. Nowadays, -it had lost all its gloss and the grey wintry light made it look -ashen-colour. The gold medal that hung from M. Bergeret’s buttonhole -by a violet riband, although it gave him a false air of splendour, -testified clearly to the fact that he was no Knight of the Legion -of Honour. In fact, in this dress he always felt strangely thin and -poverty-stricken. Even his white tie seemed to his fancy a wretchedly -paltry affair, for to tell the truth, it was not even a fresh one. At -length, after vainly crumpling the front of his shirt, he recognised -the fact that it is impossible to make mother-of-pearl buttons stay in -buttonholes that have been stretched by long wear: at the thought he -became utterly disconsolate, for he recognised the fact sorrowfully -that he was no man of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> world. And sitting down on a chair, he fell -into a reverie:</p> - -<p>“But, after all, does there in truth exist a world populated by men of -the world? For it seems to me, indeed, that what is commonly called the -world is but a cloud of gold and silver hung in the blue of heaven. -To the man who has actually entered it, it seems but a mist. In fact, -social distinctions are matters of much confusion. Men are drawn -together in flocks by their common prejudices or their common tastes. -But tastes often war against prejudices, and chance sets everything at -variance. All the same, a large income and the leisure given by it tend -to produce a certain style of life and special habits. This fact is the -bond which links society people, and this kinship produces a certain -standard which rules manners, physique and sport. Hence we derive the -‘tone’ of society. This ‘tone’ is purely superficial and for that very -reason fairly perceptible. There are such things as society manners -and appearances, but there is no such thing as society human nature, -for what truly decides our character is passion, thought and feeling. -Within us is a tribunal with which the world has no concern.”</p> - -<p>Still, the wretched look of his shirt and tie continued to harass -him, till at last he went to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> at himself in the sitting-room -mirror. Somehow his face assumed a far-off appearance in the glass, -quite obscured as it was by an immense basket of heather festooned -with ribands of red satin. The basket was of wicker, in the shape of a -chariot with gilded wheels, and stood on the piano between two bags of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">marrons glacés</i>. To its gilded shaft was affixed M. Roux’s card, for -the basket was a present from him to Madame Bergeret.</p> - -<p>The professor made no attempt to push aside the beribboned tufts -of heather; he was satisfied with catching a glimpse of his left -eye in the glass behind the flowers, and he continued to gaze at it -benevolently for some little time. M. Bergeret, firmly convinced as -he was that no one loved him, either in this world or in any other, -sometimes treated himself to a little sympathy and pity. For he always -behaved with the greatest consideration to all unhappy people, himself -included. Now, dropping further consideration of his shirt and tie, he -murmured to himself:</p> - -<p>“You interpret the bosses on the shield of Æneas and yet your own tie -is crumpled. You are ridiculous on both counts. You are no man of the -world. You should teach yourself, then, at least, how to live the inner -life and should cultivate within yourself a wealthy kingdom.”</p> - -<p>On New Year’s Day he had always grounds for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> bewailing his destiny, -before he set out to pay his respects to two vulgar, offensive fellows, -for such were the rector and the dean. The rector, M. Leterrier, -could not bear him. This feeling was a natural antipathy that grew as -regularly as a plant and brought forth fruit every year. M. Leterrier, -a professor of philosophy and the author of a text-book which summed -up all systems of thought, had the blind dogmatic instincts of the -official teacher. No doubt whatever remained in his mind touching the -questions of the good, the beautiful and the true, the characteristics -of which he had summarised in one chapter of his work (pages 216 to -262). Now he regarded M. Bergeret as a dangerous and misguided man, and -M. Bergeret, in his turn, fully appreciated the perfect sincerity of -the dislike he aroused in M. Leterrier. Nor, in fact, did he make any -complaint against it; sometimes he even treated it with an indulgent -smile. On the other hand, he felt abjectly miserable whenever he met -the dean, M. Torquet, who never had an idea in his head, and who, -although he was crammed with learning, still retained the brain of a -positive ignoramus. He was a fat man with a low forehead and no cranium -to speak of, who did nothing all day but count the knobs of sugar in -his house and the pears in his garden, and who would go on hanging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> -bells, even when one of his professional colleagues paid him a visit. -In doing mischief he showed an activity and a something approaching -intelligence which filled M. Bergeret with amazement. Such thoughts as -these were in the professor’s mind, as he put on his overcoat to go and -wish M. Torquet a happy New Year.</p> - -<p>Yet he took a certain pleasure in being out of doors, for in the street -he could enjoy that most priceless blessing, the liberty of the mind. -In front of the Two Satyrs at the corner of the Tintelleries, he paused -for a moment to give a friendly glance at the little acacia which -stretched its bare branches over the wall of Lafolie’s garden.</p> - -<p>“Trees in winter,” thought he, “take on an aspect of homely beauty -that they never show in all the pomp of foliage and flowers. It is -in winter that they reveal their delicate structure, that they show -their charming framework of black coral: these are no skeletons, but a -multitude of pretty little limbs in which life slumbers. If I were a -landscape-painter....”</p> - -<p>As he stood wrapt in these reflections, a portly man called him by -name, seized his arm and walked on with him. This was M. Compagnon, the -most popular of all the professors, the idolised master who gave his -mathematical lectures in the great amphitheatre.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> -“Hullo! my dear Bergeret, happy New Year. I bet you’re going to call on -the dean. So am I. We’ll walk on together.”</p> - -<p>“Gladly,” answered M. Bergeret, “since in that way I shall travel -pleasantly towards a painful goal. For I must confess it is no pleasure -to me to see M. Torquet.”</p> - -<p>On hearing this uncalled-for confidence, M. Compagnon, whether -instinctively or inadvertently it was hard to say, withdrew the hand -which he had slipped under his colleague’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I know! You and the dean don’t get on very well. Yet in -general he isn’t a man who is difficult to get on with.”</p> - -<p>“In speaking to you as I have done,” answered M. Bergeret, “I was -not even thinking of the hostility which, according to report, the -dean persists in keeping up towards me. But it chills me to the -very marrow whenever I come in contact with a man who is totally -lacking in imagination of any kind. What really saddens is not the -idea of injustice and hatred, nor is it the sight of human misery. -Quite the contrary, in fact, for we find the misfortunes of our -fellows quite laughable, if only they are shown to us from a humorous -standpoint. But those gloomy souls on whom the outer world seems to -make no impression, those beings who have the faculty of ignoring the -entire universe—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> very sight of them reduces me to distress and -desperation. My intercourse with M. Torquet is really one of the most -painful misfortunes of my life.”</p> - -<p>“Just so!” said M. Compagnon. “Our college is one of the most splendid -in France, on account of the high attainments of the lecturers and the -convenience of the buildings. It is only the laboratories that still -leave something to be desired. But let us hope that this regrettable -defect will soon be remedied, thanks to the combined efforts of our -devoted rector and of so influential a senator as M. Laprat-Teulet.”</p> - -<p>“It is also desirable,” said M. Bergeret, “that the Latin lectures -should cease to be given in a dark, unwholesome cellar.”</p> - -<p>As they crossed the Place Saint-Exupère, M. Compagnon pointed to -Deniseau’s house.</p> - -<p>“We no longer,” said he, “hear any chatter about the prophetess who -held communion with Saint Radegonde and several other saints from -Paradise. Did you go to see her, Bergeret? I was taken to see her by -Lacarelle, the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet’s</i> chief secretary, just at the time when she -was at the height of her popularity. She was sitting with her eyes -shut in an arm-chair, while a dozen of the faithful plied her with -questions. They asked her if the Pope’s health was satisfactory, -what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> would be the result of the Franco-Russian alliance, whether -the income-tax bill would pass, and whether a remedy for consumption -would soon be found. She answered every question poetically and with a -certain ease. When my turn came, I asked her this simple question:</p> - -<p>“‘What is the logarithm of 9’? Well, Bergeret, do you imagine that she -said 0,954?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t,” said M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“She never answered a word,” continued M. Compagnon; “never a word. She -remained quite silent. Then I said: ‘How is it that Saint Radegonde -doesn’t know the logarithm of 9? It is incredible!’ There were present -at the meeting a few retired colonels, some priests, old ladies and -a few Russian doctors. They seemed thunderstruck and Lacarelle’s -face grew as long as a fiddle. I took to my heels amid a torrent of -reproaches.”</p> - -<p>As M. Compagnon and M. Bergeret were crossing the square chatting -in this way, they came upon M. Roux, who was going through the town -scattering visiting-cards right and left, for he went into society a -good deal.</p> - -<p>“Here is my best pupil,” said M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“He looks a sturdy fellow,” said M. Compagnon, who thought a great deal -of physical strength. “Why the deuce does he take Latin?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> -M. Bergeret was much piqued by this question and inquired whether the -mathematical professor was of opinion that the study of the classics -ought to be confined exclusively to the lame, the halt, the maimed and -the blind.</p> - -<p>But already M. Roux was bowing to the two professors with a flashing -smile that showed his strong, white teeth. He was in capital spirits, -for his happy temperament, which had enabled him to master the secret -of the soldier’s life, had just brought him a fresh stroke of good -luck. Only that morning M. Roux had been granted a fortnight’s leave -that he might recover from a slight injury to the knee that was -practically painless.</p> - -<p>“Happy man!” cried M. Bergeret. “He needn’t even tell a lie to reap -all the benefits of deceit.” Then, turning towards M. Compagnon, he -remarked: “In my pupil, M. Roux, lie all the hopes of Latin verse. -But, by a strange anomaly, although this young scholar scans the lines -of Horace and Catullus with the utmost severity, he himself composes -French verses that he never troubles to scan, verses whose irregular -metre I must confess I cannot grasp. In a word, M. Roux writes <i>vers -libres</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Really,” said M. Compagnon politely.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret, who loved acquiring information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> and looked indulgently on -new ideas, begged M. Roux to recite his last poem, <i>The Metamorphosis -of the Nymph</i>, which had not yet been given to the world.</p> - -<p>“One moment,” said M. Compagnon. “I will walk on your left, Monsieur -Roux, so that I may have my best ear towards you.”</p> - -<p>It was settled that M. Roux should recite his poem while he walked with -the two professors as far as the dean’s house on the Tournelles, for on -such a gentle slope as that he would not lose his breath.</p> - -<p>Then M. Roux began to declaim <cite>The Metamorphosis of the Nymph</cite> in a -slow, drawling, sing-song voice. In lines punctuated here and there by -the rumbling of cart-wheels he recited:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">The snow-white nymph,</div> - <div class="line">Who glides with rounded hips</div> - <div class="line">Along the winding shore,</div> - <div class="line">And the isle where willows grey</div> - <div class="line">Girdle her waist with the belt of Eve,</div> - <div class="line">In leafage of oval shape,</div> - <div class="line">And palely disappears.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2" href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2" class="label">[2]</a> La nymphe blanche</div> - <div class="line">Qui coule à pleines hanches,</div> - <div class="line">Le long du rivage arrondi</div> - <div class="line">Et de l’île où les saules grisâtres</div> - <div class="line">Mettent à ses flancs la ceinture d’Ève,</div> - <div class="line">En feuillages ovales,</div> - <div class="line">Et qui fuit pâle.</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p class="noi"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> -Then he painted a shifting kaleidoscope of:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">Green banks shelving down,</div> - <div class="line">With the hostel of the town</div> - <div class="line">And the frying of gudgeons within.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3" href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container3"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3" class="label">[3]</a> De vertes berges,</div> - <div class="line">Avec l’auberge</div> - <div class="line">Et les fritures de goujons.</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>Restless, unquiet, the nymph takes to flight.</p> - -<p>She draws near the town and there the metamorphosis takes place.</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">Fretted are her hips by the rough stone of the quay,</div> - <div class="line">Her breast is a thicket of rugged hair</div> - <div class="line">And black with the coal, which mingled with sweat,</div> - <div class="line">Has turned the nymph to a stevedore wet.</div> - <div class="line">And below is the dock</div> - <div class="line">For the coke.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4" href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4" class="label">[4]</a> - La pierre du quai dur lui rabote les hanches,</div> - <div class="line">Sa poitrine est hérissée d’un poil rude,</div> - <div class="line">Et noire de charbons, que délaye la sueur,</div> - <div class="line">La nymphe est devenue un débardeur.</div> - <div class="line">Et là-bas est le dock</div> - <div class="line">Pour le coke.</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>Next the poet sang of the river flowing through the city:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">And the river, from henceforth municipal and historic,</div> - <div class="line">And worthy of archives, of annals and records,</div> - <div class="line">Worthy of glory.</div> - <div class="line">Deriving something solemn and even stern</div> - <div class="line">From the grey stone walls,</div> - <div class="line">Flows under the heavy shadow of the basilica</div> - <div class="line">Where linger still the shades of Eudes, of Adalberts,</div> - <div class="line">In the golden fringes of the past,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> - <div class="line">Bishops who bless not the nameless dead,</div> - <div class="line">The nameless dead,</div> - <div class="line">No longer bodies, but leather bottèls,</div> - <div class="line">Who will to go hence,</div> - <div class="line">Along the isles in the form of boats</div> - <div class="line">With, for masts, but the chimney-tops.</div> - <div class="line">For the drownèd will out beyond.</div> - <div class="line">But pause you on the erudite parapets</div> - <div class="line">Where, in boxes, lies many a fable strange,</div> - <div class="line">And the red-edged conjuring book whereon the plane-tree</div> - <div class="line">Sheds its leaves,</div> - <div class="line">Perchance there you’ll discover potent words:</div> - <div class="line"><a name="quotes" id="quotes"></a><ins title="Original omitted opening quotes">“For</ins> you’re no stranger to the value of runes</div> - <div class="line">Nor to the true power of signs traced on the sheets.”<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5" href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></div> -</div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5" class="label">[5]</a> - Et le fleuve, d’ores en avant municipal et historique,</div> - <div class="line">Et dignement d’archives, d’annales, de fastes,</div> - <div class="line">De gloire.</div> - <div class="line">Prenant du sérieux et même du morose</div> - <div class="line">De pierre grise,</div> - <div class="line">Se traîne sous la lourde ombre basilicale</div> - <div class="line">Que hantent encore des Eudes, des Adalberts,</div> - <div class="line">Dans les orfrois passés,</div> - <div class="line">Évêques qui ne bénissent pas les noyés anonymes,</div> - <div class="line">Anonymes,</div> - <div class="line">Non plus des corps, mais des outres,</div> - <div class="line">Qui vont outre,</div> - <div class="line">Le long des îles en forme de bateaux plats</div> - <div class="line">Avec, pour mâtures, des tuyaux de cheminées.</div> - <div class="line">Et les noyés vont outre.</div> - <div class="line">Mais arrête-toi aux parapets doctes</div> - <div class="line">Où, dans les boîtes, gît mainte anecdote,</div> - <div class="line">Et le grimoire à tranches rouges sur lequel le platane</div> - <div class="line">Fait pleuvoir ses feuilles,</div> - <div class="line">Il se peut que, là, tu découvres une bonne écriture:</div> - <div class="line">Car tu n’ignores pas la vertu des runes</div> - <div class="line">Ni le pouvoir des signes tracés sur les lames.</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p></div> - -<p>For a long, long while M. Roux traced the course of this marvellous -river, nor did he finish his recital till they reached the dean’s -doorstep.</p> - -<p>“That’s very good,” said M. Compagnon, for he had no grudge against -literature, though for want of practice he could barely distinguish -between a line of Racine and a line of Mallarmé.</p> - -<p>But M. Bergeret said to himself:</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, after all, this is a masterpiece?”</p> - -<p>And, for fear of wronging beauty in disguise, he silently pressed the -poet’s hand.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-a_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">As</span> he came out of the dean’s house, M. Bergeret met Madame de Gromance -returning from Mass. This gave him great pleasure, for he always -considered that the sight of a pretty woman is a stroke of good luck -when it comes in the way of an honest man, and in his eyes Madame de -Gromance was a most charming woman. She alone, of all the women in the -town, knew how to dress herself with the skilful art that conceals art: -and he was grateful to her for this, as well as for her carriage that -displayed the lissom figure and the supple hips, mere hints though they -were of a beauty veiled from the sight of the humble, poverty-stricken -scholar, but which could yet serve him as an apposite illustration of -some line of Horace, Ovid or Martial. His heart went out towards her -for her sweetness and the amorous atmosphere that floated round her. In -his mind he thanked her for that heart of hers that yielded so easily; -he felt it as a personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> favour, although he had no hope at all of -ever sunning himself in the light of her smile. Stranger as he was in -aristocratic circles, he had never been in the lady’s house, and it was -merely by a stroke of extraordinary luck that someone introduced him -to her in M. de Terremondre’s box, after the procession at the Jeanne -d’Arc celebrations. Moreover, being a wise man with a sense of the -becoming, he did not even hope for closer acquaintance. It was enough -for him to catch a chance glimpse of her fair face as he passed in the -street, and to remember, whenever he saw her, the tales they told about -her in Paillot’s shop. Thus he owed some pleasant moments to her and -accordingly felt a sort of gratitude towards her.</p> - -<p>This New Year’s morning he caught sight of her in the porch of -Saint-Exupère, as she stood lifting her petticoat with one hand so as -to emphasise the pliant bending of the knee, while with the other she -held a great prayer-book bound in red morocco. As he gazed, he offered -up a mental hymn of thanksgiving to her for thus acting as a charming -fairy-tale, a source of subtle pleasure to all the town. This idea he -tried to throw into his smile as he passed.</p> - -<p>Madame de Gromance’s notion of ideal womanhood was not quite the same -as M. Bergeret’s.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> Hers was mingled with many society interests, and -being of the world, she had a keen eye to worldly affairs. She was by -no means ignorant of the reputation she enjoyed in the town, and hence, -whenever she had no special desire to stand in anyone’s good graces, -she treated him with cold hauteur. Among such persons she classed M. -Bergeret, whose smile seemed merely impertinent. She replied to it, -therefore, by a supercilious look which made him blush. As he continued -his walk, he said to himself penitently:</p> - -<p>“She has been a minx. But on my side, I have just made an ass of -myself. I see that now; and now that it’s too late, I also see that my -smile, which said ‘You are the joy of all the town,’ must have seemed -an impertinence. This delicious being is no philosopher emancipated -from common prejudices. Of course, she would not understand me: it -would be impossible for her to see that I consider her beauty one of -the prime forces of the world, and regard the use she makes of it only -as a splendid sovereignty. I have been tactless and I am ashamed of -it. Like all honourable people, I have sometimes transgressed a human -law and yet have felt no repentance for it whatever. But certain other -acts of my life, which were merely opposed to those subtle and lofty -niceties that we call the conventions, have often filled me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> with -sharp regret and even with a kind of remorse. At this moment I want to -hide myself for very shame. Henceforth I shall flee whenever I see the -charming vision of this lady of the supple figure, <i>crispum ... docta -movere latus</i>. I have, indeed, begun the year badly!”</p> - -<p>“A happy New Year to you,” said a voice that emerged from a beard -beneath a straw hat.</p> - -<p>It belonged to M. Mazure, the archivist to the department. Ever since -the Ministry had refused him academic honours on the ground that he had -no claim, and since all classes in the town steadily refused to return -Madame Mazure’s calls, because she had been both cook and mistress to -the two officials previously in charge of the archives, M. Mazure had -been seized with a horror of all government and become disgusted with -society. He lived now the life of a gloomy misanthrope.</p> - -<p>This being a day when friendly or, at any rate, courteous visits are -customary, he had put on a shabby knitted scarf, the bluish wool of -which showed under his overcoat decorated with torn buttonholes: this -he did to show his scorn of the human race. He had also donned a broken -straw hat that his good wife, Marguerite, used to stick on a cherry -tree in the garden when the cherries were ripe. He cast a pitying -glance at M. Bergeret’s white tie.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> -“You have just bowed,” said he, “to a pretty hussy.”</p> - -<p>It pained M. Bergeret to have to listen to such harsh and unphilosophic -language. But as he could forgive a good deal to a nature warped by -misanthropy, it was with gentleness that he set about reproving M. -Mazure for the coarseness of his speech.</p> - -<p>“My dear Mazure,” said he, “I expected from your wide experience a -juster estimate of a lady who harms no one.”</p> - -<p>M. Mazure answered drily that he objected to light women. From him -it was by no means a sincere expression of opinion, for, strictly -speaking, M. Mazure had no moral code. But he persisted in his bad -temper.</p> - -<p>“Come now,” said M. Bergeret with a smile, “I’ll tell you what is wrong -with Madame de Gromance. She was born just a hundred and fifty years -too late. In eighteenth-century society no man of brains would have -disapproved of her.”</p> - -<p>M. Mazure began to relent under this flattery. He was no sullen -Puritan, but he respected the civil marriage, to which the statesmen -of the Revolution had imparted fresh dignity. For all that, he did not -deny the claim of the heart and the senses. He acknowledged that the -mistress has her place in society as well as the wife.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> -“And, by the way, how is Madame Bergeret?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>As the north wind whistled across the Place Saint-Exupère M. Bergeret -watched M. Mazure’s nose getting redder and redder under the -turned-down brim of the straw hat. His own feet and knees were frozen, -and he suffered his thoughts to play round the idea of Madame de -Gromance just to get a little warmth and joy into his veins.</p> - -<p>Paillot’s shop was not open, and the two professors, thus fireless and -houseless, stood looking at each other in sad sympathy.</p> - -<p>In the depths of his friendly heart M. Bergeret thought to himself:</p> - -<p>“As soon as I leave this fellow with his limited, boorish ideas, I -shall be once more alone in the desert waste of this hateful town. It -will be wretched.”</p> - -<p>And his feet remained glued to the sharp stones of the square, whilst -the wind made his ears burn.</p> - -<p>“I will walk back with you as far as your door,” said the archivist of -the department.</p> - -<p>Then they walked on side by side, bowing from time to time to -fellow-citizens who hurried along in their Sunday clothes, carrying -dolls and bags of sweets.</p> - -<p>“This Countess de Gromance,” said the archivist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> “was a Chapon. -There was never but one Chapon heard of—her father, the most arrant -skinflint in the province. But I have hunted up the record of the -Gromance family, who belong to the lesser nobility of the place. There -was a Demoiselle Cécile de Gromance who in 1815 gave birth to a child -by a Cossack father. That will make a capital subject for an article in -a local paper. I am writing a regular series of them.”</p> - -<p>M. Mazure spoke the truth: every day, from sunrise to sunset, alone in -his dusty garret under the roof of the prefecture, he eagerly ransacked -the six hundred and thirty-seven thousand pigeonholes which were there -huddled together. His gloomy hatred of his fellow-townsmen drove him to -this research, merely in the hope that he would succeed in unearthing -some scandalous facts about <a name="the" id="the"></a><ins title="Original had tho">the</ins> most respected families in the -neighbourhood. Amid piles of ancient parchments and papers stamped by -the registrars of the last two centuries with the arms of six kings, -two emperors and three republics he used to sit, laughing in the midst -of the clouds of dust, as he stirred up the evidences, now half eaten -up by mice and worms, of bygone crimes and sins long since expiated.</p> - -<p>As they followed the windings of the Tintelleries, it was with the -tale of these cruel revelations that he continued to entertain M. -Bergeret, a man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> always cultivated an attitude of particular -indulgence towards our forefathers’ faults, and who was inquisitive -merely in the matter of their habits and customs. Mazure had, or so he -averred, discovered in the archives a certain Terremondre who, being a -terrorist and president of a local club of Sans-Culottes in 1793, had -changed his Christian names from Nicolas-Eustache to Marat-Peuplier. -Instantly Mazure hastened to supply M. Jean de Terremondre, his -colleague in the Archæological Society, who had gone over to the -monarchical and clerical party, with full information touching this -forgotten forbear of his, this Marat-Peuplier Terremondre, who had -actually written a hymn to Saint Guillotine. He had also unearthed a -great-great-uncle of the diocesan Vicar-General, a Sieur de Goulet, or -rather, more precisely, a Goulet-Trocard as he signed himself, who, -as an army contractor, was condemned to penal servitude in 1812 for -having supplied glandered horseflesh instead of beef. The documents -relating to this trial he had published in the most rabid journal in -the department. M. Mazure promised still more terrible revelations -about the Laprat family, revelations full of cases of incest; about -the Courtrai family, with one of its members branded for high treason -in 1814; about the Dellion family, whose wealth had been gained by -gambling in wheat;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> about the Quatrebarbe family, whose ancestors, two -stokers, a man and a woman, were hanged by lynch law on a tree on Duroc -Hill at the time of the consulate. In fact, as late as 1860, old people -were still to be met who remembered having seen in their childhood -the branches of an oak from which hung a human form with long, black, -floating tresses that used to frighten the horses.</p> - -<p>“She remained hanging there for three years,” exclaimed the archivist, -“and she was own grandmother to Hyacinthe Quatrebarbe, the diocesan -architect!”</p> - -<p>“It’s very singular,” said M. Bergeret, “but, of course, one ought to -keep that kind of thing to oneself.”</p> - -<p>But Mazure paid no heed. He longed to publish everything, to -bruit everything abroad, in direct opposition to the opinion of -M. Worms-Clavelin, the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i>, who wisely said: “One ought most -carefully to avoid giving occasion to scandal and dissension.” He had -threatened, in fact, to get the archivist dismissed, if he persisted in -revealing old family secrets.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried Mazure, chuckling in his tangled forest of beard, “it shall -be known that in 1815 there was a little Cossack who came into the -world through the exertions of a Demoiselle de Gromance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> -Only a moment since M. Bergeret had reached his own door, and he still -held the handle of the bell.</p> - -<p>“What does it matter, after all?” said he. “The poor lady did what she -couldn’t help doing. She is dead, and the little Cossack also is dead. -Let us leave their memory in peace, or if we recall it for a moment, -let it be with a kindly thought. What zeal is it that so carries you -away, dear Monsieur Mazure?”</p> - -<p>“The zeal for justice.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret pulled the bell.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Mazure,” said he; “don’t be just, and do be merciful. I wish -you a very happy New Year.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret looked through the dirty window of the hall to see if there -were any letter or paper in the box; he still took an interest in -letters from a distance or in literary reviews. But to-day there were -only visiting-cards, which suggested to him nothing more interesting -than personalities as shadowy and pale as the cards themselves, and a -bill from Mademoiselle Rose, the modiste of the Tintelleries. As his -eyes fell on this, the thought suddenly occurred to him that Madame -Bergeret was becoming extravagant and that the house was stuffy. He -could feel the weight of it on his shoulders, and as he stood in the -hall, he seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> to be bearing on his back the whole flooring of his -flat, in addition to the drawing-room piano and that terrible wardrobe -that swallowed up his little store of money and yet was always empty. -Thus weighted with domestic troubles, M. Bergeret grasped the iron -handrail with its ample curves of florid metal-work, and began, with -bent head and short breath, to climb the stone steps. These were now -blackened, worn, cracked, patched, and ornamented with worn bricks and -squalid paving-stones, but once, in the bygone days of their early -youth, they had known the tread of fine gentlemen and pretty girls, -hurrying to pay rival court to Pauquet, the revenue-tax farmer who had -enriched himself by the spoils of a whole province. For it was in the -mansion of Pauquet de Sainte-Croix that M. Bergeret lived, now fallen -from its glory, despoiled of its splendour and degraded by a plaster -top-storey which had taken the place of its graceful gable and majestic -roof. Now the building was darkened by tall houses built all round -it, on ground where once there were gardens with a thousand statues, -ornamental waters and a park, and even on the main courtyard where -Pauquet had erected an allegorical monument to his king, who was in the -habit of making him disgorge his booty every five or six years, after -which he was left for another term to stuff himself again with gold.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> -This courtyard, which was flanked by a splendid Tuscan portico, had -vanished in 1857 when the Rue des Tintelleries was widened. Now Pauquet -de Sainte-Croix’s mansion was nothing but an ugly tenement-house badly -neglected by two old caretakers, Gaubert by name, who despised M. -Bergeret for his quietness and had no sense of his true generosity, -because it was that of a man of moderate means. Yet whatever M. Raynaud -gave they regarded with respect, although he gave little when he was -well able to give much: to the Gauberts, his hundred-sou piece was -valuable because it came from great wealth.</p> - -<p>M. Raynaud, who owned the land near the new railway station, lived -on the first storey. Over the doorway of this there was a bas-relief -which, as usual, caught M. Bergeret’s eye as he passed. It depicted old -Silenus on his ass surrounded by a group of nymphs. This was all that -remained of the interior decoration of the mansion which, belonging -to the reign of Louis XV, had been built at a period when the French -style was aiming at the classic, but, lucky in missing its aim, had -acquired that note of chastity, stability and noble elegance which -one associates more especially with Gabriel’s designs. As a matter of -fact Pauquet de Sainte-Croix’s mansion had actually been designed by a -pupil of that great architect. Since then it had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> systematically -disfigured. Although, for economy’s sake and just to save a little -trouble and expense, they had not torn down the little bas-relief of -Silenus and the nymphs, they had at any rate painted it, like the rest -of the staircase, with a sham decoration of red granite. The tradition -of the place would have it that in this Silenus one might see a -portrait of Pauquet himself, who was reputed to have been the ugliest -man of his time, as well as the most popular with women. M. Bergeret, -although no great connoisseur in art, made no such mistake as this, for -in the grotesque, yet sublime, figure of the old god he recognised a -type well known in the Renaissance, and transmitted from the Greeks and -Romans. Yet, whenever he saw this Silenus and his nymphs, his thoughts -naturally turned to Pauquet, who had enjoyed all the good things of -this world in the very house where he himself lived a life that was not -only toilsome, but thankless.</p> - -<p>“This financier,” he thought as he stood on the landing, “merely sucked -money from a king who in turn sucked it from him. This made them quits. -It is unwise to brag about the finances of the monarchy, since, in the -end, it was the financial deficit that brought about the downfall of -the system. But this point is noteworthy, that the king was then the -sole owner of all property, both real and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> personal, throughout the -kingdom. Every house belonged to the king, and in proof of this, the -subject who actually enjoyed the possession of it had to place the -royal arms on the slab at the back of the hearth. It was therefore as -owner, and not in pursuance of his right of taxation, that Louis XIV -sent his subjects’ plate to the Mint in order to defray the expenses of -his wars. He even had the treasures of the churches melted down, and I -read lately that he carried off the votive-offerings of Notre-Dame de -Liesse in Picardy, among which was found the breast that the Queen of -Poland had deposited there in gratitude for her miraculous recovery. -Everything then belonged to the king, that is to say, to the state. -And yet neither the Socialists, who to-day demand the nationalisation -of private property, nor the owners who intend to hold fast their -possessions, pay any heed to the fact that this nationalisation would -be, in some respects, a return to the ancient custom. It gives one a -philosophic pleasure to reflect that the Revolution really was for -the benefit of those who had acquired private ownership of national -possessions and that the Declaration of the Rights of Man has become -the landlords’ charter.</p> - -<p>“This Pauquet, who used to bring here the prettiest girls from the -opera, was no knight of Saint-Louis. To-day he would be commander of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> -the Legion of Honour and to him the finance ministers would come for -their instructions. Then it was money he enjoyed; now it would be -honours. For money has become honourable. It is, in fact, the only -nobility we possess. We have destroyed all the others to put in their -place the most oppressive, the most insolent, and the most powerful of -all orders of nobility.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret’s reflections were distracted at this point by the sight of -a group of men, women, and children coming out of M. Raynaud’s flat. -He saw that it was a band of poor relations who had come to wish the -old man a happy New Year: he fancied he could see them smelling about, -under their new hats, for some profit to themselves. He went on up the -stairs, for he lived on the third floor, which he delighted to call -the third “room,” using the seventeenth-century phrase for it. And to -explain this ancient term he loved to quote La Fontaine’s lines:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">Where is the good of life to men of make like you,</div> - <div class="line">To live and read for ever in a poor third room?</div> - <div class="line">Chill winter always finds you in the dress of June,</div> - <div class="line">With for lackey but the shadow that is each man’s due.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6" href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6" class="label">[6]</a> - Que sert à vos pareils de lire incessamment?</div> - <div class="line">Ils sont toujours logés à la troisième chambre,</div> - <div class="line">Vêtus au mois de juin comme au mois de décembre,</div> - <div class="line">Ayant pour tout laquais leur ombre seulement.</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> -Possibly the use he made of this quotation and of this kind of talk was -unwise, for it exasperated Madame Bergeret, who was proud of living -in a flat in the middle of the town, in a house that was inhabited by -people of good position.</p> - -<p>“Now for the third ‘room,’” said M. Bergeret to himself. Drawing out -his watch, he saw that it was eleven o’clock. He had told them not -to expect him before noon, as he had intended to spend an hour in -Paillot’s shop. But there he had found the shutters up: holidays and -Sundays were days of misery to him, simply because the bookseller’s was -closed on those days. To-day he had a feeling of annoyance, because he -had not been able to pay his usual call on Paillot.</p> - -<p>On reaching the third storey he turned his key noiselessly in the -lock and entered the dining-room with his cautious footstep. It was -a dismal room, concerning which M. Bergeret had formed no particular -opinion, although in Madame Bergeret’s eyes it was quite artistic, -on account of the brass chandelier which hung above the table, the -chairs and sideboard of carved oak with which it was furnished, the -mahogany whatnot loaded with little cups, and especially on account of -the painted china plates that adorned the wall. On entering this room -from the dimly lit hall one had the door of the study on the left, and -on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> right the drawing-room door. Whenever M. Bergeret entered the -flat he was in the habit of turning to the left into his study, where -solitude, books and slippers awaited him. This time, however, for no -particular motive or reason, without thinking what he was doing, he -went to the right. He turned the handle, opened the door, took one step -and found himself in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>He then saw on the sofa two figures linked together in a violent -attitude that suggested either endearment or strife, but which was, as -a matter of fact, very compromising. Madame Bergeret’s head was turned -away and could not be seen, but her feelings were plainly expressed -in the generous display of her red stockings. M. Roux’s face wore -that strained, solemn, set, distracted look that cannot be mistaken, -although one seldom sees it; it agreed with his disordered array. Then, -the appearance of everything changed in less than a second, and now M. -Bergeret saw before him two quite different persons from those whom he -had surprised; two persons who were much embarrassed and whose looks -were strange and even rather comical. He would have fancied himself -mistaken had not the first picture engraved itself on his sight with a -strength that was only equalled by its suddenness.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width84"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-m_drop.jpg" width="84" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="uppercase">M. Bergeret’s</span> first impulse at this shameful sight was to act -violently, like a plain man, even with the ferocity of an animal. -Born as he was of a long line of unknown ancestors, amongst whom -there were, of course, many cruel and savage souls, heir as he was of -those innumerable generations of men, apes, and savage beasts from -whom we are all descended, the professor had been endowed, along with -the germ of life, with the destructive instinct of the older races. -Under this shock these instincts awoke. He thirsted for slaughter -and burned to kill M. Roux and Madame Bergeret. But his desire was -feeble and evanescent. With the four canine teeth which he carried -in his mouth and the nails of the carnivorous beast which armed his -fingers, M. Bergeret had inherited the ferocity of the beast, but the -original force of this instinct had largely disappeared. He did, it -is true, feel a desire to kill M. Roux and Madame Bergeret, but it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> -was a very feeble one. He felt fierce and cruel, but the sensation -was so short-lived and so weak that no act was born of the thought, -and even the expression of the idea was so swift that it entirely -escaped the notice of the two witnesses who were most concerned in -its manifestation. In less than a second M. Bergeret had ceased to -be purely instinctive, primitive, and destructive, without, however, -ceasing at the same time to be jealous and irritated. On the contrary, -his indignation went on increasing. In this new frame of mind his -thoughts were no longer simple; they began to centre round the social -problem; confusedly there seethed in his mind fragments of ancient -theologies, bits of the Decalogue, shreds of ethics, Greek, Scotch, -German and French maxims, scattered portions of the moral code which, -by striking his brain like so many flint stones, set him on fire. He -felt patriarchal, the father of a family after the Roman style, an -overlord and justiciar. He had the virtuous idea of punishing the -guilty. After having wanted to kill Madame Bergeret and M. Roux by -mere bloodthirsty instinct, he now wanted to kill them out of regard -for justice. He mentally sentenced them to terrible and ignominious -punishments. He lavished upon them every ignominy of mediæval custom. -This journey across the ages of civilisation was longer than the first. -It lasted for two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> whole seconds, and during that time the two culprits -so discreetly changed their attitude that these changes, though -imperceptible, were fundamental, and completely altered the character -of their relationship.</p> - -<p>Finally, religious and moral ideas becoming completely confounded -with one another in his mind, M. Bergeret felt nothing but a sense of -misery, while disgust, like a vast wave of dirty water, poured across -the flame of his wrath. Three full seconds passed; he was plunged in -the depths of irresolution and did nothing. By an obscure, confused -instinct which was characteristic of his temperament, from the first -moment he had turned his eyes away from the sofa and fixed them on -the round table near the door. This was covered with a table-cloth -of olive-green cotton on which were printed coloured figures of -mediæval knights in imitation of ancient tapestry. During these three -interminable seconds M. Bergeret clearly made out a little page-boy who -held the helmet of one of the tapestry knights. Suddenly he noticed -on the table, among the gilt-edged, red-bound books that Madame -Bergeret had placed there as handsome ornaments, the yellow cover of -the <cite>University Bulletin</cite> which he had left there the night before. -The sight of this magazine instantly suggested to him the act most -characteristic of his turn of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> mind: putting out his hand, he took up -the <cite>Bulletin</cite> and left the drawing-room, which a most unlucky instinct -had led him to enter.</p> - -<p>Once alone in the dining-room a flood of misery overwhelmed him. He -longed for the relief of tears, and was obliged to hold on by the -chairs in order to prevent himself from falling. Yet with his pain -was mingled a certain bitterness that acted like a caustic and burnt -up the tears in his eyes. Only a few seconds ago he had crossed this -little dining-room, yet now it seemed that, if ever he had set eyes on -it before, it must have been in another life. It must surely have been -in some far-off stage of existence, in some earlier incarnation, that -he had lived in intimate relations with the small sideboard of carved -oak, the mahogany shelves loaded with painted cups, the china plates -on the wall, that he had sat at this round table between his wife and -daughters. It was not his happiness that was dead, for he had never -been happy; it was his poor little home life, his domestic relations -that were gone. These had always been chilly and unpleasant, but now -they were degraded and destroyed; they no longer even existed.</p> - -<p>When Euphémie came in to lay the cloth he trembled at the sight of her; -she seemed one of the ghosts of the vanished world in which he had once -lived.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> -Shutting himself up in his study, he sat down at his table, and opening -the <cite>University Bulletin</cite> quite at random, leant his head deliberately -between his hands and, through sheer force of habit, began to read.</p> - -<p>He read:</p> - -<p>“<em>Notes on the purity of language.</em>—Languages are like nothing so much -as ancient forests in which words have pushed a way for themselves, as -chance or opportunity has willed. Among them we find some weird and -even monstrous forms, yet, when linked together in speech, they compose -into splendid harmonies, and it would be a barbarous act to prune -them as one trims the lime-trees on the public roads. One must tread -with reverence on what, in the grand style, is termed <em>the boundless -peaks</em>....”</p> - -<p>“And my daughters!” thought M. Bergeret. “She ought to have thought of -them. She ought to have thought of our daughters....”</p> - -<p>He went on reading without comprehending a word:</p> - -<p>“Of course, such a word as this is a mere abortion. We say <i>le -lendemain</i>, that is to say, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le le en demain</i>, when, evidently, what we -ought to say is <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">l’en demain</i>; we say <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le lierre</i> for <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">l’ierre</i>, which -alone is correct. The foundations of language were laid by the people. -Everywhere in it we find ignorance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> error, whim; in its simplicity -lies its greatest beauty. It is the work of ignorant minds, to whom -everything save nature is a sealed book. It comes to us from afar, and -those who have handed it down to us were by no means grammarians after -the style of Noël and Chapsal.”</p> - -<p>Then he thought:</p> - -<p>“At her age, in her humble, struggling position.... I can understand -that a beautiful, idle, much idolised woman ... but she!”</p> - -<p>Yet, as he was a reader by instinct, he still went on reading:</p> - -<p>“Let us treat it as a precious inheritance, but, at the same time, let -us never look too closely into it. In speaking, and even in writing, it -is a mistake to trouble too much about etymology....”</p> - -<p>“And he, my favourite pupil, whom I have invited to my house ... ought -he not?...”</p> - -<p>“Etymology teaches us that God is <em>He Who shines</em>, and that the <em>soul</em> -is a <em>breath</em>, but into these old words men have read meanings which -they did not at first possess.”</p> - -<p>“Adultery!”</p> - -<p>This word came to his lips with such force that he seemed to feel it in -his mouth like a coin, like a thin medal. Adultery!...</p> - -<p>Suddenly he saw a picture of all that this word implied, its -associations—commonplace, domestic,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> absurd, clumsily tragic, sordidly -comic, ridiculous, uncouth; even in his misery he chuckled.</p> - -<p>Being well read in Rabelais, La Fontaine, and Molière, he called -himself by the downright, outspoken name that he knew beyond the shadow -of a doubt was fitted to his case. But that stopped his laugh, if it -could be truthfully said that he had laughed.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said he to himself, “it is a petty, commonplace incident -in reality. But I am myself suitably proportioned to it, being but -an unimportant item in the social structure. It seems, therefore, an -important thing to me, and I ought to feel no shame at the misery it -brings me.”</p> - -<p>Following up this thought, he drew his grief round him like a cloak, -and wrapped himself in it. Like a sick man full of pity for himself, -he pursued the painful visions and the haunting ideas which swarmed -endlessly in his burning head. What he had seen caused him physical -pain; noticing this fact, he instantly set himself to find the cause -of it, for he was always ruled by the philosophical bent of his -temperament.</p> - -<p>“The objects,” thought he, “which are <a name="associated" id="associated"></a><ins title="Original had associdate">associated</ins> -with the most powerful desires of the flesh cannot be regarded with -indifference, for when they do not give delight, they cause disgust. It -is not in herself that Madame Bergeret possesses the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> power of putting -me between these two alternatives; it is as a symbol of that Venus -who is the joy of gods and men. For to me, although she may indeed -be one of the least lovable and least mysterious of these symbols -of Venus, yet at the same time she must needs be one of the most -characteristic and vivid. And the sight of her linked in community of -act and feeling with my pupil, M. Roux, reduced her instantly to that -elementary type-form which, as I said, must either inspire attraction -or repulsion. Thus we may see that every sexual symbol either satisfies -or disappoints desire, and for that reason attracts or repels our gaze -with equal force, according to the physiological condition of the -spectators, and sometimes even according to the successive moods of the -same witness.</p> - -<p>“This observation brings one to the true reason for the fact that, in -all nations and at all periods, sexual rites have been performed in -secret, in order that they might not produce violent and conflicting -emotions in the spectators. At length it became customary to conceal -everything that might suggest these rites. Thus was born Modesty, which -governs all men, but particularly the more lascivious nations.”</p> - -<p>Then M. Bergeret reflected:</p> - -<p>“Accident has enabled me to discover the origin of this virtue which -varies most of all, merely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> because it is the most universal, this -Modesty, which the Greeks call Shame. Very absurd prejudices have -become connected with this habit which arises from an attitude of -mind peculiar to man and common to all men, and these prejudices have -obscured its true character. But I am now in a position to formulate -the true theory of Modesty. It was at a smaller cost to himself that -Newton discovered the laws of gravitation under a tree.”</p> - -<p>Thus meditated M. Bergeret from the depths of his arm-chair. But -his thoughts were still so little under control that he rolled his -bloodshot eyes, gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists, until he -drove his nails into his palms. Painted with merciless accuracy on his -inner eye was the picture of his pupil, M. Roux, in a condition which -ought never to be seen by a spectator, for reasons which the professor -had first accurately deduced. M. Bergeret possessed a measure of that -faculty which we call visual memory. Without possessing the rich power -of vision of the painter, who stores numberless vast pictures in a -single fold of his brain, he could yet recall, accurately and easily -enough, sights seen long ago which had caught his attention. Thus there -lived in the album of his memory the outline of a beautiful tree, of -a graceful woman, when once these had been impressed on the retina of -his eye. But never had any mental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> impression appeared to him as clear, -as exact, as vividly, accurately and powerfully coloured, as full, -compact, solid and masterful, as there appeared to him at this moment -the daring picture of his pupil, M. Roux, in the act of embracing -Madame Bergeret. This accurate reproduction of reality was hateful; -it was also false, inasmuch as it indefinitely prolonged an action -which must necessarily be a fleeting one. The perfect illusion which -it produced showed up the two characters with obstinate cynicism and -unbearable permanence. Again M. Bergeret longed to kill his pupil, M. -Roux. He made a movement as if to kill; the idea of murder that his -brain formulated had the force of a deed and left him overwhelmed.</p> - -<p>Then came a moment of reflection and slowly, quietly he strayed away -into a labyrinth of irresolution and contradiction. His ideas flowed -together and intermingled, losing their distinctive tints like specks -of paint in a glass of water. Soon he even failed to grasp the actual -event that had happened.</p> - -<p>He cast miserable looks around him, examined the flowers on the -wall-paper and noticed that there were badly-joined bunches, so -that the halves of the red carnations never met. He looked at the -books stacked on the deal shelves. He looked at the little silk and -crochet pin-cushion that Madame Bergeret had made and given him some -years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> before on his birthday. Then he softened at the thought of the -destruction of their home life. He had never been deeply in love with -this woman, whom he had married on the advice of friends, for he had -always found a difficulty in settling his own affairs. Although he no -longer loved her at all, she still made up a large part of his life. -He thought of his daughters, now staying with their aunt at Arcachon, -especially of his favourite Pauline, the eldest, who resembled him. At -this he shed tears.</p> - -<p>Suddenly through his tears he caught sight of the wicker-work woman -on which Madame Bergeret draped her dresses and which she always kept -in her husband’s study in front of the book-case, disregarding the -professor’s resentment when he complained that every time he wanted to -put his books on the shelves, he had to embrace the wicker-work woman -and carry her off. At the best of times M. Bergeret’s teeth were set -on edge by this contrivance which reminded him of the hen-coops of the -cottagers, or of the idol of woven cane which he had seen as a child in -one of the prints of his ancient history, and in which, it was said, -the Phœnicians burnt their slaves. Above all, the thing reminded him -of Madame Bergeret, and although it was headless, he always expected -to hear it burst out screaming, moaning, or scolding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> This time the -headless thing seemed to be none other than Madame Bergeret herself, -Madame Bergeret, the hateful, the grotesque. Flinging himself upon -it, he clasped the thing in his arms and made its wicker breast crack -under his fingers, as though it were the gristles of ribs that broke. -Overturning it, he stamped on it with his feet and carrying it off, -threw it creaking and mutilated, out of window into the yard belonging -to Lenfant, the cooper, where it fell among buckets and tubs. In doing -this, he felt as though he were performing an act that symbolised a -true fact, yet was at the same time ridiculous and absurd. On the -whole, however, he felt somewhat relieved, and when Euphémie came to -tell him that déjeuner was getting cold, he shrugged his shoulders, and -walking resolutely across the still deserted dining-room, took up his -hat in the hall and went downstairs.</p> - -<p>In the gateway he remembered that he knew neither where to go nor what -to do and that he had come to no decision at all. Once outside, he -noticed that it was raining and that he had no umbrella. He was rather -annoyed at the fact, though the sense of annoyance came quite as a -relief. As he stood hesitating as to whether he should go out into the -shower or not, he caught sight of a pencil drawing on the plaster of -the wall, just below the bell and just at the height which a child’s -arm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> would reach. It represented an old man; two dots and two lines -within a circle made the face, and the body was depicted by an oval; -the arms and legs were shown by single lines which radiated outwards -like wheel-spokes and imparted a certain air of jollity to this scrawl, -which was executed in the classic style of mural ribaldry. It must -have been drawn some time ago, for it showed signs of friction and in -places was already half rubbed out. But this was the first time that M. -Bergeret had noticed it, doubtless because his powers of observation -were just now in a peculiarly wide-awake condition.</p> - -<p>“A <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i>,” said the professor to himself.</p> - -<p>He noticed next that two horns stuck out from the old man’s head and -that the word <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Bergeret</i> was written by the side, so that no mistake -might be made.</p> - -<p>“It is a matter of common talk, then,” said he, when he saw this name. -“Little rascals on their way to school proclaim it on the walls and -I am the talk of the town. This woman has probably been deceiving me -for a long time, and with all sorts of men. This mere scrawl tells me -more of the truth than I could have gained by a prolonged and searching -investigation.”</p> - -<p>And standing in the rain, with his feet in the mud, he made a closer -examination of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i>; he noticed that the letters of the -inscription were badly written and that the lines of the drawing -corresponded with the slope of the writing.</p> - -<p>As he went away in the falling rain, he remembered the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffiti</i> once -traced by clumsy hands on the walls of Pompeii and now uncovered, -collected and expounded by philologists. He recalled the clumsy furtive -character of the Palatine <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i> scratched by an idle soldier on -the wall of the guard-house.</p> - -<p>“It is now eighteen hundred years since that Roman soldier drew a -caricature of his comrade Alexandros in the act of worshipping an -ass’s head stuck on a cross. No monument of antiquity has been more -carefully studied than this Palatine <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i>: it is reproduced in -numberless collections. Now, following the example of Alexandros, I, -too, have a <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i> of my own. If to-morrow an earthquake were to -swallow up this dismal, accursed town, and preserve it intact for the -scientists of the thirtieth century, and if in that far distant future -my <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">graffito</i> were to be discovered, I wonder what these learned men -would say about it. Would they understand its vulgar symbolism? Or -would they even be able to spell out my name written in the letters of -a lost alphabet?”</p> - -<p>With a fine rain falling through the dreary dimness, M. Bergeret -finally reached the Place Saint-Exupère.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> Between the two buttresses -of the church he could see the stall which bore a red boot as a sign. -At the sight, he suddenly remembered that his shoes, being worn out -by long service, were soaked with water; now, too, he remembered that -henceforth he must look after his own clothes, although hitherto he had -always left them to Madame Bergeret. With this thought in his mind, -he went straight into the cobbler’s booth. He found the man hammering -nails into the sole of a shoe.</p> - -<p>“Good-day, Piedagnel!”</p> - -<p>“Good-day, Monsieur Bergeret! What can I do for you, Monsieur Bergeret?”</p> - -<p>So saying, the fellow, turning his angular face towards his customer, -showed his toothless gums in a smile. His thin face, which ended in a -projecting chin and was furrowed by the dark chasm of his eyes, shared -the stern, poverty-stricken air, the yellow tint, the wretched aspect -of the stone figures carved over the door of the ancient church under -whose shadow he had been born, had lived, and would die.</p> - -<p>“All right, Monsieur Bergeret, I have your size and I know that you -like your shoes an easy fit. You are quite in the right, Monsieur -Bergeret, not to try to pinch your feet.”</p> - -<p>“But I have a rather high instep and the sole of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> my foot is arched,” -protested M. Bergeret. “Be sure you remember that.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was by no means vain of his foot, but it had so happened -one day that in his reading he came upon a passage describing how -M. de Lamartine once showed his bare foot with pride, that its high -curve, which rested on the ground like the arch of a bridge, might be -admired. This story made M. Bergeret feel that he was quite justified -in deriving pleasure from the fact that he was not flat-footed. Now, -sinking into a wicker chair decorated with an old square of Aubusson -carpet, he looked at the cobbler and his booth. On the wall, which -was whitewashed and covered with deep cracks, a sprig of box had been -placed behind the arms of a black, wooden cross. A little copper figure -of Christ nailed to this cross inclined its head over the cobbler, -who sat glued to his stool behind the counter, which was heaped with -pieces of cut leather and with the wooden models which all bore leather -shields to mark the places where the feet that the models represented -were afflicted with painful excrescences. A small cast-iron stove was -heated white-hot and a strong smell of leather and cookery combined was -perceptible.</p> - -<p>“I am glad,” said M. Bergeret, “to see that you have as much work as -you can wish for.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -In answer to this remark, the man began to give vent to a string of -vague, rambling complaints which yet had an element of truth in them. -Things were not as they used to be in days gone by. Nowadays, nobody -could stand out against factory competition. Customers just bought -ready-made shoes, in stores exactly like the Paris ones.</p> - -<p>“My customers die, too,” added he. “I have just lost the curé, M. Rieu. -There is nothing left but the re-soling business and there isn’t much -profit in that.”</p> - -<p>The sight of this ancient cobbler groaning under his own little -crucifix filled M. Bergeret with sadness. He asked, rather hesitatingly:</p> - -<p>“Your son must be quite twenty by now. What has become of him?”</p> - -<p>“Firmin? I expect you know,” said the man, “that he left the seminary -because he had no vocation. But the gentlemen there were kind enough to -interest themselves in him, after they had expelled him. Abbé Lantaigne -found a place for him as tutor at a Marquis’s house in Poitou. But -Firmin refused it just out of spite. He is in Paris now, teaching at an -institution in the Rue Saint-Jacques, but he doesn’t earn much.” And -the cobbler added sadly:</p> - -<p>“What I want....”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> -He stopped and then began again.</p> - -<p>“I have been a widower for twelve years. What I want is a wife, because -it needs a woman to manage a house.”</p> - -<p>Relapsing into silence, he drove three nails into the leather of the -sole and added:</p> - -<p>“Only I must have a steady woman.”</p> - -<p>He returned to his task. Then suddenly raising his worn and sorrowful -face towards the foggy sky, he muttered:</p> - -<p>“And besides, it is so sad to be alone!”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret felt pleased, for he had just caught sight of Paillot -standing on the threshold of his shop. He got up to leave:</p> - -<p>“Good-day, Piedagnel!” said he. “Mind and keep the instep high enough!”</p> - -<p>But the cobbler would not let him go, asking with an imploring glance -whether he did not know of any woman who would suit him. She must be -middle-aged, a good worker, and a widow who would be willing to marry a -widower with a small business.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret stood looking in astonishment at this man who actually -wanted to get married; Piedagnel went on meditating aloud:</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said he, “there’s the woman who delivers bread on the -Tintelleries. But she likes a drop. Then there’s the late curé of -Sainte-Agnès’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> servant, but she is too haughty, because she has saved -a little.”</p> - -<p>“Piedagnel,” said M. Bergeret, “go on re-soling the townsfolks’ shoes, -remain as you are, alone and contented in the seclusion of your shop. -Don’t marry again, for that would be a mistake.”</p> - -<p>Closing the glazed door behind him, he crossed the Place Saint-Exupère -and entered Paillot’s shop.</p> - -<p>The shop was deserted, save for the bookseller himself. Paillot’s -mind was a barren and illiterate one; he spoke but little and thought -of nothing but his business and his country-house on Duroc Hill. -Notwithstanding these facts, M. Bergeret had an inexplicable fondness -both for the bookseller and for his shop. At Paillot’s he felt quite at -ease and there ideas came on him in a flood.</p> - -<p>Paillot was rich, and never had any complaints to make. Yet he -invariably told M. Bergeret that one no longer made the profit on -educational books that was once customary, for the practice of allowing -discount left but little margin. Besides, the supplying of schools had -become a veritable puzzle on account of the changes that were always -being made in the curricula.</p> - -<p>“Once,” said he, “they were much more conservative.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” replied M. Bergeret. “The fabric of our -classical instruction is constantly in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> course of repair. It is an -old monument which embodies in its structure the characteristics of -every period. One sees in it a pediment in the Empire style on a -Jesuit portico; it has rusticated galleries, colonnades like those of -the Louvre, Renaissance staircases, Gothic halls, and a Roman crypt. -If one were to expose the foundations, one would come upon <i>opus -spicatum</i><a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7" href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> and Roman cement. On each of these parts one might place -an inscription commemorating its origin: ‘The Imperial University of -1808—Rollin—The Oratorians—Port-Royal—The Jesuits—The Humanists -of the Renaissance—The Schoolmen—The Latin Rhetoricians of Autun and -Bordeaux.’ Every generation has made some change in this palace of -wisdom, or has added something to it.”</p> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7" class="label">[7]</a> -Brickwork laid in the shape of ears of corn.</p> -</div></div> - -<p>M. Paillot rubbed the red beard that hung from his huge chin and looked -stupidly at M. Bergeret. Finally he fled panic-stricken and took refuge -behind his counter. But M. Bergeret followed up his argument to its -logical conclusion:</p> - -<p>“It is thanks to these successive additions that the house is still -standing. It would soon crumble to pieces if nothing were ever changed -in it. It is only right to repair the parts that threaten to fall -in ruin and to add some halls in the new style. But I can hear some -ominous cracking in the structure.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> -As honest Paillot carefully refrained from making any answer to this -occult and terrifying talk, M. Bergeret plunged silently into the -corner where the old books stood.</p> - -<p>To-day, as always, he took up the thirty-eighth volume of <i>l’Histoire -Générale des Voyages</i>. To-day, as always, the book opened of its own -accord at page 212. Now on this page he saw the picture of M. Roux and -Madame Bergeret embracing.... Now he re-read the passage he knew so -well, without paying any heed to what he read, but merely continuing -to think the thoughts that were suggested by the present state of his -affairs:</p> - -<p>“‘a passage to the North. It is to this check,’ said he (I know that -this affair is by no means an unprecedented one, and that it ought not -to astonish the mind of a philosopher), ‘that we owe the opportunity of -being able to visit the Sandwich Islands again’ (It is a domestic event -that turns my house upside down. I have no longer a home), ‘and to -enrich our voyage with a discovery (I have no home, no home any more) -which, although the last (I am morally free though, and that is a great -point), seems in many respects to be the most important that Europeans -have yet made in the whole expanse of the Pacific Ocean....’”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret closed the book. He had caught a glimpse of liberty, -deliverance, and a new life. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> was only a glimmer in the darkness, -but bright and steady before him. How was he to escape from this dark -tunnel? That he could not tell, but at any rate he perceived at the -end of it a tiny white point of light. And if he still carried about -with him a vision of Madame Bergeret embraced by M. Roux, it was to -him but an indecorous sight which aroused in him neither anger nor -disgust—just a vignette, the Belgian frontispiece of some lewd book. -He drew out his watch and saw that it was now two o’clock. It had taken -him exactly ninety minutes to arrive at this wise conclusion.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-a_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">After</span> M. Bergeret had taken the <cite>University Bulletin</cite> from the table -and gone out of the room without saying a word, M. Roux and Madame -Bergeret together emitted a long sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>“He saw nothing,” whispered M. Roux, trying to make light of the affair.</p> - -<p>But Madame Bergeret shook her head with an expression of anxious doubt. -For her part, what she wanted was to throw on her partner’s shoulders -the whole responsibility for any consequences that might ensue. -She felt uneasy and, above all, thwarted. She was also a prey to a -certain feeling of shame at having allowed herself, like a fool, to be -surprised by a creature who was so easily hoodwinked as M. Bergeret, -whom she despised for his credulity. Finally, she was in that state of -anxiety into which a new and unprecedented situation always throws one.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> -M. Roux repeated the comforting assurance which he had first made to -himself:</p> - -<p>“I am sure he did not see us. He only looked at the table.”</p> - -<p>And when Madame Bergeret still remained doubtful, he declared that -anyone sitting on the couch could not be seen from the doorway. Of this -Madame Bergeret tried to make sure. She went and stood in the doorway, -while M. Roux stretched himself on the sofa, to represent the surprised -lovers.</p> - -<p>The test did not seem conclusive, and it fell next to M. Roux’s turn to -go to the door, while Madame Bergeret reconstructed their love scene.</p> - -<p>Solemnly, coldly, and even with some show of sulkiness to each other, -they repeated this process several times. But M. Roux did not succeed -in soothing Madame Bergeret’s doubts.</p> - -<p>At last he lost his temper and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Well! if he did see us, anyway he’s a precious——.”</p> - -<p>Here he used a word which was unfamiliar to Madame Bergeret’s ears, but -which sounded to her coarse, unseemly and abominably offensive. She was -disgusted with M. Roux for having permitted himself to use such a term.</p> - -<p>Thinking that he would only injure Madame Bergeret more by remaining -longer in her company,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> M. Roux whispered a few consoling phrases in -her ear and then began to tiptoe towards the door. His natural sense -of decorum made him unwilling to risk a meeting with the kindly master -whom he had wronged. Left alone in this way, Madame Bergeret went to -her own room to think.</p> - -<p>It did not seem to her that what had just taken place was important in -itself. In the first place, if this was the first time that she had -permitted herself to be compromised by M. Roux, it was not the first -time that she had been indiscreet with others, few in number as they -might be. Besides, an act like this may be horrible in thought, while -in actual performance it merely appears commonplace, dependent upon -circumstances and naturally innocent. In face of reality, prejudice -dies away. Madame Bergeret was not a woman carried away from her -homely, middle-class destiny by invincible forces hidden in the secret -depths of her nature. Although she possessed a certain temperament, she -was still rational and very careful of her reputation. She never sought -for adventures, and at the age of thirty-six she had only deceived M. -Bergeret three times. But these three occasions were enough to prevent -her from exaggerating her fault. She was still less disposed to do so, -since this third adventure was in essentials only a repetition of the -first two, and these had been neither painful nor pleasurable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> enough -to play a large part in her memory. No phantoms of remorse started -up before the matron’s large, fishy eyes. She regarded herself as an -honourable woman in the main, and only felt irritated and ashamed at -having allowed herself to be caught by a husband for whom she had the -most profound scorn. She felt this misfortune the more, because it had -come upon her in maturity, when she had arrived at the period of calm -reflection. On the two former occasions the intrigue had begun in the -same way. Usually Madame Bergeret felt much flattered whenever she made -a favourable impression on any man of position. She watched carefully -for any signs of interest they might show in her, and she never -considered them exaggerated in any way, for she believed herself to be -very alluring. Twice before the affair with M. Roux, she had allowed -things to go on up to the point where, for a woman, there is henceforth -neither physical power to put a stop to them, nor moral advantage to -be gained by so doing. The first time the intrigue had been with an -elderly man who was very experienced, by no means egotistic, and very -anxious to please her. But her pleasure in him was spoilt by the worry -which always accompanies a first lapse. The second time she took more -interest in the affair, but unfortunately her accomplice was lacking -in experience, and now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> M. Roux had caused her so much annoyance that -she was unable even to remember what had happened before they were -surprised. If she attempted to recall to herself their posture on the -sofa, it was only in order to guess at what M. Bergeret had been able -to deduce from it, so that she might make sure up to what point she -could still lie to him and deceive him.</p> - -<p>She was humiliated and annoyed, and whenever she thought of her big -girls, she felt ashamed: she knew that she had made herself ridiculous. -But fear was the last feeling in her mind, for either by craft or -audacity, she felt sure she could manage this gentle, timid man, so -ignorant of the ways of the world, so far inferior to herself.</p> - -<p>She had never lost the idea that she was immeasurably superior to M. -Bergeret. This notion inspired all her words and acts, nay, even her -silence. She suffered from the pride of race, for she was a Pouilly, -the daughter of Pouilly, the University Inspector, the niece of Pouilly -of the Dictionary, the great-granddaughter of a Pouilly who, in 1811, -composed <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">la Mythologie des Demoiselles</cite> and <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">l’Abeille des Dames</cite>. She -had been encouraged by her father in this sentiment of family pride.</p> - -<p>What was a Bergeret by the side of a Pouilly? She had, therefore, no -misgivings as to the result of the struggle which she foresaw, and she -awaited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> her husband’s return with an attitude of boldness dashed with -cunning. But when, at lunch time, she heard him going downstairs, a -shade of anxiety crept over her mind. When he was out of her sight, -this husband of hers disquieted her: he became mysterious, almost -formidable. She wore out her nerves in imagining what he would say to -her and in preparing different deceitful or defiant answers, according -to the circumstances. She strained and stiffened her courage, in order -to repel attack. She pictured to herself pitiable attitudes and threats -of suicide followed by a scene of reconciliation. By the time evening -came, she was thoroughly unnerved. She cried and bit her handkerchief. -Now she wanted, she longed for explanations, abuse, violent speeches. -She waited for M. Bergeret with burning impatience, and at nine o’clock -she at last recognised his step on the landing. But he did not come -into her room; the little maid came instead:</p> - -<p>“Monsieur says,” she announced, with a sly, pert grin, “that I’m to put -up the iron bedstead for him in the study.”</p> - -<p>Madame Bergeret said not a word, for she was thunderstruck.</p> - -<p>Although she slept as soundly as usual that night, yet her audacious -spirit was quelled.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> - -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-t_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">The</span> curé of Saint-Exupère, the arch-priest Laprune, had been invited to -déjeuner by Abbé Guitrel. They were now both seated at the little round -table on which Joséphine had just set a flaming rum omelette.</p> - -<p>M. Guitrel’s maid had reached the canonical age some years ago; she -wore a moustache; and assuredly bore no resemblance to the imaginary -portrait of her which set the town guffawing in the ribald tales of the -old Gallic type that were bandied about. Her face gave the lie to the -jovial slanders which circulated from the Café du Commerce to Paillot’s -shop, and from the pharmacy of the radical M. Mandar, to the jansenist -salon of M. Lerond, the retired judge. Even if it were true that the -professor of rhetoric used to allow his servant to sit at table with -him when he was dining alone, if he was in the habit of sharing with -her the little cakes that he chose with such anxious care at Dame -Magloire’s, it was only because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> of his pure and innocent regard for -a poor old woman, who was, in truth, both illiterate and rough, but -at the same time full of crafty wisdom and devoted to her master. She -was, in fact, filled with ambition for him and ready in her loyalty to -betray the whole world for his sake.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of the high seminary, paid -too much heed to these prurient tales about Guitrel and his domestic, -which everyone repeated and which no one believed, not even M. Mandar, -the chemist of the Rue Culture, the most rabid of the town councillors. -He had, in fact, added too much out of his own stock-in-trade to these -merry tales not to suspect in his own mind the authenticity of the -whole collection. For quite a voluminous cycle of romance had grown up -round these two prosaic people. Had he only known the <cite>Decameron</cite>, the -<cite>Heptameron</cite> and the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cent Nouvelles nouvelles</cite> better, M. Lantaigne -would frequently have discovered the source of this droll adventure, or -of that weird anecdote, which the county town generously added to the -legend of M. Guitrel and his servant Joséphine. M. Mazure, the keeper -of the municipal archives, never failed for his part, whenever he had -found some lewd story of a Churchman in an old book, to assign it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> to -M. Guitrel. Only M. Lantaigne actually swallowed what everyone else -said without believing.</p> - -<p>“Patience, Monsieur l’abbé!” said Joséphine; “I will go and fetch a -spoon to baste it with.”</p> - -<p>So saying she took a long-handled pewter spoon from the sideboard -drawer and handed it to M. Guitrel. Whilst the priest poured the -flaming spirit over the frizzling sugar, which gave out a smell of -caramel, the servant leant against the sideboard with her arms crossed -and stared at the musical clock which hung on the wall in a gilt frame; -a Swiss landscape, with a train coming out of a tunnel, a balloon in -the air, and the enamelled dial affixed to a little church tower. The -observant woman was really watching her master, for his short arm was -beginning to ache with wielding the hot spoon. She began to spur him on:</p> - -<p>“Look sharp, Monsieur l’abbé! Don’t let it go out.”</p> - -<p>“This dish,” said the arch-priest, “really gives out a most delicious -odour. The last time I had one like it made for me, the dish split on -account of the heat and the rum ran over the table-cloth. I was much -vexed, and what annoyed me still more was to see the consternation on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> -M. Tabarit’s face, for it happened when he was dining with me.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just it!” exclaimed the servant. “M. <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">l’archiprêtre</i> had it -served on a dish of fine porcelain. Of course, nothing could be too -fine for Monsieur. But the finer the china is, the worse it stands -fire. This dish here is of earthenware, and heat or cold makes no odds -to it. When my master is a bishop he’ll have his omelettes soufflées -served on a silver dish.”</p> - -<p>All of a sudden the flame flickered out in the pewter spoon and M. -Guitrel stopped basting the omelette. Then he turned towards the woman -and said with a stern glance:</p> - -<p>“Joséphine, you must never, in future, let me hear you talk in that -fashion.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Guitrel,” said the curé of Saint-Exupère, “it is only -you yourself who can take exception to such words, for to others it -would seem only natural. You have been endowed with the precious gift -of intelligence. Your knowledge is profound and, were you raised to -a bishopric, it would only seem a fitting thing. Who knows whether -this simple woman has not uttered a true prophecy? Has not your name -been mentioned among those of the priests considered eligible for the -episcopal chair of Tourcoing?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> -M. Guitrel pricked up his ears and gave a side-long glance, with one -eye full on the other’s profile.</p> - -<p>He was, indeed, feeling very anxious, for his affairs were by no means -in a promising state. At the nunciature he had been obliged to content -himself with vague promises and he was beginning to be afraid of their -Roman caution. It seemed to him that M. Lantaigne was in good odour at -the Department of Religion, and, in short, his visit to Paris had only -filled him with disquieting fancies. And now, if he was giving a lunch -to the curé of Saint-Exupère, it was merely because the latter had the -key to all the wire-pulling in M. Lantaigne’s party. M. Guitrel hoped, -therefore, to worm out of the worthy curé all his opponent’s secrets.</p> - -<p>“And why,” continued the arch-priest, “should you not be a bishop one -of these days, like M. Lantaigne?”</p> - -<p>In the silence that followed the utterance of this name, the musical -clock struck out a shrill little tune of the olden days. It was the -hour of noon.</p> - -<p>The hand with which Abbé Guitrel passed the earthenware dish to the -arch-priest trembled a little.</p> - -<p>“There is,” said the latter, “a mellowness about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> this dish, a -mellowness that is not insipid. Your servant is a first-rate cook.”</p> - -<p>“You were speaking of M. Lantaigne?” queried Abbé Guitrel.</p> - -<p>“I was,” replied the arch-priest. “I don’t mean to say that at this -precise moment M. Lantaigne is the bishop-designate of Tourcoing, -for to say that would be to anticipate the course of events. But I -heard this very morning from someone who is very intimate with the -Vicar-General that the nunciature and the ministry are practically in -agreement as to the appointment of M. Lantaigne. But this, of course, -still lacks confirmation and it is quite possible that M. de Goulet -may have taken his hopes for accomplished facts, for, as you know, -he ardently desires M. Lantaigne’s success. But that the principal -will be successful seems quite probable. It is true that some time -ago a certain uncompromising attitude, which it was believed might be -justly attributed to M. Lantaigne’s opinions, may perchance have given -offence to the powers that be, inspired as they were with a harassing -distrust of the clergy. But times are changed. These heavy clouds of -mistrust have rolled away. Certain influences, too, that were formerly -considered outside the sphere of politics are beginning to work now, -even in governmental circles. They tell me, in fact, that General<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> -Cartier de Chalmot’s support of M. Lantaigne’s candidature has been -all-powerful. This is the gossip, the still unauthenticated report, -that I have heard.”</p> - -<p>The servant Joséphine had left the room, but her anxious shadow still -flashed from moment to moment through the half-open door.</p> - -<p>M. Guitrel neither spoke nor ate.</p> - -<p>“This omelette,” said the arch-priest, “has a curious mixture of -flavours which tickles the palate without allowing one to distinguish -just what it is that is so delightful. Will you permit me to ask your -servant for the recipe?”</p> - -<p>An hour later M. Guitrel bade farewell to his guest, and set out, with -shoulders bent low, for the seminary. Buried in thought, he descended -the winding, slanting street of the Chantres, crossing his great-coat -over his chest against the icy wind which was buffeting the gable of -the cathedral. It was the coldest, darkest corner of the town. He -hastened his pace as far as the Rue du Marché, and there he stopped -before the butcher’s shop kept by Lafolie.</p> - -<p>It was barred like a lion’s cage. Under the quarters of mutton hung -up by hooks, the butcher lay asleep on the ground, close against the -board used for cutting up the meat. His brawny limbs were now relaxed -in utter weariness, for his day’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> work had begun at daybreak. With -his bare arms crossed, he lay slowly nodding his head. His steel was -still hanging at his side and his legs were stretched out under a -blood-stained white apron. His red face was shining, and under the -turned-down collar of his pink shirt the veins of his neck swelled up. -From the recumbent figure breathed a sense of quiet power. M. Bergeret, -indeed, always used to say of Lafolie that from him one could gather -some idea of the Homeric heroes, because his manner of life resembled -theirs since, like them, he shed the blood of victims.</p> - -<p>Butcher Lafolie slept. Near him slept his son, tall and strong like -his father, and with ruddy cheeks. The butcher’s boy, with his head -in his hands, was asleep on the marble slab, with his hair dangling -among the spread-out joints of meat. Behind her glazed partition at the -entrance of the shop sat Madame Lafolie, bolt upright, but with heavy -eyes weighed down by sleep. She was a fat woman, with a huge bosom, her -flesh saturated with the blood of beasts. The whole family had a look -of brutal, yet masterly, power, an air of barbaric royalty.</p> - -<p>With his quick glance shifting from one to the other, M. Guitrel -stood watching them for a long while. Again and again he turned with -special<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> interest towards the master, the colossus whose purpled cheeks -were barred by a long reddish moustache, and who, now that his eyes -were shut, showed on his temples the little wrinkles that speak of -cunning. Then, surfeited of the sight of this violent, crafty brute, -and gripping his old umbrella under his arm, he crossed his great-coat -over his chest once more, and continued his way. He was quite in good -spirits once more, as he thought to himself:</p> - -<p>“Eight thousand, three hundred and twenty-five francs last year. One -thousand, nine hundred and six this year. Abbé Lantaigne, principal of -the high seminary, owes ten thousand, two hundred and thirty-one francs -to Lafolie the butcher, who is by no means an easy-going creditor. Abbé -Lantaigne will not be a bishop.”</p> - -<p>For a long while he had been aware that M. Lantaigne was in financial -straits, and that the college was heavily in debt. To-day his servant -Joséphine had just informed him that Lafolie was showing his teeth and -talking of suing the seminary and the archbishopric for debt. Trotting -along with his mincing step, M. Guitrel murmured:</p> - -<p>“M. Lantaigne will never be a bishop. He is honest enough, but he is a -bad manager. Now a bishopric is just an administration. Bossuet said -so in express terms when he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> delivering the funeral oration of the -Prince de Condé.”</p> - -<p>And in mentally recalling the horrible face of Lafolie the butcher, M. -Guitrel felt no repugnance whatever.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> - -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-m2_drop.jpg" width="80" height="87" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">Meanwhile</span> M. Bergeret was re-reading the meditations of Marcus -Aurelius. He had a fellow-feeling for Faustina’s husband, yet he found -it impossible really to appreciate all the fine thought contained in -this little book, so false to nature seemed its sentiments, so harsh -its philosophy, so scornful of the softer side of life its whole tone. -Next he read the tales of Sieur d’Ouville, and those of Eutrapel, the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cymbalum</i> of Despériers, the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Matinées</i> of Cholière and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Serées</i> -of Guillaume Bouchet. He took more pleasure in this course of reading, -for he perceived that it was suitable to one in his position and -therefore edifying, that it tended to diffuse serene peace and heavenly -gentleness in his soul. He returned grateful thanks to the whole band -of romance-writers who all, from the dweller in old Miletus, where was -told the Tale of the Wash-tub, to the wielders of the spicy wit of -Burgundy, the charm of Touraine, and the broad humour of Normandy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> -have helped to turn the sorrow of harassed hearts into the ways of -pleasant mirth by teaching men the art of indulgent laughter.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8" href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8" class="label">[8]</a> -In his study of mediæval romances, M. Bergeret devotes -himself to the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Conte badin</cite>, or jesting tale of ludicrous adventure -by which so much of Chaucer’s work was inspired. This school of short -stories starts with the tales of Aristeides of Miletus, a writer of the -second century <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> His <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Milésiaques</cite>, as they are called, -were followed by the fabliaux of the Middle Ages, and in the fifteenth -century and onwards by the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cent Nouvelles nouvelles</cite> of Louis XI’s -time, by the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Heptaméron</cite> of the Queen of Navarre, the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Decameron</cite> of -Boccaccio and the <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Contes</cite> of Despériers, of Guillaume Bouchet, of Noël -du Fail and others. La Fontaine retold many of the older tales in verse -and Balzac tried to revive the Gallic wit and even the language of the -fabliaux in his <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Contes drôlatiques</cite>.</p> -</div></div> - -<p>“These romancers,” thought he, “who make austere moralists knit their -brows, are themselves excellent moralists, who should be loved and -praised for having gracefully suggested the simplest, the most natural, -the most humane solutions of domestic difficulties, difficulties which -the pride and hatred of the savage heart of man would fain solve by -murder and bloodshed. O Milesian romancers! O shrewd Petronius! O Noël -du Fail,” cried he, “O forerunners of Jean de La Fontaine! what apostle -was wiser or better than you, who are commonly called good-for-nothing -rascals? O benefactors of humanity! you have taught us the true science -of life, a kindly scorn of the human race!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> -Thus did M. Bergeret fortify himself with the thought that our pride -is the original source of all our misery, that we are, in fact, but -monkeys in clothes, and that we have solemnly applied conceptions of -honour and virtue to matters where these are ridiculous. Pope Boniface -VIII, in fact, was wise in thinking that, in his own case, a mountain -was being made out of a mole-hill, and Madame Bergeret and M. Roux -were just about as worthy of praise or blame as a pair of chimpanzees. -Yet, he was too clear-sighted to pretend to deny the close bond that -united him to these two principal actors in his drama. But he only -regarded himself as a meditative chimpanzee, and he derived from the -idea a sensation of gratified vanity. For wisdom invariably goes astray -somewhere.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret’s, indeed, failed in another point: he did not really -adapt his conduct to his maxims, and although he showed no violence, -he never gave the least hint of forbearance. Thus he by no means -proved himself the follower of those Milesian, Latin, Florentine, or -Gallic romance-writers whose smiling philosophy he admired as being -well suited to the absurdity of human nature. He never reproached -Madame Bergeret, it is true, but neither did he speak a word, or throw -a glance in her direction. Even when seated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> opposite her at table, -he seemed to have the power of never seeing her. And if by chance he -met her in one of the rooms of the flat, he gave the poor woman the -impression that she was invisible.</p> - -<p>He ignored her, he treated her not only as a stranger, but as -non-existent. He ousted her both from visual and mental consciousness. -He annihilated her. In the house, among the numberless preoccupations -of their life together, he neither saw her, heard her, nor formed any -perception of her. Madame Bergeret was a coarse-grained, troublesome -woman, but she was a homely, moral creature after all; she was human -and living, and she suffered keenly at not being allowed to burst -out into vulgar chatter, into threatening gestures and shrill cries. -She suffered at no longer feeling herself the mistress of the house, -the presiding genius of the kitchen, the mother of the family, the -matron. Worst of all, she suffered at feeling herself done away with, -at feeling that she no longer counted as a person, or even as a thing. -During meals she at last reached the point of longing to be a chair -or a plate, so that her presence might at least be recognised. If M. -Bergeret had suddenly drawn the carving-knife on her, she would have -cried for joy, although she was by nature timid of a blow. But not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> -count, not to matter, not to be seen, was insupportable to her dull, -heavy temperament. The monotonous and incessant punishment that M. -Bergeret inflicted on her was so cruel that she was obliged to stuff -her handkerchief into her mouth to stifle her sobs. And M. Bergeret, -shut up in his study, used to hear her noisily blowing her nose in the -dining-room while he himself was placidly sorting the slips for his -<cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Virgilius nauticus</cite>, unmoved by either love or hate.</p> - -<p>Every evening Madame Bergeret was sorely tempted to follow her husband -into the study that had now become his bedroom as well, and the -impregnable fastness of his impregnable will. She longed either to ask -his forgiveness, or to overwhelm him with the lowest abuse, to prick -his face with the point of a kitchen-knife or to slash herself in the -breast—one or the other, indifferently, for all she wanted was to -attract his notice to herself, just to exist for him. And this thing -which was denied her, she needed with the same overpowering need with -which one craves bread, water, air, salt.</p> - -<p>She still despised M. Bergeret, for this feeling was hereditary and -filial in her nature. It came to her from her father and flowed in her -blood. She would no longer have been a Pouilly, the niece of Pouilly of -the Dictionary, if she had acknowledged any kind of equality between -herself and her husband.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> She despised him because she was a Pouilly -and he was a Bergeret, and not because she had deceived him. She had -the good sense not to plume herself too much on this superiority, but -it is more than probable that she despised him for not having killed -M. Roux. Her scorn was a fixed quantity, capable neither of increase -nor decrease. Nevertheless, she felt no hatred for him, although until -lately, she had rather enjoyed tormenting and annoying him in the -ordinary affairs of every day, by scolding him for the untidiness of -his clothes and the tactlessness of his behaviour, or by telling him -interminable anecdotes about the neighbours, trivial and silly stories -in which even the malice and ill-nature were but commonplace. For this -windbag of a mind produced neither bitter venom nor strange poison and -was but puffed up by the breath of vanity.</p> - -<p>Madame Bergeret was admirably calculated to live on good terms with a -mate whom she could betray and brow-beat in the calm assurance of her -power and by the natural working of her vigorous physique. Having no -inner life of her own and being exuberantly healthy of body, she was -a gregarious creature, and when M. Bergeret was suddenly withdrawn -from her life, she missed him as a good wife misses an absent husband. -Moreover, this meagre little man, whom she had always considered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> -insignificant and unimportant, but not troublesome, now filled her -with dread. By treating her as an absolute nonentity, M. Bergeret made -her really feel that she no longer existed. She seemed to herself -enveloped in nothingness. At this new, unknown, nameless state, akin -to solitude and death, she sank into melancholy and terror. At night, -her anguish became cruel, for she was sensitive to nature and subject -to the influence of time and space. Alone in her bed, she used to -gaze in horror at the wicker-work woman on which she had draped her -dresses for so many years and which, in the days of her pride and -light-heartedness, used to stand in M. Bergeret’s study, proudly -upright, all body and no head. Now, bandy-legged and mutilated, it -leant wearily against the glass-fronted wardrobe, in the shadow of -the curtain of purple rep. Lenfant the cooper had found it in his -yard amongst the tubs of water with their floating corks, and when he -brought it to Madame Bergeret, she dared not set it up again in the -study, but had carried it instead into the conjugal chamber where, -wounded, drooping, and struck by emblematic wrath, it now stood like a -symbol that represented notions of black magic to her mind.</p> - -<p>She suffered cruelly. When she awoke one morning a melancholy ray -of pale sunlight was shining between the folds of the curtain on -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> mutilated wicker dummy and, as she lay watching it, she melted -with self-pity at the thought of her own innocence and M. Bergeret’s -cruelty. She felt instinct with rebellion. It was intolerable, she -thought, that Amélie Pouilly should suffer by the act of a Bergeret. -She mentally communed with the soul of her father and so strengthened -herself in the idea that M. Bergeret was too paltry a man to make her -unhappy. This sense of pride gave her relief and supplied her with -confidence to bedeck herself, buoying her mind with the assurance that -she had not been humiliated and that everything was as it always had -been.</p> - -<p>It was Madame Leterrier’s At Home day, and Madame Bergeret set out, -therefore, to call on the rector’s highly respected wife. In the blue -drawing-room she found her hostess sitting with Madame Compagnon, the -wife of the mathematical professor, and after the first greetings were -over, she heaved a deep sigh. It was a provocative sigh, rather than a -down-trodden one, and while the two university ladies were still giving -ear to it, Madame Bergeret added:</p> - -<p>“There are many reasons for sadness in this life, especially for anyone -who is not naturally inclined to put up with everything.... You are a -happy woman, Madame Leterrier, and so are you, Madame Compagnon!...”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> -And Madame Bergeret, becoming humble, discreet and self-controlled, -said nothing more, though fully conscious of the inquiring glances -directed towards her. But this was quite enough to give people to -understand that she was ill-used and humiliated in her home. Before, -there had been whispers in the town about M. Roux’s attentions to her, -but from that day forth Madame Leterrier set herself to put an end -to the scandal, declaring that M. Roux was a well-bred, honourable -young man. Speaking of Madame Bergeret, she added, with moist lips and -tear-filled eyes:</p> - -<p>“That poor woman is very unhappy and very sensitive.”</p> - -<p>Within six weeks the drawing-rooms of the county town had made up their -minds and come over to Madame Bergeret’s side. They declared that M. -Bergeret, who never paid calls, was a worthless fellow. They suspected -him of secret debauchery and hidden vice, and his friend, M. Mazure, -his comrade at the academy of old books, his colleague at Paillot’s, -was quite sure that he had seen him one evening going into the -restaurant in the Rue des Hebdomadiers, a place of questionable repute.</p> - -<p>Whilst M. Bergeret was thus being tried by the tribunal of society -and found wanting, the popular voice was crowning him with quite a -different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> reputation. Of the vulgar symbol that had lately appeared on -the front of his own house only very indistinct traces remained. But -phantoms of the same design began to increase and multiply in the town, -and now M. Bergeret could not go to the college, nor on the Mall, nor -to Paillot’s shop, without seeing his own portrait on some wall, drawn -in the primitive style of all such ribaldries, surrounded by obscene, -suggestive, or idiotic scrawls, and either pencilled or chalked or -traced with the point of a stone and accompanied by an explanatory -legend.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was neither angered nor vexed at the sight of these -<em>graffiti</em>; he was only annoyed at the increasing number of them. There -was one on the white wall of Goubeau’s cow-house on the Tintelleries; -another on the yellow frontage of Deniseau’s agency in the Place -Saint-Exupère; another on the grand theatre under the list of admission -rates at the second pay-box; another at the corner of the Rue de la -Pomme and the Place du Vieux-Marché; another on the outbuildings of -the Nivert mansion, next to the Gromances’ residence; another on the -porter’s lodge at the University; and yet another on the wall of the -gardens of the prefecture. And every morning M. Bergeret found yet -newer ones. He noted, too, that these <em>graffiti</em> were not all from the -same hand. In some, the man’s figure was drawn in quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> primitive -style; others were better drawn, without showing, however, upon -examination, any approach to individual likeness or the difficult art -of portraiture. But in every case the bad drawing was supplemented by a -written explanation, and in all these popular caricatures M. Bergeret -wore horns. He noticed that sometimes these horns projected from a bare -skull, sometimes from a tall hat.</p> - -<p>“Two schools of art!” thought he.</p> - -<p>But his refined nature suffered.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> - -<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width84"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-m_drop.jpg" width="84" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="uppercase">M. Worms-Clavelin</span> had insisted on his old friend, Georges Frémont, -staying to déjeuner. Frémont, an inspector of fine art, was going -on circuit through the department. When they had first met in the -painters’ studios at Montmartre, Frémont was young and Worms-Clavelin -very young. They had not a single idea in common, and they had -no points of agreement at all. Frémont loved to contradict, and -Worms-Clavelin put up with it; Frémont was fluent and violent in -speech, Worms-Clavelin always yielded to his vehemence and spoke but -little. For a time they were comrades, and then life separated them. -But every time that they happened to meet, they once more became -intimate and quarrelled zestfully. For Georges Frémont, middle-aged, -portly, beribboned, well-to-do, still retained something of his -youthful fire. This morning, sitting between Madame Worms-Clavelin in -a morning gown and M. Worms-Clavelin in a breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> jacket, he was -telling his hostess how he had discovered in the garrets at the museum, -where it had been buried in dust and rubbish, a little wooden figure -in the purest style of French art. It was a Saint Catherine habited in -the garb of a townswoman of the fifteenth century, a tiny figure with -wonderful delicacy of expression and with such a thoughtful, honest -look that he felt the tears rise to his eyes as he dusted her. M. -Worms-Clavelin inquired if it were a statue or a picture, and Georges -Frémont, glancing at him with a look of kindly scorn, said gently:</p> - -<p>“Worms, don’t try to understand what I am saying to your wife! You are -utterly incapable of conceiving the Beautiful in any form whatever. -Harmonious lines and noble thoughts will always be written in an -unknown tongue as far as you are concerned.”</p> - -<p>M. Worms-Clavelin shrugged his shoulders:</p> - -<p>“Shut up, you old communard!” said he.</p> - -<p>Georges Frémont actually was an old communard. A Parisian, the son -of a furniture maker in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and a pupil at -the Beaux-Arts, he was twenty at the time of the German invasion, and -had enlisted in a regiment of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">francs-tireurs</i> who never saw service. -For this slight Frémont had never forgiven Trochu. At the time of the -capitulation he was one of the most excited,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> and shouted with the -rest that Paris had been betrayed. But he was no fool, and really -meant that Paris had been badly defended, which was true enough, of -course. He was for war to the knife. When the Commune was proclaimed, -he declared for it. On the proposition of one of his father’s old -workmen, a certain citizen Charlier, delegate for the Beaux-Arts, he -was appointed assistant sub-director of the Museum of the Louvre. -It was an honorary appointment and he performed his duties booted, -with cartridges in his belt, and on his head a Tyrolese hat adorned -with cock feathers. At the beginning of the siege the canvases had -been rolled up, put into packing-cases and carried away to warehouses -from which he never succeeded in unearthing them. The only duty that -remained to him was to smoke his pipe in galleries that had been -transformed into guard-rooms and to gossip with the National Guard, to -whom he denounced Badinguet for having destroyed the Rubens pictures by -a cleaning process which had removed the glaze. He based his grounds -for this accusation on the authority of a newspaper article, backed up -by M. Vitet’s opinion. The federalists sat on the benches and listened -to him, with their guns between their legs, whilst they drank their -pints of wine in the palace precincts, for it was warm weather. When, -however,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> the people of Versailles forced their way into Paris by the -broken-down Porte du Point-du-Jour and the cannonade approached the -Tuileries, Georges Frémont was much distressed to see the National -Guard of the federalists rolling casks of petroleum into the Apollo -gallery. It was with great difficulty that he at length succeeded in -dissuading them from saturating the wainscoting to make it blaze. Then, -giving them money for drink, he got rid of them. After they had gone, -he managed, with the assistance of the Bonapartist guards, to roll -these dangerous casks to the foot of the staircase and to push them -as far as the bank of the Seine. When the colonel of the federalists -was informed of this, he suspected Frémont of betraying the popular -cause and ordered him to be shot. But as soon as the Versailles mob -was approaching and the smoke of the blazing Tuileries rising into the -air, Frémont fled, cheek by jowl with the squad that had been ordered -out to execute him. Two days later, being denounced to the Versailles -party, he was a fugitive from the military tribunal for having taken -part in a rebellion against the established Government. And it was -perfectly certain that the Versailles party was in direct succession, -since having followed the Empire on September 4th, 1870, it had adopted -and retained the recognised procedure of the preceding Government,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> -whilst the Commune, which had never succeeded in establishing those -telegraphic communications that are absolutely essential to a -recognised government, found itself undone and destroyed—and, in -fact, very much in the wrong. Besides, the Commune was the outcome of -a revolution carried out in face of the enemy, and this the Versailles -administration could never forgive, for its origin recalled their -own. It was for this reason that a captain of the winning side, being -employed in shooting rebels in the neighbourhood of the Louvre, ordered -his men to search for Frémont and shoot him. At last, after remaining -in hiding for a fortnight with citizen Charlier, a member of the -Commune, under a roof in the Place de la Bastille, Frémont left Paris -in a smock-frock, with a whip in his hand, behind a market-gardener’s -cart. And whilst a court-martial at Versailles was condemning him to -death, he was earning his livelihood in London by drawing up a complete -catalogue of Rowlandson’s works for a rich City amateur. Being an -intelligent, industrious and honourable man, he soon became well known -and respected among the English artists. He loved art passionately, -but politics scarcely interested him at all. He remained friendly -towards the Commune through loyalty alone and in order to avoid the -shame of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> deserting vanquished friends. But he dressed well and moved -in good society. He worked strenuously and, at the same time, knew how -to profit by his work. His <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Dictionnaire des monogrammes</cite> not only -established his reputation, but brought him in some money. After the -amnesty had been passed and the last fluttering rags of civil strife -had blown away, there landed at Boulogne, after Gambetta’s motion, a -certain gentleman, haughty and smiling, yet not unsociable. He was -youngish, but a little worn by work, and with a few grey hairs; he was -correctly dressed in a travelling costume and carried a portmanteau -packed with sketches and manuscripts. Establishing himself in modest -style at Montmartre, Georges Frémont quickly became intimate with -the artist colony there. But the labours upon the emoluments from -which he had mainly supported himself in England only brought him the -satisfaction of gratified vanity in France. Then Gambetta obtained -for him an appointment as inspector of museums, and Frémont fulfilled -his duties in this department both conscientiously and skilfully. -He had a true and delicate taste in art. The nervous sensitiveness -which had moved him deeply in his youth before the spectacle of his -country’s wounds, still affected him, now that he was growing old, -when confronted by unhappy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> social conditions, but enabled him, too, -to derive delight from the graceful expression of human thought, from -exquisite shapes, from the classic line, and the heroic cast of a face. -With all this he was patriotic even in art, never jesting about the -Burgundian school, faithful to political sentiment, and relying on -France to bring justice and liberty to the universe.</p> - -<p>“You old communard!” repeated M. Worms-Clavelin.</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, Worms! Your soul is ignoble and your mind obtuse. -You have no meaning in yourself, but, in the phrase of to-day, you are -a representative type. Just Heavens! how many victims were butchered -during a whole century of civil war just that M. Worms-Clavelin might -become a republican <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i>! Worms, you are lower in the scale than -the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfets</i> of the Empire.”</p> - -<p>“The Empire!” exclaimed M. Worms-Clavelin. “Blast the Empire! First of -all it swept us all into the abyss, and then it made me an official. -But, all the same, wine is made, corn is grown, just as in the time -of the Empire; they bet on the Bourse, as under the Empire; one eats, -drinks, and makes love, as under the Empire. At bottom, life is just -the same. How could government and administration be different? -There are certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> shades of difference, I grant you. We have more -liberty; we even have too much of it. We have more security. We enjoy -a government which suits the ideals of the people. As far as such a -thing is possible, we are the masters of our fate. All the social -forces are now held in just balance, or nearly so. Now just you show me -what there is that could be changed. The colour of our postage stamps -perhaps ... and after that!... As old Montessuy used to say, ‘No, no, -friend, short of changing the French, there is nothing in France to -change.’ Of course, I am all for progress. One must talk about moving, -were it only in order to dispense with movement. ‘Forward! forward!’ -The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Marseillaise</i> must have been useful in <em>not</em> carrying one to the -frontier!...”</p> - -<p>The look which Georges Frémont turned on the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i> was full of deep, -affectionate, kindly, thoughtful scorn:</p> - -<p>“Everything is as perfect as it can be, then, Worms?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t make out that I speak like an utter dolt. Nothing is perfect, -but all things cling together, prop one another up, dovetail with one -another. It is just like père Mulot’s wall which you can see from here -behind the orangery. It is all warped and cracked and leans forward. -For the last thirty years that fool of a Quatrebarbe, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> diocesan -architect, has been stopping dead in front of Mulot’s house. Then, with -his nose in air, his hands behind his back and his legs apart, he says: -‘I really don’t see how that holds together!’ The little imps coming -out from school stand behind him and shout in mockery of his gruff -tones: ‘I really don’t see how that holds together!’ He turns round -and, seeing nobody, looks at the pavement as though the echo of his -voice had risen from the earth. Then he goes away repeating, ‘I really -don’t see how that holds together!’ It holds together because nobody -touches it; because père Mulot summons neither masons nor architects; -above all, because he takes good care not to ask M. Quatrebarbe for his -advice. It holds together because up till now it has held together. It -holds together, you old dreamer, because they neither revise the taxes -nor reform the Constitution.”</p> - -<p>“That is to say, it holds together through fraud and iniquity,” said -Georges Frémont. “We have fallen into a cauldron of shame. Our finance -ministers are under the thumb of the cosmopolitan banking-houses. -And, sadder still, it is France—France, of old the deliverer of -the nations—that has no care in European politics save to avenge -the rights of titled sovereigns. Without even daring to shudder, we -permitted the massacre of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> three hundred thousand Christians in the -East, although, by our traditions, we had been constituted their -revered and august protectors. We have betrayed not only the interests -of humanity, but our own; and now you may see the Republic floating in -Cretan waters among the Powers of Europe, like a guinea-fowl amid a -flock of gulls. It was to this point, then, that our friendship with -our ally was to lead us.”</p> - -<p>The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i> protested:</p> - -<p>“Don’t attack the Russian entente, Frémont. It’s the very best of all -the electioneering baits.”</p> - -<p>“The Russian alliance,” replied Frémont, waving his fork, “I hailed -the birth of it with joyful expectation. But, alas, did it not, at the -very first test, fling us into the arms of that assassin the Sultan and -lead us to Crete, there to hurl melinite shell at Christians whose only -fault was the long oppression they had suffered? But it was not Russia -that we took such pains to humour, it was the great bankers interested -in Ottoman bonds. And you saw how the glorious victory of Canea was -hailed by the Jewish financiers with a burst of generous enthusiasm.”</p> - -<p>“There you go,” cried the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i>, “that’s just sentimental politics! -You ought to know, at any rate, where that sort of thing leads. And why -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> deuce you should be excited about the Greeks, I don’t see. They’re -not at all interesting.”</p> - -<p>“You are right, Worms,” said the inspector of fine arts. “You are -perfectly right. The Greeks are not interesting, for they are poor. -They have nothing but their blue sea, their violet hills and the -fragments of their statues. The honey of Hymettus is never quoted -on the Bourse. The Turks, on the contrary, are well worthy of the -attention of European financiers. They have internal dissensions; above -all they have resources. They pay badly and they pay much. One can do -business with them. Stocks rise. All is well then. Such are the ideals -of our foreign policy!”</p> - -<p>M. Worms-Clavelin interrupted him hurriedly, and casting on him a -reproachful look, said:</p> - -<p>“Ah, now! Georges, don’t be disingenuous. You know well enough that we -neither have, nor can have, any foreign policy.”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width90"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-i_drop.jpg" width="90" height="86" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap3"><span class="uppercase">“It</span> seems that it is fixed for to-morrow,” said M. de Terremondre as he -entered Paillot’s shop.</p> - -<p>Everyone understood the allusion: he was referring to the execution -of Lecœur, the butcher’s assistant, who had been sentenced to -death on the 27th of November, for the murder of Madame Houssieu. -This young criminal supplied the entire township with an interest in -life. Judge Roquincourt, who had a reputation in society as a ladies’ -man, had courteously admitted Madame Dellion and Madame de Gromance -to the prison and allowed them a glimpse of the prisoner through the -barred grating of the cell where he was playing cards with a gaoler. -In his turn, the governor of the prison, M. Ossian Colot, an officer -of the Academy, gladly did the honours of his condemned prisoner to -journalists as well as to prominent townsmen. M. Ossian Colot had -written with the knowledge of an expert on various questions of the -penal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> code. He was proud of his establishment, which was run on the -most up-to-date lines, and he by no means despised popularity. The -visitors cast curious glances at Lecœur, while they speculated on -the relationship between this youth of twenty and the nonagenarian -widow who had become his victim. They stood stupefied by astonishment -before this monstrous brute. Yet Abbé Tabarit, the prison chaplain, -told with tears in his eyes how the poor lad had expressed the most -edifying sentiments of repentance and piety. Meanwhile, from morning -to night throughout three whole months, Lecœur played cards with -his gaolers and disputed the points in their own slang, for they were -of the same class. His darkened soul never revealed its sufferings -in words, but the rosy, chubby lad who, only ten months before, was -to be met whistling in the street with his basket on his head, and -his white apron knotted round his muscular loins, now shivered in his -strait waistcoat with pale, cadaverous face and looked like a sick man -of forty. His herculean neck was wasted and now protruded from his -drooping shoulders, thin and disproportionately long. By this time it -was agreed on all sides that he had exhausted the abhorrence, the pity -and the curiosity of his fellow-citizens, and that it was high time to -put an end to him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> -“For six o’clock to-morrow. I heard it from Surcouf himself,” added M. -de Terremondre. “They’ve got the guillotine at the station.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a good thing,” said Dr. Fornerol. “For three nights the crowd -has been congregating at the cross-roads of les Évées and there have -been several accidents. Julien’s son fell from a tree on his head and -cracked his skull. I’m afraid it’s impossible to save him.</p> - -<p>“As for the condemned,” continued the doctor, “nobody, not even the -President of the Republic, could prolong his life. For this young lad -who was vigorous and sound up to the time of his arrest is now in the -last stage of consumption.”</p> - -<p>“Have you seen him in his cell, then?” asked Paillot.</p> - -<p>“Several times,” answered Dr. Fornerol, “and I have even attended him -professionally at Ossian Colot’s request, for he is always deeply -interested in the moral and physical well-being of his boarders.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a real philanthropist,” answered M. de Terremondre. “And the -fact ought to be recognised that, in its way, our municipal prison is -an admirable institution, with its clean, white cells, all radiating -from a central watch-tower, and so skilfully arranged that all the -occupants are constantly under observation without being aware of the -fact. Nothing can be said against it, it is complete and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> modern and -all on the newest lines. Last year, when I was on a walking tour in -Morocco, I saw at Tangier, in a courtyard shaded by a mulberry tree, -a wretched building of mud and plaster, with a huge negro dressed in -rags lying asleep in front of it. Being a soldier, he was armed with a -cudgel. Swarthy hands clasping wicker baskets were projecting from the -narrow windows of the building. These belonged to the prisoners, who -were offering the passers-by the products of their lazy efforts, in -exchange for a copper or two. Their guttural voices whined out prayers -and complaints, which were harshly punctuated at intervals by curses -and furious shouts. For they were all shut up together in a vast hall -and spent the time in quarrelling with one another about the apertures, -through which they all wanted to pass their baskets. Whenever a dispute -was too noisy, the black soldier would wake up and force both baskets -and suppliant hands back within the walls by a vigorous onslaught of -his cudgel. In a few seconds, however, more hands would appear, all -sunburnt and tattooed in blue like the first ones. I had the curiosity -to peep into the prison hall through the chinks in an old wooden door. -I could see in the dim-lit, shadowy place a horde of tatterdemalions -scattered over the damp ground, bronzed bodies sleeping on piles of red -rags, solemn faces with long venerable beards beneath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> their turbans, -nimble blackamoors weaving baskets with shouts of laughter. On swollen -limbs here and there could be seen soiled linen bandages barely hiding -sores and ulcers, and one could see and hear the vermin wave and rustle -in all directions. Sometimes a laugh passed round the room. And a black -hen was pecking at the filthy ground with her beak. The soldier allowed -me to watch the prisoners as long as I liked, waiting for me to go, -before he begged of me. Then I thought of the governor of our splendid -municipal prison, and I said to myself: ‘If only M. Ossian Colot were -to come to Tangier he would soon discover and sweep away this crowding, -this horrible promiscuity.’”</p> - -<p>“You paint a picture of barbarism which I recognise,” answered M. -Bergeret. “It is far less cruel than civilisation. For these Mussulman -prisoners have no sufferings to undergo, save such as arise from the -indifference or the occasional savagery of their gaolers. At least the -philanthropists leave them alone and their life is endurable, for they -escape the torture of the cell system, and in comparison with the cell -invented by the penal code of science, every other sort of prison is -quite pleasant.</p> - -<p>“There is,” continued M. Bergeret, “a peculiar savagery in civilised -peoples, which surpasses in cruelty all that the imagination of -barbarism can conceive. A criminal expert is a much fiercer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> being than -a savage, and a philanthropist will invent tortures unknown in China or -Persia. A Persian executioner kills his prisoners by starving them, but -it required a philanthropist to conceive the idea of killing them with -solitude. It is on the principle of solitude that the punishment of the -cell system depends, and no other penalty can be compared with it for -duration and cruelty. The sufferer, if he is lucky, becomes mad through -it, and madness mercifully destroys in him all sense of his sufferings. -People imagine they are justifying this abominable system when they -allege that the prisoner must be withdrawn from the bad influence of -his fellows and put in a position where he cannot give way to immoral -or criminal instincts. People who reason in this way are really such -great fools that one can scarcely call them hypocrites.”</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said M. Mazure. “But let us be just to our own age. -The Revolution not only accomplished a reform in judicial procedure, -but also much improved the lot of the prisoner. The dungeons of the -olden times were generally dark, pestilential dens.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” replied M. Bergeret, “that men have been cruel and -malicious in every age and have always delighted in tormenting the -wretched. But before philanthropists arose, at any rate, men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> were only -tortured through a simple feeling of hatred and desire for revenge, and -not for the good of their morals.”</p> - -<p>“You forget,” answered M. Mazure, “that the Middle Ages gave birth to -the most accursed form of philanthropy ever known—the spiritual. For -it is just this name that suits the spirit of the holy Inquisition. It -was through pure charity alone that this tribunal handed heretics over -to the stake, and if it destroyed the body, it was, so they said, only -in order to save the soul.”</p> - -<p>“They never said that,” answered M. Bergeret, “and they never thought -it. Victor Hugo did, indeed, believe that Torquemada ordered men to be -burnt for their good, in order that their eternal happiness might be -secured at the price of a short pain. On this theory he constructed -a drama that sparkles with the play of antithesis. But there is no -foundation whatever for this idea of his, and I should never have -imagined that a scholar like you, fattening, as you have done, on old -parchments, would have been led astray by a poet’s lies. The truth -is that the tribunal of the Inquisition, in handing the heretic over -to the secular arm, was simply cutting away a diseased limb from the -Church, for fear lest the whole body should be contaminated. As for -the limb thus cut off, its fate was in the hands of God. Such was the -spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> of the Inquisition, frightful enough, but by no means romantic. -But where the Holy Office showed what you rightly call spiritual -philanthropy was in the treatment it meted out to those converted from -the error of their ways. It charitably condemned them to perpetual -imprisonment, and immured them for the good of their souls. But I was -merely referring to the State prisons, just now, such as they were in -the Middle Ages and in modern times up to the reign of Louis XIV.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that the system of solitary -confinement has not produced all the happy results that were expected -from it in the reformation of prisoners.”</p> - -<p>“This system,” said Dr. Fornerol, “often produces rather serious mental -disorders. Yet it is only fair to add that criminals are naturally -predisposed to troubles of this kind. We recognise to-day that the -criminal is a degenerate. Thus, for instance, thanks to M. Ossian -Colot’s courtesy, I have been allowed to make an examination of our -murderer, this fellow Lecœur. I found many physiological defects in -him.... His teeth, for instance, are quite abnormal. I argue from that -fact that he is only partially responsible for his acts.”</p> - -<p>“Yet,” said M. Bergeret, “one of the sisters of Mithridates had a -double row of teeth in each jaw, and in her brother’s estimation, at -any rate, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> was a woman of noble courage. So dearly did he love her -that when he was a fugitive pursued by Lucullus, he gave orders that -she should be strangled by a mute to prevent her falling alive into the -hands of the Romans. Nor did she then fail to live up to her brother’s -lofty estimation of her character, but suffering death by the bowstring -with joyous calmness, said: ‘I thank the king, my brother, for having -had a care to my honour, even in the midst of his own besetting -troubles.’ You see from this example that heroism is not impossible -even with a row of abnormal teeth.”</p> - -<p>“Lecœur’s case,” replied the doctor, “presents many other -peculiarities which cannot fail to be significant in the eyes of a -scientist. Like so many born criminals his senses are blunted. Thus I -found, when I examined him, that he was tattooed in every part of his -body. You would be surprised at the lewd fancy shown in the choice of -scenes and symbols painted on his skin.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” said M. de Terremondre.</p> - -<p>“The skin of this patient,” said Dr. Fornerol, “really ought to be -properly prepared and preserved in our museum. But it is not the -character of the tattooing that I want to insist upon, but rather the -number of the pictures and their arrangement on the body. Certain parts -of the operation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> must have caused the patient an amount of pain which -could scarcely have been bearable to a person of ordinary sensibility.”</p> - -<p>“There you are making a mistake!” exclaimed M. de Terremondre. “It -is evident that you don’t know my friend Jilly. Yet he is a very -well-known man. Jilly was quite young when, in 1885 or ’86, he made -the tour of the world with his friend Lord Turnbridge on the yacht -<em>Old Friend</em>. Jilly swears that throughout the whole voyage, through -storms and calm, neither Lord Turnbridge nor himself ever put foot on -deck for a single moment. The whole time they remained in the cabin -drinking champagne with an old top-man of the marines who had been -taught tattooing by a Tasmanian chief. In the course of the voyage -this old top-man covered the two friends from head to foot with tattoo -marks, and Jilly returned to France adorned with a fox-hunt that -comprises as many as three hundred and twenty-four figures of men, -women, horses and dogs. He is always delighted to show it when he sups -with boon companions at an inn. Now I really cannot say whether Jilly -is abnormally insensitive to pain, but what I can tell you is that he -is a fine fellow, and a man of honour and that he is incapable of....”</p> - -<p>“But,” asked M. Bergeret, “do you think it right that this butcher’s -boy should be guillotined?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> For you confess that there are such things -as born criminals, and in your own phrase it seems that Lecœur -was only partially responsible for his acts, through a congenital -predisposition to crime.”</p> - -<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Then what would you do with him?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact,” replied M. Bergeret, “I am but little interested -in the fate of this particular man. But I am, nevertheless, opposed to -the death penalty.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s hear your reasons, Bergeret,” said Mazure, the archivist, for -to him, living as he did in admiration of ’93 and the Terror, the idea -of the guillotine carried with it mystic suggestions of moral beauty. -“For my part, I would prohibit the death penalty in common law, but -re-establish it in political cases.”</p> - -<p>M. de Terremondre had appointed Paillot’s shop as a rendezvous for M. -Georges Frémont, the inspector of fine arts, and just at the moment -when this civic discussion was in progress, he entered the shop. They -were going together to inspect Queen Marguerite’s house. Now, M. -Bergeret stood rather in awe of M. Frémont, for he felt himself a poor -creature by the side of such a great man. For M. Bergeret, who feared -nothing in the world of ideas, was very diffident where living men were -concerned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -M. de Terremondre had not got the key of the house, so he sent Léon to -fetch it, while he made M. Georges Frémont sit down in the corner among -the old books.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bergeret,” said he, “is singing the praises of the -old-fashioned prisons.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said M. Bergeret, a little annoyed, “not at all. They -were nothing but sewers where the poor wretches lived chained to the -wall. But, at any rate, they were not alone—they had companions—and -the citizens, as well as the lords and ladies, used to come and visit -them. Visiting the prisons was one of the seven works of mercy. Nobody -is tempted to do that now, and if they were, the prison regulations -would not allow it.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that in olden times it was -customary to visit the prisoners. In my portfolios I have an engraving -by Abraham Bosse, which represents a nobleman wearing a plumed felt -hat, accompanying a lady in a veil of Venice point and a peaked brocade -bodice, into a dungeon which is swarming with beggars clothed in a few -shreds of filthy rags. The engraving is one of a set of seven original -proofs which I possess. And with these one always has to be on one’s -guard, for nowadays they reprint them from the old worn plates.”</p> - -<p>“Visiting the prisons,” said Georges Frémont,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> “is a common subject -of Christian art in Italy, Flanders and France. It is treated with -peculiar vigour and truth in the Della Robbias on the frieze of painted -terra-cotta that surrounds the hospital at Pistoia in its superb -embrace.... You know Pistoia, Monsieur Bergeret?...”</p> - -<p>The Professor had to acknowledge that he had never been in Tuscany.</p> - -<p>Here M. de Terremondre, who was standing near the door, touched M. -Frémont’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Look, Monsieur Frémont,” said he, “towards the square at the right of -the church. You will see the prettiest woman in the town go by.”</p> - -<p>“That’s Madame de Gromance,” said M. Bergeret. “She is charming.”</p> - -<p>“She occasions a lot of gossip,” said M. Mazure. “She was a Demoiselle -Chapon. Her father was a solicitor, and the greatest skinflint in the -department. Yet she is a typical aristocrat.”</p> - -<p>“What is called the aristocratic type,” said Georges Frémont, “is a -pure conception of the brain. There is no more reality in it than in -the classic type of the Bacchante or the Muse. I have often wondered -how this aristocratic type of womanhood arose, how it managed to -root itself in the popular conception. It takes its origin, I think, -from several elements of real life. Among these I should point to -the actresses in tragedy and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> comedy, both those of the old Gymnase -and of the Théâtre-Français, as well as of the Boulevard du Crime -and the Porte-Saint-Martin. For a whole century these actresses have -been presenting to our spectacle-loving people numberless studies of -princesses and great ladies. Besides these, one must include the models -from whom painters create queens and duchesses for their genre, or -historical pictures. Nor must one overlook the more recent and less -far-reaching, yet still powerful, influence of the mannequins, or -lay-figures, of the great dressmakers, those beautiful girls with tall -figures who show off a dress so superbly. Now these actresses, these -models, these shop-girls, are all women of the lower class. From this -I deduce the fact that the aristocratic type proceeds entirely from -plebeian elegance. Hence there is nothing surprising in the fact that -Madame de Gromance, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">née</i> Chapon, should be found to belong to this -type. She is graceful, and what is a rare thing in our towns, with -their sharp paving-stones and dirty footpaths—she walks well. But I -rather fancy she falls a little short of perfection as regards the -hips. That’s a serious defect!”</p> - -<p>Lifting his nose from the thirty-eighth volume of <i>l’Histoire générale -des Voyages</i>, M. Bergeret looked with admiring awe at this red-bearded -Parisian who could thus pass judgment on Madame de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> Gromance’s -delicious beauty and worshipful shape in the cold and measured accents -of an inquisitor.</p> - -<p>“Now I know your tastes,” said M. de Terremondre, “I will introduce you -to my aunt Courtrai. She is heavily built and can only sit down in a -certain family arm-chair, which, for the past three hundred years, has -been in the habit of receiving all the old ladies of Courtrai-Maillan -within its capaciously wide and complacent embrace. As for her face, -it suits well with the rest of her, and I hope you will like it. -My aunt Courtrai is as red as a tomato, with fair moustaches that -wave negligently in their beauty. Ah! my aunt Courtrai’s type has no -connection with your actresses, models, and dressmakers’ dummies.”</p> - -<p>“I feel myself,” said M. Frémont, “already much enamoured of your -worthy aunt.”</p> - -<p>“The ancient nobility,” said M. Mazure, “used to live the life of -our large farmers of to-day, and, of course, they could not avoid -resembling those whose lives they led.”</p> - -<p>“It is a well-proved fact,” said Dr. Fornerol, “that the human race is -degenerating.”</p> - -<p>“Do you really think so?” asked M. Frémont. “Yet in France and Italy, -during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the flower of their -chivalry must have been very slender. The royal coats of mail belonging -to the end of the Middle Ages and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> the Renaissance times were skilfully -wrought, and damascened and chased with exquisite art, yet so narrow -in the shoulders are they and so meagre in figure, that a man of our -day could only wear them with difficulty. They were almost all made -for small, slight men, and in fact, French portraits of the fifteenth -century, and the miniatures of Jehan Foucquet show us a world of almost -stunted folk.”</p> - -<p>Léon entered with the key, in a great state of excitement.</p> - -<p>“It is fixed for to-morrow,” he said to his master. “Deibler and his -assistants came by the half-past three train. They went to the Hôtel -de Paris, but there they wouldn’t take them in. Then they went to the -inn at the bottom of Duroc Hill, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le Cheval Bleu</i>, a regular cut-throat -place.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes,” said Frémont, “I heard this morning at the prefecture that -there was an execution in your town. The topic was in everybody’s -mouth.”</p> - -<p>“There are so few amusements in the provinces!” said M. de Terremondre.</p> - -<p>“But that spirit,” said M. Bergeret, “is revolting. A legal execution -takes place in secret. But why should we still carry it on at all, -if we are ashamed of it? President Grévy, who was a man of great -insight, practically abolished the death penalty, by never passing a -sentence of death. Would that his successors had followed his example!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> -Personal security in the modern state is not obtained by mere fear of -punishment. Many European nations have now abolished the death penalty, -and in such countries crime is no more common than in the nations where -this base custom yet exists. And even in countries where this practice -is still found, it is in a weak and languishing condition, no longer -retaining power or efficacy. It is nothing but a piece of useless -unseemliness, for the practice is a mere survival of the principle on -which it rested. Those ideas of right and justice which formerly laid -men’s heads low in majestic fashion are now shaken to their roots by -the morality which has blossomed upon the natural sciences. And since -the death penalty is visibly on the point of death, the wisest thing -would be to let it die.”</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said M. Frémont. “The death penalty has become an -intolerable practice, since now we no longer connect any idea of -expiation with it, for expiation is a purely theological notion.”</p> - -<p>“The President would certainly have sent a pardon,” said Léon, with a -consequential air. “But the crime was too horrible.”</p> - -<p>“The power of pardon,” said M. Bergeret, “was one of the attributes -of divine right. The king could only exercise it because, as the -representative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> of God on earth, he was above the ordinary human -justice. In passing from the king to the President of the Republic, -this right lost its essential character and therefore its legality. -It thenceforth became a flimsy prerogative, a judicial power -outside justice and yet no longer above it; it created an arbitrary -jurisdiction, foreign to our conception of the lawgiver. In practice -it is good, since by its action the wretched are saved. But bear in -mind that it has become ridiculous. The mercy of the king was the mercy -of God Himself, but just imagine M. Félix Faure invested with the -attributes of divinity! M. Thiers, who did not fancy himself the Lord’s -Anointed, and who, indeed, was not consecrated at Rheims, released -himself from this right of pardon by appointing a commission which was -entrusted with the task of being merciful for him.”</p> - -<p>“It was only moderately so,” said M. Frémont.</p> - -<p>Here a young soldier entered the shop and asked for <i>Le Parfait -Secrétaire</i>.</p> - -<p>“Remains of barbarism,” said M. Bergeret, “still persist in modern -civilisation. Our code of military justice, for instance, will make -our memory hateful in the eyes of the near future. That code was -framed to deal with the bands of armed brigands who ravaged Europe in -the eighteenth century. It was perpetuated by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> Republic of ’92 -and reduced to a system during the first half of this century. When a -nation had taken the place of an army, they forgot to change the code, -for one cannot think of everything. Those brutal laws which were framed -in the first place to curb a savage soldiery are now used to govern -scared young peasants, or the children of our towns, who could easily -be led by kindness. And that is considered a natural proceeding!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t follow you,” said M. de Terremondre. “Our military code, -prepared, I believe, at the Restoration, only dates from the Second -Empire. About 1875 it was revised and made to suit the new organisation -of the army. You cannot, therefore, say that it was framed for the -armies of former times.”</p> - -<p>“I can with truth,” answered M. Bergeret, “for this code is nothing -more than a mere collection of orders respecting the armies of -Louis XIV and Louis XV. Everyone knows what these armies were, a -conglomeration of kidnappers and kidnapped, the scourings of the -country, divided into lots which were bought by the young nobles, often -mere children. In such regiments discipline was maintained by perpetual -threats of death. But everything is now changed: the soldiery of the -monarchy and the two Empires has given place to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> vast and peaceful -national guard. There is no longer any fear of mutiny or violence. -Nevertheless, death at every turn still threatens these gentle flocks -of peasants and artisans clumsily disguised as soldiers. The contrast -between their harmless conduct and the savage laws in force against -them is almost laughable. And a moment’s reflection would prove that -it is as absurd as it is hateful to punish with death crimes which -could easily be dealt with by the simple penal code devised for the -maintenance of public order.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said M. de Terremondre, “the soldiers of to-day are armed as -were the soldiers of former ages, and it is quite necessary that a -small, unarmed body of officers should be able to ensure obedience and -respect from a mob of men armed with muskets and cartridges. That’s the -gist of the whole matter.”</p> - -<p>“It is an ancient prejudice,” said M. Bergeret, “to believe in the -necessity of punishment and to fancy that the severer the punishment -the more efficacious it is. The death penalty for assaulting a superior -officer is a survival of the time when the officers were not of the -same blood as the soldiers. These penalties were still retained in the -republican armies. Brindamour, who became a general in 1792, employed -the customs of bygone days in the service of the Revolution and shot -volunteers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> in grand style. At any rate, it may be said that Brindamour -waged war and fought strenuously from the time that he became general. -It was a matter of keeping the upper hand: it was not a man’s life that -was at stake, but the safety of the country.”</p> - -<p>“It was theft especially,” said M. Mazure, “that the generals of the -year II punished with relentless severity. A light-infantry man in the -Army of the North, who had merely exchanged his old hat for a new one, -was shot. Two drummers, the eldest of whom was only eighteen, were shot -in sight of their comrades for having stolen some worthless ornaments -from an old peasant. It was the heroic age.”</p> - -<p>“It was not only thieves,” answered M. Bergeret, “who were shot down -from day to day in the republican armies, it was also mutineers. And -those soldiers, who have been so much belauded since, were dragooned -like convicts, even to the point of semi-starvation. It is true that -they were occasionally in an awkward mood. Witness the three hundred -gunners of the 33rd demi-brigade who, at Mantua in the year IV, -demanded their pay by turning their cannon on the generals.</p> - -<p>“They were jolly dogs with whom jesting was not safe! If enemies -were not come-at-able they were capable of spitting a dozen of their -superior officers. Such is the heroic temperament. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> Dumanet is not -a hero nowadays, since peace no longer produces such beings. Sergeant -Bridoux has nothing to fear in his peaceful quarters, yet it pleases -him to be still able to say that a man cannot raise a hand against him -without being immediately shot with musical honours. However, in the -present state of our manners and in time of peace, such a circumstance -is out of proportion, although nobody can see it. It is true that -when a sentence of death has been passed by court-martial it is never -carried out, save in Algeria, and that, as far as possible, we avoid -giving these martial and musical entertainments in France. It is -recognised that here they would produce a bad effect: and in that fact -you have a tacit condemnation of the military code.”</p> - -<p>“Take care,” said M. de Terremondre, “lest you impair discipline in any -way.”</p> - -<p>“If,” answered M. Bergeret, “you had only seen a batch of raw recruits -filing into the barrack yard, you would no longer think it necessary -to be for ever hurling threats of death at these sheep-like creatures -in order to maintain discipline among them. They are thinking of -nothing but of how to get through their three years, as they put it, -and Sergeant Bridoux would be touched even to tears by their pitiful -docility, were it not that he thirsts to terrify them in order that -he may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> enjoy his own sense of power. It is not that Sergeant Bridoux -was born with a more callous heart than anyone else. But he is doubly -perverted, both as slave and tyrant, and if Marcus Aurelius had been a -non-commissioned officer I would not go so far as to promise that he -would never have tyrannised over his men. However that may be, this -tyranny suffices to produce that submission tempered by deceit that is -the soldier’s most useful virtue in time of peace.</p> - -<p>“It is high time that our military codes of law, with their -paraphernalia of death, should be seen no more, save in the chamber of -horrors, by the side of the keys of the Bastille and the thumb-screws -of the Inquisition.”</p> - -<p>“Army affairs,” said M. de Terremondre, “require most cautious -handling. The army means safety and it means hope. It is also the -training school of duty. Where else, save there, can be found -self-sacrifice and devotion?”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said M. Bergeret, “that men consider it the primary -social duty to learn to kill their fellows according to rule, and -that, in civilised nations, the glory of massacre is the greatest -glory known. And, after all, though man may be irredeemably evil and -mischievous, the bad work he does is but small in comparison with the -whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> universe. For this planet is but a clod of earth in space and -the sun but a gaseous bubble that will soon dissolve.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” said M. Frémont, “that you are no positivist. For you treat -the great fetich but scornfully.”</p> - -<p>“What is the great fetich?” asked M. de Terremondre.</p> - -<p>“You know,” answered M. Frémont, “that the positivists classify man -as the worshipping animal. Auguste Comte was very anxious to provide -for the wants of this worshipping animal and, after long reflection, -supplied him with a fetich. But his choice fell on the earth and not -on God. This was not because he was an atheist. On the contrary, he -held that the existence of a creative power is quite probable. Only -he opined that God was too difficult for comprehension, and therefore -his disciples, who are very religious men, practise the worship of the -dead, of great men, of woman, and of the great fetich, which is the -earth. Hence it comes about that the followers of this cult make plans -for the happiness of men and busy themselves in regulating the affairs -of the planet with a view to our happiness.”</p> - -<p>“They will have a great deal to do,” said M. Bergeret, “and it is -quite evident that they are optimists. They must be optimistic to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> -degree, and this temperament of theirs fills me with astonishment, for -it is difficult to realise that intelligent and thoughtful men such -as these can cherish the hope of some day making our sojourn on this -petty ball bearable to us. For this earth, revolving clumsily round a -yellow, half-darkened sun, carries us with it as though we were vermin -on a mouldy crust. The great fetich does not seem to me in any way -worshipful.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Fornerol stooped down to whisper in M. de Terremondre’s ear:</p> - -<p>“Bergeret wouldn’t gird at the universe in this way if he hadn’t some -special trouble. It isn’t natural to see the seamy side of everything.”</p> - -<p>“You’re right,” said M. de Terremondre.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-t_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">The</span> elm-trees on the Mall were slowly clothing their dusky limbs with -a delicate drapery of pale gauzy green. But on the slope of the hill -crowned with its ancient ramparts, the flowering trees of the orchards -showed their round white heads, or distaffs of rosy bloom, against a -background of cloudless, sunny sky that smiled between the showers. -In the distance flowed the river, swollen with spring rains, a line -of bare, white water, that fretted with its rounded curves the rows -of slender poplars which outlined its course. Beautiful, invincible, -fruitful and eternal, flowed the river, a true goddess, as in the days -when the boatmen of Roman Gaul made their offerings of copper coins to -it and raised, before the temple of Venus and Augustus, a votive pillar -on which they had roughly carved a boat with its oars. Everywhere in -this open valley, the sweet, trembling youth of the year shivered along -the surface of the ancient earth. Under the elm-trees<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> on the Mall -walked M. Bergeret with slow, irregular steps. As he wandered on, his -mind glanced hither and thither; shifting it was and confused; old as -the earth itself, yet young as the flowers on the apple-boughs; empty -of thought, yet full of vague visions; lonely, yet full of desire; -gentle, innocent, wanton, melancholy; dragging behind it a weight of -weariness, yet still pursuing Hopes and Illusions whose very names, -shapes and faces were unknown to him.</p> - -<p>At last he drew near the wooden bench on which he was in the habit of -sitting in summer time, at the hour when the birds are silent on the -trees. Here, where he often sat resting with Abbé Lantaigne, under the -beautiful elm that overheard all their grave talk, he saw that some -words had been recently traced by a clumsy hand in chalk on the green -back of the seat. At first he was seized with a fear lest he should -find his own name written there, for it was quite familiar by now to -all the blackguards of the town. But he soon saw that he need have -no trouble on that score, since it was merely a lewd inscription in -which Narcissus announced to the world the pleasures he had enjoyed on -this very bench in the arms of his Ernestine, doubtless under cover of -the kindly night. The style of the legend was simple and concise, but -coarse and uncomely in its terms.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> -M. Bergeret was just about to sit down in his accustomed place, but -he changed his mind, since it did not seem a fitting action for a -decent man to lean publicly against this obscene memorial, dedicated -to the Venus of cross-roads and gardens, especially as it stood on the -very spot where he had expressed so many noble and ironic thoughts -and had so often invoked the muse of seemly meditation. Turning away, -therefore, from the bench, he said to himself:</p> - -<p>“O vain desire for fame! We long to live in the memory of men, and -unless we are consummately well-bred men of the world, we would fain -publish in the market-place our loves, our joys, our sorrows and our -hates. Narcissus, here, can only really believe that he has actually -won his Ernestine, when all the world has heard of it. It was the same -spirit that drove Phidias to trace a beloved name on the great toe of -the Olympian Jove. O thirst of the soul to unburden itself, to plunge -into the ocean of the not-self! ‘<em>To-day, on this bench, Narcissus....</em>’</p> - -<p>“Yet,” thought M. Bergeret once more, “the first virtue of civilised -man and the corner-stone of society is dissimulation. It is just as -incumbent on us to hide our thoughts as it is for us to wear clothes. -A man who blurts out all his thoughts, just as they arise in his mind, -is as inconceivable as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> the spectacle of a man walking naked through a -town. Talk in Paillot’s shop is free enough, yet were I, for instance, -to express all the fancies that crowd my mind at this moment, all the -notions which pass through my head, like a swarm of witches riding on -broomsticks down a chimney, if I were to describe the manner in which I -suddenly see Madame de Gromance, the incongruous attitudes in which I -picture her, the vision of her which comes to me, more ludicrous, more -weird, more chimerical, more quaint, more monstrous, more perverted -and alien to all seemly conventions, a thousand times more waggish and -indecent than that famous figure introduced in the scene of the Last -Judgment on the north portal of Saint-Exupère by a masterly craftsman -who had caught a glimpse of Lust himself as he leant over a vent-hole -of hell; if I were accurately to reveal the strangeness of my dream, -it would be concluded that I am a prey to some repulsive mania. Yet, -all the same, I know that I am an honourable man, naturally inclined to -purity, disciplined by life and reflection to self-control, a modest -man wholly dedicated to the peaceful pleasures of the mind, a foe to -all excess, and hating vice as a deformity.”</p> - -<p>As he walked on, deep in this singular train of thought, M. Bergeret -caught sight, along the Mall,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> of Abbé Lantaigne, the principal of the -high seminary, and Abbé Tabarit, the chaplain of the prison. The two -were in close conversation and M. Tabarit was waggling his long body, -with his little pointed head, while he emphasised his words by sweeping -gestures of his bony arms. Abbé Lantaigne, with head erect and chest -projecting, held his breviary under his arm and listened gravely with -far-away gaze and lips locked tightly between stolid cheeks that were -never distended by a smile.</p> - -<p>M. Lantaigne answered M. Bergeret’s bow by a gesture and a word of -greeting:</p> - -<p>“Stop, Monsieur Bergeret,” he cried, “M. Tabarit is not afraid of -infidels.”</p> - -<p>But the prison chaplain was not to be interrupted in the full tide of -his thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Who,” said he, “could have remained unmoved at what I saw? This lad -has taught every one of us a lesson by the sincerity of his repentance, -by the simple, truthful expression of the most Christian sentiments. -His bearing, his looks, his words, his whole being spoke plainly enough -of gentleness and humility, of utter submission to the will of God. -He never ceased to offer a most consoling spectacle, a most salutary -example. Perfect resignation, an awakened faith too long stifled in his -heart, a supreme abasement before the God who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> pardons: such were the -blessed fruits of my exhortations.”</p> - -<p>The old man was moved with the easy earnestness of the blameless, -buoyant, self-absorbed nature. Real grief stirred in his great, -prominent eyes and his poor, meagre red nose. After a momentary sigh, -he began again, this time turning towards M. Bergeret:</p> - -<p>“Ah, sir,” said he, “in the course of my painful ministry I have -encountered many thorns. But also what fruit I find! Many times in the -course of my long life have I snatched lost souls from the devil, who -was on the alert to lay hold of them. But none of the poor creatures -with whom I have journeyed to the gates of death presented such an -edifying spectacle in their last moments as this young Lecœur.”</p> - -<p>“What!” cried M. Bergeret, “you surely are not speaking like this of -the murderer of Madame Houssieu? Isn’t it well known that——”</p> - -<p>He was just going on to say that, according to the unanimous account -of all those who had witnessed the execution, the poor wretch had been -carried to the scaffold, already half dead with fear. He stopped short, -however, lest he should afflict the old man, who continued in his own -way:</p> - -<p>“It is true that he made no long speeches and indulged in no noisy -demonstrations. But if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> had only heard the sighs, the ejaculations, -by which he testified to his repentance! In his melancholy journey from -the prison to the place of expiation, when I reminded him of his mother -and his first communion, he wept.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” said M. Bergeret, “Madame Houssieu didn’t die so -edifyingly.”</p> - -<p>At these words M. Tabarit rolled his great eyes from east to west. He -always sought for the solution of metaphysical problems, not within -himself, but without, and whenever he fell into a day dream at table -his old servant, misunderstanding his look, would inquire: “Are you -looking for the cork of the bottle, sir? It’s in your hand.”</p> - -<p>But M. Tabarit’s roving glance had fallen on a great bearded man -in cyclist’s dress who was passing along the Mall. This was Eusèbe -Boulet, editor in chief of the radical paper <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le Phare</cite>. Instantly -M. Tabarit bade a hasty good-bye to the professor and the head of -the seminary, and hurrying up to the journalist with great strides, -wished him good-day. Then, with a face reddened by excitement, he drew -some crumpled papers out of his pocket and handed them to him with -a hand that trembled. These were rectifications and supplementary -communications as to the last moments of young Lecœur. For at the -end of his secluded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> life and humble ministry, a passion for print, a -thirst for interviews and articles, had come upon this holy man.</p> - -<p>It was with something approaching a smile that M. Lantaigne watched the -poor old fellow, with his quick, birdlike movements, handing up his -scrawls to the radical editor.</p> - -<p>“Look!” said he to M. Bergeret, “the miasma of this age has even -infected a man who was marching deathwards by a path long paved with -goodness and virtue. This old fellow, though he is humble and modest -about everything else, is craving for notoriety. He yearns to appear in -print at any cost, even though it be in the pages of an anti-clerical -paper.”</p> - -<p>Then, vexed at having betrayed one of his own people to the enemy, M. -Lantaigne added with a brisk air of indifference:</p> - -<p>“Not much harm done. It’s absurd, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Thereupon, relapsing into silence, he was his own gloomy self once more.</p> - -<p>M. Lantaigne was a masterful man, and his will forced M. Bergeret -towards their usual seat. Entirely indifferent to the vulgar phenomena -by which the world outside themselves is manifested to the generality -of men, he scorned to notice the lewd inscription of Narcissus and -Ernestine, written in chalk in large running characters on the back -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> the seat. Sinking down on the bench with a placid air of mental -detachment, he covered a third of this inscribed memorial with his -broad back. M. Bergeret sat down by M. Lantaigne’s side, first, -however, spreading out his newspaper over the back, so as to conceal -that part of the text which seemed to him the most outspoken. In -his estimation this was the verb—a word which, according to the -grammarians, denotes the existence of an attribute to the subject. But -inadvertently, he had merely substituted one inscription for another. -The paper, in fact, announced in a side-note one of those episodes that -have become so common in parliamentary life since the memorable triumph -of democratic institutions. This spring the scandal period had come -round once more with astronomical exactitude, following the change of -the Seasons and the Dance of the Hours, and during the month several -deputies had been prosecuted, according to custom. The sheet unfolded -by M. Bergeret bore in huge letters this notice: “A Senator at Mazas. -Arrest of M. Laprat-Teulet.” Although there was nothing unusual about -the fact itself, which merely indicated the regular working of the -parliamentary machine, it struck M. Bergeret that there was perhaps -an uncalled-for display of indifference in posting up this notice on -a bench on the Mall, in the very shadow of those elms under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> which -the honourable M. Laprat-Teulet had so often been the recipient of -the honours which democracy loves to bestow on her greatest citizens. -Here on the Mall, M. Laprat-Teulet, sitting at the right hand of the -President of the Republic, on a rostrum draped in ruby velvet beneath -a trophy of flags, had, on different ceremonial occasions in honour -of great local or national rejoicings, uttered those words which are -so well calculated to exalt the blessings of government, while at the -same time they recommend patience to the toiling and devoted masses. -Laprat-Teulet, who had started as a republican, had now been for -five-and-twenty years the powerful and highly respected leader of the -opportunist party in the department. Now that his hair had grown white -with age and parliamentary toil, he stood out in his native town like -an oak adorned with tricoloured garlands. His enemies had been ruined -and his friends enriched through his exertions and he was loaded with -public honours. He was, moreover, not only august, but also affable, -and every year at prize distributions, he spoke of his poverty to the -little children: he could call himself poor without injuring himself -in any way, for no one believed him, and everyone felt certain that he -was very rich. The sources of his wealth, in fact, were well known, -the thousand channels by means of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> his labour and his astuteness -had drained off the money into his own pockets. They could calculate -perfectly what funds had poured into his coffers from the undertakings -that were based on his political credit and from all the concessions -granted on account of his parliamentary interest. For he was a deputy -with famous business capacities, a capital financial orator, and his -friends knew, as well as, and even better, than his enemies, what he -had pocketed through the Panama affair and similar enterprises. Very -far-seeing, moderate in his desires and, above all, anxious not to -tempt fortune too far, this great guardian of our industrious and -intelligent democracy had given up high finance for the last ten years, -thus bowing before the first breath of the storm. He had even left the -Palais-Bourbon and retired to the Luxembourg, to that great Council of -the Commons of France where his wisdom and devotion to the Republic -were duly appreciated. There he was able to pull the strings without -being seen by the public. He only spoke on secret commissions. But -there he still showed those brilliant qualities which for many years -the princes of cosmopolitan finance had justly learnt to appraise -at a high value. He remained the outspoken defender of the fiscal -system introduced at the Revolution and founded, as we are all aware, -on the principles of liberty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> and justice. He upheld the rights of -capital with that emotion which is always so touching in an old hand -at the game. Even the turn-coats themselves revered in the person of -Laprat-Teulet a pacific and truly conservative mind, regarding him as -the guardian angel of personal property.</p> - -<p>“His notions are honourable enough,” said M. de Terremondre. “But the -worst aspect of it is that to-day he is burdened with the weight of -a difficult past.” But Laprat-Teulet had enemies who were implacable -in their hatred of him. “I have earned this hatred,” said he -magnanimously, “by defending the interests which were entrusted to me.”</p> - -<p>His enemies pursued him even into the sacred precincts of the Senate, -where his misfortunes gave him an air of still greater dignity, for he -had once before been in difficulties and even actually on the verge -of ruin. This came about through a mistake made by a Keeper of the -Seals who was not a member of the syndicate and who had rashly handed -him over into the astonished hands of justice. Neither the honourable -M. Laprat-Teulet, nor his examining judge, nor his barrister, nor the -Public Prosecutor, nor the Keeper of the Seals himself, was capable of -foreseeing, or even understanding, the cause of those sudden partial -cleavages in the machine of government, those catastrophes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> farcical -as the collapse of a platform at a show and terrible as the outcome of -what the orator called immanent justice, catastrophes which sometimes -hurl the most respected statesmen from their seats in both Chambers. M. -Laprat-Teulet felt a melancholy surprise at his fate and he scorned to -give any explanation to the authorities, but the number and splendour -of his connections saved him. A plea that there was not sufficient -cause for prosecution was interposed. At first Laprat-Teulet accepted -it with humble gratitude, and next he bore it into the official world -as a regular certificate of innocence. “Almighty God,” said Madame -Laprat-Teulet, who was pious, “Almighty God has been very merciful -to my husband, for to him He has granted the stay of proceedings -he so much desired.” It is matter of common knowledge that Madame -Laprat-Teulet was so grateful that she had a votive-offering hung up -in the chapel of Saint-Antoine, a marble slab bearing the following -inscription: “From a Christian wife, in gratitude for an unhoped-for -blessing.”</p> - -<p>This stay of proceedings reassured Laprat-Teulet’s political friends, -the crowd of ex-ministers and big officials who had shared with him, -not only the time of struggle, but the fruitful years, who had known -both the seven lean kine and the seven fat kine. This stay was a -safeguard, or at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> any rate was regarded as such. It could be relied -upon for several years to come. Then suddenly, by a stroke of bad luck, -by one of those ill-omened and unforeseen accidents that come secretly -and from underneath, like sudden leaks in rotten vessels, without any -political or moral reason, in the full glory of his honours, this -old servant of the democracy, this heir of its achievements whom M. -Worms-Clavelin had instanced only the night before in the comitia as a -shining light to the whole department, this man of order and progress, -this defender of capital and opponent of clericalism, this intimate -friend of ex-ministers and ex-presidents, this Senator Laprat-Teulet, -this man, though exculpated on the former occasion, was sent to prison -with a batch of members of parliament. And the local paper announced -in large type: “A Senator at Mazas. Arrest of M. Laprat-Teulet.” M. -Bergeret, being a man of delicacy, turned the paper round on the back -of the seat.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said M. Lantaigne in a morose voice, “do you like the look of -what you see there, and do you think it can last long?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” asked M. Bergeret. “Are you referring to the -parliamentary scandals? But let us first ask what a scandal really -is. A scandal is the effect that usually results from the revelation -of some secret deed. For men don’t in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> general act furtively, save -when they are doing something that runs counter to morality and public -opinion. It is also noticeable that, although public scandals occur -in every period and every nation, they happen most frequently when -the Government is least skilled in dissimulation. It is also evident -that state secrets are never well kept in a democracy. The number of -people concerned, indeed, and the powerful party jealousies invite -revelations, sometimes hushed up, sometimes startling. It should -also be observed that the parliamentary system actually multiplies -the number of those who betray trusts, by putting a crowd of people -in a position where they can do it easily. Louis XIV was robbed by -Fouquet on a large and splendid scale. But in our days, all the while -the melancholy President, who had been chosen merely as a creditable -figure-head, confronted the chastened departments with the mute -countenance of a bearded Minerva, he was distributing largesse at the -Palais Bourbon at a rate past checking. In itself this was no great -evil, for every Government always has a number of needy folks hanging -about it, and it is too much to demand of human nature to ask that they -shall all be honest. Besides, what these paltry thieves have taken is -very little in comparison with what our honest administration wastes -every hour of the day. One point alone should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> be observed, for it is -of primary importance. The revenue farmers of olden days, this Pauquet -de Sainte-Croix, for instance, who in the time of Louis XV heaped up -the wealth of the province in the very mansion where I now live ‘in the -third room,’ those shameless plunderers robbed their nation and their -king without being in collusion with any of their country’s enemies. -Now, on the contrary, our parliamentary sharks are betraying France to -a foreign power, Finance, to wit. For it is true that Finance is to-day -one of the Powers of Europe, and of her it may be said, as was formerly -said of the Church, that among the nations she remains a splendid -alien. Our representatives, whom she buys over, are not only robbers -but traitors. And, in truth, they rob and betray in paltry, huckstering -fashion. Each one in himself is merely an object of pity: it is their -rapid swarming that alarms me.</p> - -<p>“Meanwhile the honourable M. Laprat-Teulet is at Mazas! He was taken -there on the morning of the very day on which he was due here to -preside over the Social Defence League banquet. This arrest, which was -carried out on the day after the vote that authorised the prosecution, -has taken M. Worms-Clavelin completely by surprise. He had arranged for -M. Dellion to preside at the banquet, since his integrity, guaranteed -by inherited wealth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> and by forty years of commercial prosperity, is -universally respected. Though the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i> deplores the fact that -the most prominent officials of the Republic are continually subject -to suspicion, yet, at the same time, he congratulates himself on the -loyalty of their constituents, who remain true to the established -system, even when it seems the general wish to bring it into disrepute. -He declares, in fact, that parliamentary episodes such as the one which -has just occurred, even when they follow on others of the same kind, -leave the working-classes of the department absolutely indifferent. -And M. Worms-Clavelin is quite right: he is by no means exaggerating -the phlegmatic calm of these classes, which seem no longer capable of -surprise. The herd of nobodies read in the newspapers that Senator -Laprat-Teulet has been sent to solitary confinement; they manifest no -surprise at the news, and they would have received with the same phlegm -the information that he had been sent as ambassador to some foreign -court. It is even probable that, if the arm of justice sends him back -to parliamentary life, M. Laprat-Teulet will sit next year on the -budget commission. There is, at any rate, no doubt whatever that at the -end of his sentence he will be re-elected.”</p> - -<p>The abbé here interrupted M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“There, Monsieur Bergeret, you put your finger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> on the weak point; -there you make the void to echo. The public is becoming used to the -spectacle of wrong-doing and is losing the power to discriminate -between good and evil. That’s where the danger lies. Now one public -scandal after another arises, only to be at once hushed up. Under the -Monarchy and the Empire there was such a thing as public opinion; -there is none to-day. This nation, once so high-spirited and generous, -has suddenly become incapable of either hatred or love, of either -admiration or scorn.”</p> - -<p>“Like you,” said M. Bergeret, “I have been struck by this change and -I have sought in vain for the causes of it. We read in many Chinese -fables of a very ugly spirit, of lumpish gait, but subtle mind, -who loves to play pranks. He makes his way by night into inhabited -houses, then opening a sleeper’s brain, as though it were a box, he -takes out the brain, puts another in its place and softly closes the -skull. He takes infinite delight in passing thus from house to house, -interchanging brains as he goes, and when, at dawn, this tricksy -elf has returned to his temple, the mandarin awakes with the mind -of a courtesan, and the young girl with the dreams of a hardened -opium-eater. Some spirit of this sort must assuredly have been busy -bartering French brains for those of some tame, spiritless people, who -drag out a melancholy existence without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> rising to the height of a new -desire, indifferent alike to justice and injustice. For, indeed, we are -no longer at all like ourselves.”</p> - -<p>Stopping suddenly, M. Bergeret shrugged his shoulders. Then he went on, -in a tone of gentle sadness:</p> - -<p>“Yet, it is the effect of age and the sign of a certain wisdom. Infancy -is the age of awe and wonder; youth, of fiery revolt. It is the -mere passing of the years that has brought us this mood of peaceful -indifference: I ought to have understood it better. Our condition of -mind, at any rate, assures us both internal and external peace.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” asked Abbé Lantaigne. “And have you no presentiment -of approaching catastrophe?”</p> - -<p>“Life in itself is a catastrophe,” answered M. Bergeret. “It is a -constant catastrophe, in fact, since it can only manifest itself in -an unstable environment, and since the essential condition of its -existence is the instability of the forces which produce it. The life -of a nation, like that of an individual, is a never-ceasing ruin, a -series of downfalls, an endless prospect of misery and crime. Our -country, though it is the finest in the world, only exists, like -others, by the perpetual renewal of its miseries and mistakes. To live -is to destroy. To act is to injure. But at this particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> moment, -Monsieur Lantaigne, the finest country in the world is feeble in -action, and plays but a sluggard’s part in the drama of existence. It -is that fact which reassures me, for I detect no signs in the heavens. -I foresee no evils approaching with special and peculiar menace to our -peaceful land. Tell me, Monsieur l’abbé, when you foretell catastrophe, -is it from within or from without that you see it coming?”</p> - -<p>“The danger is all round us,” answered M. Lantaigne, “and yet you -laugh.”</p> - -<p>“I feel no desire whatever to laugh,” answered M. Bergeret. “There -is little enough for me to laugh at in this sublunary world, on this -terrestrial globe whose inhabitants are almost all either hateful -or ridiculous. But I do not believe that either our peace or our -independence is threatened by any powerful neighbour. We inconvenience -no one. We are not a menace to the comity of nations. We are restrained -and reasonable. So far as we know, our statesmen are not formulating -extravagant schemes which, if successful, would establish our power, or -if unsuccessful, would bring about our ruin. We make no claim to the -sovereignty of the globe. Europe of to-day finds us quite bearable: the -feeling must be a happy novelty.</p> - -<p>“Just look for a moment at the portraits of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> statesmen that Madame -Fusellier, the stationer, keeps in her shop-window. Tell me if there -is a single one of them who looks as if he were made to unleash the -dogs of war and lay the world waste. Their talents match their power, -for both are but mediocre. They are not made to be the perpetrators -of great crimes, for, thank God! they are not great men. Hence, we -can sleep in peace. Besides, although Europe is armed to the teeth, -I believe she is by no means inclined to war. For in war there -breathes a generous spirit unpopular nowadays. True, they set the -Turks fighting the Greeks: that is, they bet on them, as men bet on -cocks or horses. But they will not fight between themselves. In 1840 -Auguste Comte foretold the end of war and, of course, the prophecy -was not exactly and literally fulfilled. Yet possibly the vision of -this great man penetrated into the far-distant future. War is, indeed, -the everyday condition of a feudal and monarchical Europe, but the -feudal system is now dead and the ancient despotisms are opposed by -new forces. The question of peace or war in our days depends less on -absolute sovereigns than on the great international banking interests, -more influential than the Powers themselves. Financial Europe is in -a peaceful temper, or, if that be not quite true, she certainly has -no love for war as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> war, no respect for any sentiment of chivalry. -Besides, her barren influence is not destined to live long and she will -one day be engulfed in the abyss of industrial revolution. Socialistic -Europe will probably be friendly to peace, for there will be a -socialistic Europe, Monsieur Lantaigne, if indeed that unknown power -which is approaching can be rightly called Socialism.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” answered Abbé Lantaigne, “only one Europe is possible, and -that is Christian Europe. There will always be wars, for peace is not -ordained for this world. If only we could recover the courage and faith -of our ancestors! As a soldier of the Church militant, I know well that -war will only end with the consummation of the ages. And, like Ajax -in old Homer, I pray God that I may fight in the light of day. What -terrifies me is neither the number nor the boldness of our enemies, but -the weakness and indecision which prevail in our own camp. The Church -is an army, and I grieve when I see chasms and openings right along -her battle-front; I rage when I see atheists slipping into her ranks -and the worshippers of the Golden Calf volunteering for the defence -of the sanctuary. I groan when I see the struggle going on all around -me, amidst the confusion of a great darkness propitious to cowards and -traitors. The will of God be done! I am certain of the final<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> triumph, -of the ultimate conquest of sin and error at the last day, which will -be the day of glory and justice.”</p> - -<p>He rose with firm and steady glance, yet his heavy face was downcast. -His soul within him was sorrowful, and not without good reason. For -under his administration the high seminary was on its way to ruin. -There was a financial deficit, and now that he was being prosecuted -by Lafolie the butcher, to whom he owed ten thousand, two hundred and -thirty-one francs, his pride lived in perpetual dread of a rebuke from -the Cardinal-Archbishop. The mitre towards which he had stretched out -his hand was eluding his grasp and already he saw himself banished to -some poor country benefice. Turning towards M. Bergeret, he said:</p> - -<p>“The most terrible storm-cloud is ready to burst over France.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-j_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">Just</span> now M. Bergeret was on his way to the restaurant, for every -evening he spent an hour at the Café de la Comédie. Everybody blamed -him for doing so, but here he could enjoy a cheery warmth which had -nothing to do with wedded bliss. Here, too, he could read the papers -and look on the faces of people who bore him no ill-will. Sometimes, -too, he met M. Goubin here—M. Goubin, who had become his favourite -pupil since M. Roux’s treachery. M. Bergeret had his favourites, for -the simple reason that his artistic soul took pleasure in the very -act of making a choice. He had a partiality for M. Goubin, though -he could scarcely be said to love him, and, as a matter of fact, M. -Goubin was not lovable. Thin and lank, poverty-stricken in physique, -in hair, in voice, and in brain, his weak eyes hidden by eye-glasses, -his lips close-locked, he was petty in every way, and endowed, not only -with the foot, but with the mind of a young girl. Yet, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> these -characteristics, he was accurate and painstaking, and to his puny frame -had been fitted vast and powerful protruding ears, the only riches with -which nature had blessed this feeble organism. M. Goubin was naturally -qualified to be a capital listener.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was in the habit of talking to M. Goubin, while they sat -with two large beer-glasses in front of them, amidst the noise of the -dominoes clicking on the marble tables all around them. At eleven -o’clock the master rose and the pupil followed his example. Then they -walked across the empty Place du Théâtre and by back ways until they -reached the gloomy Tintelleries.</p> - -<p>In such fashion they proceeded one night in May when the air, which had -been cleared by a heavy storm of rain, was fresh and limpid and full of -the smell of earth and leaves. In the purple depths of the moonless, -cloudless sky hung points of light that sparkled with the white gleam -of diamonds. Amid them, here and there, twinkled bright facets of red -or blue. Lifting his eyes to the sky, M. Bergeret watched the stars. -He knew the constellations fairly well, and, with his hat on the back -of his head and his face turned upwards, he pointed out Gemini with -the end of his stick to the vague, wandering glance of M. Goubin’s -ignorance. Then he murmured:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> - <div class="line">“Would that the clear star of Helen’s twin brothers</div> - <div class="line">Might ’neath thy barque the wild waters assuage,</div> - <div class="line">Would that to Pœstum o’er seas of Ionia ...”<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9" href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9" class="label">[9]</a> - “Oh! soit que l’astre pur des deux frères d’Hélène</div> - <div class="line">Calme sous ton vaisseau la vague ionienne,</div> - <div class="line">Soit qu’aux bords de Pœstum ...”</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>Then he said abruptly:</p> - -<p>“Have you heard, Monsieur Goubin, that news of Venus has reached us -from America and that the news is bad?”</p> - -<p>M. Goubin tried obediently to look for Venus in the sky, but the -professor informed him that she had set.</p> - -<p>“That beautiful star,” he continued, “is a hell of fire and ice. I have -it from M. Camille Flammarion himself, who tells me every month, in the -excellent articles he writes, all the news from the sky. Venus always -turns the same side to the sun, as the moon does to the earth. The -astronomer at Mount Hamilton swears that it is so. If we pin our faith -to him, one of the hemispheres of Venus is a burning desert, the other, -a waste of ice and darkness, and that glorious luminary of our evenings -and mornings is filled with naught but silence and death.”</p> - -<p>“Really!” said M. Goubin.</p> - -<p>“Such is the prevailing creed this year,” answered M. Bergeret. “For -my part, I am not far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> from being convinced that life, at any rate -in the form which it presents on earth, is the result of a disease -in the constitution of the planet, that it is a morbid growth, a -leprosy, something loathsome, in fact, which would never be found in -a healthy, well-constituted star. By life I mean, of course, that -state of activity manifested by organic matter in plants and animals. -I derive pleasure and consolation from this idea. For, indeed, it is -a melancholy thing to fancy that all these suns that flame above our -heads bring warmth to other planets as miserable as our own, and that -the universe gives birth to suffering and squalor in never-ending -succession.</p> - -<p>“We cannot speak of the planets attendant on Sirius or Aldebaran, -on Altaïr or Vega, of those dark masses of dust that may perchance -accompany these points of fire that lie scattered over the sky, for -even that they exist is not known to us, and we only suspect it by -virtue of the analogy existing between our sun and the other stars of -the universe. But if we try to form some conception of the planets in -our own system, we cannot possibly imagine that life exists there in -the mean forms which she usually presents on our earth. One cannot -suppose that beings constructed on our model are to be found in the -weltering chaos of the giants Saturn and Jupiter. Uranus and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> Neptune -have neither light nor heat, and therefore that form of corruption -which we call organic life cannot exist on them. Neither is it credible -that life can be manifested in that star-dust dispersed in the ether -between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, for that dust is but the -scattered material of a planet. The tiny ball Mercury seems too blazing -hot to produce that mouldy dampness which we call animal and vegetable -life. The moon is a dead world, and we have just discovered that the -temperature of Venus does not suit what we call organic life. Thus, we -can imagine nothing at all comparable with man in all the solar system, -unless it be on the planet Mars, which, unfortunately for itself, -has some points in common with the earth. It has both air and water; -it has, alas! maybe, the materials for the making of animals like -ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it true that it is believed to be inhabited?” asked M. Goubin.</p> - -<p>“We have sometimes been disposed to imagine so,” answered M. Bergeret. -“The appearance of this planet is not very well known to us. It seems -to vary and to be always in confusion. On it canals can be seen, whose -nature and origin we cannot understand. We cannot be absolutely certain -that this neighbour of ours is saddened and degraded by human beings -like ourselves.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> -M. Bergeret had reached his door. He stopped and said:</p> - -<p>“I would fain believe that organic life is an evil peculiar to this -wretched little planet of ours. It is a ghastly idea that in the -infinitude of heaven they eat and are eaten in endless succession.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-t_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">The</span> cab which was carrying Madame Worms-Clavelin into Paris passed -through the Porte Maillot between the gratings crowned in civic style -with a hedge of pike-heads. Near these lay dusty custom-house officers -and sunburnt flower-girls asleep in the sun. As it passed, it left, on -the right, the Avenue de la Révolte, where low, mouldy, red-bedaubed -inns and stunted arbours face the Chapel of Saint-Ferdinand, which -crouches, lonely and dwarfish, on the edge of a gloomy military moat -covered with sickly patches of scorched grass. Thence it emerged into -the melancholy Rue de Chartres, with its everlasting pall of dust -from the stone-cutting yards, and passed down it into the beautiful -shady roads that open into the royal park, now cut up into small, -middle-class estates. As the cab rumbled heavily along the causeway -down an avenue of plane-trees, every second or so, through the silent -solitude, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> passed lightly-clad bicyclists who skimmed by with -bent backs and heads cutting the air like quick-moving animals. -With their rapid flight and long, swift, bird-like movements, they -were almost graceful through sheer ease, almost beautiful by the -mere amplitude of the curves they described. Between the bordering -tree-trunks Madame Worms-Clavelin could see lawns, little ponds, steps, -and glass-door canopies in the most correct taste, cut off by rows of -palings. Then she lost herself in a vague dream of how, in her old age, -she would live in a house like those whose fresh plaster and slate she -could see through the leaves. She was a sensible woman and moderate in -her desires, so that now she felt a dawning love of fowls and rabbits -rising in her breast. Here and there, in the larger avenues, big -buildings stood out, chapels, schools, asylums, hospitals, an Anglican -church with its gables of stern Gothic, religious houses, severely -peaceful in appearance, with a cross on the gate and a very black bell -against the wall and, hanging down, the chain by which to ring it. Then -the cab plunged into the low-lying, deserted region of market-gardens, -where the glass roofs of hot-houses glittered at the end of narrow, -sandy paths, or where the eye was caught by the sudden appearance of -one of those ridiculous summer-houses that country builders delight to -construct, or by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> trunks of dead trees imitated in stoneware by an -ingenious maker of garden ornaments. In this Bas-Neuilly district one -can feel the freshness of the river hard by. Vapours rise there from a -soil that is still damp with the waters which covered it, up to quite a -late period, according to the geologists—exhalations from marshes on -which the wind bent the reeds scarcely a thousand or fifteen hundred -years ago.</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin looked out of the carriage window: she had nearly -arrived. In front of her the pointed tops of the poplars which fringe -the river rose at the end of the avenue. Once more the surroundings -were varied and bustling. High walls and zigzag roof-ridges followed -one another uninterruptedly. The cab stopped in front of a large -modern house, evidently built with special regard to economy and even -stinginess, in defiance of all considerations of art or beauty. Yet the -effect was neat and pleasant on the whole. It was pierced with narrow -windows, among which one could distinguish those of the chapel by the -leaden tracery that bound the window-panes. On its dull, plain façade -one was discreetly reminded of the traditions of French religious art -by means of triangular dormer windows set in the woodwork of the roof -and capped with trefoils. On the pediment of the front door an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> ampulla -was carved, typifying the phial in which was contained the blood of the -Saviour that Joseph of Arimathæa had carried away in a glove. This was -the escutcheon of the Sisters of the Precious Blood, a confraternity -founded in 1829 by Madame Marie Latreille, which received state -recognition in 1868, thanks to the goodwill of the Empress Eugénie. The -Sisters of the Precious Blood devoted themselves to the training of -young girls.</p> - -<p>Jumping from the carriage, Madame Worms-Clavelin rang at the door, -which was carefully and circumspectly half opened for her. Then she -went into the parlour, while the sister who attended to the turnstile -gave notice through the wicket that Mademoiselle de Clavelin was -wanted to come and see her mother. The parlour was only furnished with -horsehair chairs. In a niche on the whitewashed wall there stood a -figure of the Holy Virgin, painted in pale colours. There was a certain -air of archness about the figure, which stood erect, with the feet -hidden and the hands extended. This large, cold, white room carried -with it a suggestion of peace, order and rectitude. One could feel in -it a secret power, a social force that remained unseen.</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin sniffed the air of this parlour with a solemn -sense of satisfaction, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> it was damp, and suffused with the stale -smell of cooking. Her own girlhood had been spent in the noisy little -schools of Montmartre, amidst daubs of ink and lumps of sweetmeats, and -in the perpetual interchange of offensive words and vulgar gestures. -She therefore appreciated very highly the austerity of an aristocratic -and religious education. In order that her daughter might be admitted -into a famous convent, she had had her baptized, for she thought to -herself, “Jeanne will then be better bred and she will have a chance of -making a better marriage.”</p> - -<p>Jeanne had accordingly been baptized at the age of eleven and with the -utmost secrecy, because they were then under a radical administration. -Since then the Church and the Republic had become more reconciled -to each other, but in order to avoid displeasing the bigots of the -department, Madame Worms-Clavelin still concealed the fact that her -daughter was being educated in a nunnery. Somehow, however, the secret -leaked out, and now and then the clerical organ of the department -published a paragraph which M. Lacarelle, counsel to the prefecture, -blue-pencilled and sent to M. Worms-Clavelin. For instance, M. -Worms-Clavelin read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Is it a fact that the Jewish persecutor whom the freemasons -have placed at the head of our departmental administration, in -order that he may oppose the cause of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> God among the faithful, -has actually sent his daughter to be educated in a convent?”</p></blockquote> - -<p>M. Worms-Clavelin shrugged his shoulders and threw the paper into the -waste-paper basket. Two days later the Catholic editor inserted another -paragraph, as, after reading the first, one would have prophesied his -doing.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“I asked whether our Jewish <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i>, Worms-Clavelin, was -really having his daughter educated in a convent. And now that -this freemason has, for good reasons of his own, avoided giving -me any answer, I will myself reply to my own question. After -having had his daughter baptized, this dishonourable Jew sent -his daughter to a Catholic place of education.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mademoiselle Worms-Clavelin is at Neuilly-sur-Seine, being -educated by the Sisters of the Precious Blood.</i></p> - -<p>“What a pleasure it is to witness the sincerity of jesters like -these!</p> - -<p>“A lay, atheistic, homicidal education is good enough for the -people who maintain them! Would that our people’s eyes were -opened to discern on which side are the Tartuffes!”</p></blockquote> - -<p>M. Lacarelle, the counsel to the prefecture, first blue-pencilled the -paragraph and then placed the open sheet on the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet’s</i> desk. M. -Worms-Clavelin threw it into his waste-paper basket and warned the -meddlesome papers not to engage in discussions of that sort. Hence this -little episode was soon forgotten and fell into the bottomless pit of -oblivion, into that black darkness of night which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> after one outburst -of excitement, swallows up the shame and the honour, the scandals and -the glories of an administration. In view of the wealth and power of -the Church, Madame Worms-Clavelin had stuck energetically to her point -that Jeanne should be left to these nuns who would train the young girl -in good principles and good manners.</p> - -<p>She modestly sat down, hiding her feet under her dress, like the red, -white and blue Virgin of the niche, and holding in her finger-tips by -the string the box of chocolates she had brought for Jeanne.</p> - -<p>A tall girl, looking very lanky in her black dress with the red girdle -of the Middle School, burst into the room.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, mamma!”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin looked her up and down with a curious mixture of -motherly solicitude and horse-dealer’s curiosity. Drawing her close, -she glanced at her teeth, made her stand upright; looked at her figure, -her shoulders and her back, and seemed pleased.</p> - -<p>“Heavens! how tall you are!” she exclaimed. “You have such long -arms!...”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry me about them, mamma! As it is, I never know what to do -with them.”</p> - -<p>She sat down and clasped her red hands across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> her knees. She replied -with a graceful air of boredom to the questions which her mother asked -about her health, and listened wearily to her instructions about -healthy habits and to her advice in the matter of cod-liver oil. Then -she asked:</p> - -<p>“And how is papa?”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin was almost astonished whenever anyone asked her -about her husband, not because she was herself indifferent to him, but -because she felt it was impossible to say anything new about this firm, -unchangeable, stolid man, who was never ill and who never said or did -anything original.</p> - -<p>“Your father? What could happen to him? We have a very good position -and no wish to change it.”</p> - -<p>All the same, she thought it would soon be advisable to look out for -a suitable sinecure, either in the treasury, or, perhaps rather, in -the Council of State. At the thought her beautiful eyes grew dim with -reverie.</p> - -<p>Her daughter asked what she was thinking about.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking that one day we might return to Paris. I like Paris for -my part, but there we should hardly count.”</p> - -<p>“Yet papa has great abilities. Sister Sainte-Marie-des-Anges<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> said so -once in class. She said: ‘Mademoiselle de Clavelin, your father has -shown great administrative talents.’”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin shook her head. “One wants so much money to live -in style in Paris.”</p> - -<p>“You like Paris, mamma, but for my part I like the country best.”</p> - -<p>“You know nothing about it, pet.”</p> - -<p>“But, mamma, one doesn’t care only for what one knows.”</p> - -<p>“There is, perhaps, some truth in what you say.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t heard, mamma?... I have won the prize for history -composition. Madame de Saint-Joseph said I was the only one who had -treated the subject thoroughly.”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin asked gently:</p> - -<p>“What subject?”</p> - -<p>“The Pragmatic Sanction.”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin asked, this time with an accent of real surprise:</p> - -<p>“What is that?”</p> - -<p>“It was one of Charles VII’s mistakes. It was, indeed, the greatest -mistake he ever made.”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin found this answer by no means enlightening. But -since she took no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> interest in the history of the Middle Ages, she -was willing to let the matter drop. But Jeanne, who was full of her -subject, went on in all seriousness:</p> - -<p>“Yes, mamma. It was the greatest crime of that reign, a flagrant -violation of the rights of the Holy See, a criminal robbery of the -inheritance of St. Peter. But happily the error was set right by -Francis I. And whilst we are on this subject, mamma, do you know we -have found out that Alice’s governess was an old wanton?...”</p> - -<p>Madame Worms-Clavelin begged her daughter anxiously and earnestly not -to join her young friends in research work of this kind. Then she flew -into a rage:</p> - -<p>“You are perfectly absurd, Jeanne, for you use words without paying any -heed...”</p> - -<p>Jeanne looked at her in mysterious silence. Then she said suddenly:</p> - -<p>“Mamma, I must tell you that my drawers are in such a state that they -are a positive sight. You know you have never been overwhelmingly -interested in the question of linen. I don’t say this as a reproach, -for one person goes in for linen, another for dresses, another for -jewels. You, mamma, have always gone in for jewels. For my part it’s -linen that I’m mad about.... And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> besides, we’ve just had a nine days’ -prayer. I prayed hard both for you and for papa, I can tell you! And, -then, I’ve earned four thousand nine hundred and thirty-seven days of -indulgence.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width90"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-i_drop.jpg" width="90" height="86" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">“I am</span> rather religiously inclined,” said M. de Terremondre, “but I -still think that the words spoken in Notre Dame by Père Ollivier were -ill advised. And that is the general opinion.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” replied M. Lantaigne, “you blame him for having explained -this disaster as a lesson given by God against pride and infidelity. -You think him wrong in describing the favoured people as being suddenly -punished for their faithlessness and rebellion. Ought one, then, to -give up attempting to trace a cause for such terrible events?”</p> - -<p>“There are,” answered M. de Terremondre, “certain conventions which -ought to be observed. The mere fact that the head of the State was -present made a certain reserve incumbent on him.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said M. Lantaigne, “that this monk actually dared to -declare before the President<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> and the ministers of the Republic, and -before the rich and powerful, who are either the authors or accomplices -of our shame, that France had failed in her age-long vocation, when she -turned her back on the Christians of the East who were being massacred -by thousands, and, like a coward, supported the Crescent against the -Cross. He dared to declare that this once Christian nation had driven -the true God from both its schools and its councils. This is the speech -that you consider a crime, you, Monsieur de Terremondre, one of the -leaders of the Catholic party in our department.”</p> - -<p>M. de Terremondre protested that he was deeply devoted to the interests -of religion, but he still persisted in the opinion he had first held. -In the first place, he was not for the Greeks, but for the Turks, -or, if he could not go so far as that, he was at least for peace and -order. And he knew many Catholics who regarded the Eastern Church with -absolute indifference. Ought one, then, to give offence to them by -attacking perfectly lawful convictions? It is not incumbent on everyone -to be friendly towards Greece. The Pope, for one, is not.</p> - -<p>“I have listened, M. Lantaigne,” said he, “with all the deference in -the world to your opinions. But I still think one ought to use a more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> -conciliatory style when one has to preach on a day which was one of -mourning and yet, at the same time, one full of a hope that bade fair -to bring about the reconciliation of opposing classes....”</p> - -<p>“Especially while stocks are going up, thus proving the wisdom of the -course pursued by France and Europe on the Eastern question,” added M. -Bergeret, with a malicious laugh.</p> - -<p>“Exactly so,” answered M. de Terremondre. “A Government which fights -the Socialists and in which religious and conservative ideas have made -an undeniable advance ought to be treated with respect. Our <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">préfet</i>, -M. Worms-Clavelin, although he is both a Jew and a freemason, shows -keen anxiety to protect the rights of the Church. Madame Worms-Clavelin -has not only had her daughter baptized, but has sent her to a Parisian -convent, where she is receiving an excellent education. I know this -to be the case, for Mademoiselle Jeanne Clavelin is in the same class -as my nieces, the d’Ansey girls. Madame Worms-Clavelin is patroness -of several of our institutions, and in spite of her origin and her -official position, she scarcely attempts the slightest concealment of -her aristocratic and religious sympathies.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t doubt what you say in the least,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> M. Bergeret, “and -you might even go so far as to say that at the present time French -Catholicism has no stronger support than among the rich Jews.”</p> - -<p>“You are not far wrong,” answered M. de Terremondre. “The Jews give -generously in support of Catholic charities.... But the shocking part -of Père Ollivier’s sermon is that he was ready, as it were, to imply -that God Himself was the original author and inspirer of this disaster. -According to his words, it would seem that the God of mercy Himself -actually set fire to the bazaar. My aunt d’Ansey, who was present at -the service, came away in a great state of indignation. I feel sure, -Monsieur l’abbé, that you cannot approve of such errors as these.”</p> - -<p>Usually M. Lantaigne refused to rush into random theological -discussions with worldly-minded people who knew nothing about the -subject, and although he was an ardent controversialist, his priestly -habit of mind deterred him from engaging in disputes on frivolous -occasions, such as the present one. He therefore remained silent, and -it was M. Bergeret who replied to M. de Terremondre:</p> - -<p>“You would have preferred then,” said he, “that this monk should make -excuses for a merciful God who had carelessly allowed a disaster<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> to -happen in a badly-inspected point in His creation. You think that he -should have ascribed to the Almighty the sad, regretful, and chastened -attitude of a police inspector who has made a mistake.”</p> - -<p>“You are making fun of me now,” said M. de Terremondre. “But was it -really necessary to talk about expiatory victims and the destroying -angel? Surely these are ideas that belong to a past age?”</p> - -<p>“They are Christian ideas,” said M. Bergeret. “M. Lantaigne won’t deny -that.”</p> - -<p>But as the priest was still silent, M. Bergeret continued:</p> - -<p>“I advise you to read, in a book of whose teaching M. Lantaigne -approves, in the famous <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Essai sur l’indifférence</cite>, a certain theory -of expiation. I remember one sentence in it which I can quote almost -verbatim: “We are ruled,” said Lamennais, “by one law of destiny, an -inexorable law whose tyranny we can never avoid: this law is expiation, -the unbending axis of the moral world on which turns the whole destiny -of humanity.”</p> - -<p>“That may be so,” said M. de Terremondre. “But is it possible that God -can have actually willed to aim a blow at honourable and charitable -women like my cousin Courtrai and my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> nieces Laneux and Felissay, who -were terribly burnt in this fire? God is neither cruel nor unjust.”</p> - -<p>M. Lantaigne gripped his breviary under his left arm and made a -movement as if to go away. Then, changing his mind, he turned towards -M. de Terremondre and lifting his right hand said solemnly:</p> - -<p>“God was neither cruel nor unjust towards these women when, in His -mercy, He made them sacrificial offerings and types of the Victim -without stain or spot. But since even Christians have lost, not only -the sentiment of sacrifice, but also the practice of contrition, -since they have become utterly ignorant of the most holy mysteries of -religion, before we utterly despair of their salvation, we must expect -warnings still more terrible, admonitions still more urgent, portents -of still greater significance. Good-bye, Monsieur de Terremondre. I -leave you with M. Bergeret, who, having no religion at all, at any rate -avoids the misery and shame of an easy-going faith, and who will play -at the game of refuting your arguments with the feeble resources of the -intellect unsupported by the instincts of the heart.”</p> - -<p>When he had finished his speech, he walked away with a firm, stiff gait.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with him?” said M. de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> Terremondre, as he looked -after him. “I believe he has a grudge against me. He is very difficult -to get on with, although he is a man worthy of all respect. The -incessant disputes he engages in have soured his temper and he is at -loggerheads with his Archbishop, with the professors at the college, -and with half the clergy in the diocese. It is more than doubtful -if he will get the bishopric, and I really begin to think that, for -the Church’s sake, as well as for his own, it is better to leave him -where he is. His intolerance would make him a dangerous bishop. What a -strange notion to approve of Père Ollivier’s sermon!”</p> - -<p>“I also approve of his sermon,” said M. Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“It’s quite a different matter in your case,” said M. de Terremondre. -“You are merely amusing yourself. You are not a religious man.”</p> - -<p>“I am not religious,” said M. Bergeret, “but I am a theologian.”</p> - -<p>“On my side,” said M. de Terremondre, “it may be said that I am -religious, but not a theologian; and I am revolted when I hear it said -in the pulpit that God destroyed some poor women by fire, in order that -He might punish our country for her crimes, inasmuch as she no longer -takes the lead in Europe. Does Père Ollivier really believe that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> as -things now are, it is so very easy to take the lead in Europe?”</p> - -<p>“He would make a great mistake if he did believe it,” said M. Bergeret. -“But you are, as you have just been told, one of the leading members of -the Catholic party in the department, and therefore you ought to know -that your God used in Biblical times to show a lively taste for human -sacrifices and that He rejoiced in the smell of blood. Massacre was -one of His chief joys, and He particularly revelled in extermination. -Such was His character, Monsieur de Terremondre. He was as bloodthirsty -as M. de Gromance, who, from the beginning of the year to the end, -spends his time in shooting deer, partridges, rabbits, quails, wild -ducks, pheasants, grouse and cuckoos—all according to the season. So -God sacrificed the innocent and the guilty, warriors and virgins, fur -and feather. It even appears that He savoured the blood of Jephthah’s -daughter with delight.”</p> - -<p>“There you are wrong,” said M. de Terremondre. “It is true that she was -dedicated to Him, but that was not a sacrifice of blood.”</p> - -<p>“They argue so, I know,” said M. Bergeret; “but that is just out of -regard for your sensitiveness. But, as a matter of actual fact, she -was butchered, and Jehovah showed Himself a regular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> epicure for -fresh meat. Little Joas, who had been brought up in the temple, knew -perfectly well the way in which this God showed His love for children, -and when good Jehosheba began to try on him the kingly fillet, he was -much disturbed, and asked this pointed question:</p> - -<div class="container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line">‘Must then a holocaust to-day be offered,</div> - <div class="line">And must I now, as once did Jephthah’s daughter,</div> - <div class="line">By death assuage the fervent wrath of God?’<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10" href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<div class="container2"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="verse"> - <div class="line outdent"><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10" class="label">[10]</a> - Est-ce qu’en holocauste aujourd’hui présenté,</div> - <div class="line">Je dois, comme autrefois la fille de Jephté,</div> - <div class="line">Du Seigneur par un mort apaiser la colère?</div> -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>“At this time Jehovah bears the closest resemblance to His rival -Chamos; he was a savage being, compact of cruelty and injustice. This -was what he said: ‘You may know that I am the Lord by the corpses laid -out along your path.’ Don’t make any mistake about this, Monsieur de -Terremondre—in passing down from Judaism to Christianity, He still -retains His savagery, and about Him there still lingers a taste for -blood. I don’t go so far as to say that in the present century, at -the close of the age, He has not become somewhat softened. We are -all, nowadays, gliding downwards on an inclined plane of tolerance -and indifference, and Jehovah along with us. At any rate, He has -ceased to pour out a perpetual flood of threats and curses, and at the -present<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> moment He only proclaims His vengeance through the mouth of -Mademoiselle Deniseau, and no one listens to her. But His principles -are the same as of old, and there has been no essential change in His -moral system.”</p> - -<p>“You are a great enemy to our religion,” said M. de Terremondre.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said M. Bergeret. “It is true that I find in it what I -will call moral and intellectual stumbling-blocks. I even find cruelty -in it. But this cruelty is now an ancient thing, polished by the -centuries, rolled smooth like a pebble with all its points blunted. -It has become almost harmless. I should be much more afraid of a new -religion, framed with scrupulous exactitude. Such a religion, even if -it were based on the most beautiful and kindly morality, would act -at first with inconvenient austerity and painful accuracy. I prefer -intolerance rubbed smooth, to charity with a fresh edge to it. Taking -one thing with another, it is Abbé Lantaigne who is in the wrong, it -is I who am wrong, and it is you, Monsieur de Terremondre, who are -right. Over this ancient Judaic-Christian religion so many centuries -of human passions, of human hatreds and earthly adorations, so many -civilisations—barbaric or refined, austere or self-indulgent, pitiless -or tolerant, humble or proud, agricultural, pastoral, warlike, -mercantile, industrial,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> oligarchical, aristocratic, democratic—have -passed, that all is now rolled smooth. Religions have practically no -effect on systems of morality and they merely become what morality -makes them....”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width84"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-m_drop.jpg" width="84" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="uppercase">Madame Bergeret</span> had a horror of silence and solitude, and now that M. -Bergeret never spoke to her and lived apart from her, her room was -as terrifying as a tomb to her mind. She never entered it without -turning white. Her daughters would, at least, have supplied the noise -and movement needed if she were to remain sane; but when an epidemic -of typhus broke out in the autumn she sent them to visit their aunt, -Mademoiselle Zoé Bergeret, at Arcachon. There they had spent the -winter, and there their father meant to leave them, in the present -state of his affairs. Madame Bergeret was a domesticated woman, with a -housewifely mind. To her, adultery had been nothing more than a mere -extension of wedded life, a gleam from her hearth-fire. She had been -driven to it by a matronly pride in her position far more than by the -wanton promptings of the flesh. She had always intended that her slight -lapse with young M. Roux should remain a secret, homely habit, just a -taste of adultery that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> would merely involve, imply, and confirm that -state of matrimony which is held in honour by the world, as well as -sanctified by the Church, and which secures a woman in a position of -personal safety and social dignity. Madame Bergeret was a Christian -wife and knew that marriage is a sacrament whose lofty and lasting -results cannot be effaced by any fault such as she had committed, for -serious though it might be, it was yet a pardonable and excusable -lapse. Without being in a position to estimate her offence with great -moral perspicuity, she felt instinctively that it was trifling and -simple, being neither malicious, nor inspired by that deep passion -which alone can dignify error with the splendour of crime and hurl the -guilty woman into the abyss. She not only felt that she was no great -criminal, but also that she had never had the chance of being one. -Yet now she had to stand watching the entirely unforeseen results of -such a trifling episode, as to her terror they slowly and gloomily -unfolded themselves before her. She suffered cruel pangs at finding -herself alone and fallen within her own house, at having lost the -sovereignty of her home, and at having been despoiled, as it were, of -her cares of kitchen and store-cupboard. Suffering was not good for -her and brought no purification in its train; it merely awoke in her -paltry mind, at one moment the instinct of revolt, and at another, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> -passion for self-humiliation. Every day, about three o’clock in the -afternoon, she went out and paid visits at her friends’ houses. On -these expeditions she walked with great strides, a grim, stiff figure -with bright eyes, flaming cheeks and gaudy dress. She called on all the -lower-middle-class ladies of the town, on Madame Torquet, the dean’s -wife; on Madame Leterrier, the rector’s wife; on Madame Ossian Colot, -the wife of the prison governor, and on Madame Surcouf, the recorder’s -wife. She was not received by the society ladies, nor by the wives of -the great capitalists. Wherever she went, she poured out a flood of -complaints against M. Bergeret, and charged her husband with every -variety of fantastic crime that occurred to her feeble imagination, -focussed on the one point only. Her usual accusations were that he had -separated her from her daughters, had left her penniless, and finally -had deserted his home to run about in cafés and, most probably, in -less reputable resorts. Wherever she went, she gained sympathy and -became an object of the tenderest interest. The pity she aroused grew, -spread, and rose in volume. Even Madame Dellion, the ironmaster’s -wife, although she was prevented from asking her to call, because they -belonged to different sets, yet sent a message to her that she pitied -her with all her heart, and felt the deepest disgust at M. Bergeret’s -shameful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> behaviour. In this way Madame Bergeret went about the town -every day, fortifying her hungry soul with the social respect and fair -reputation that it craved. But as she mounted her own staircase in the -evening, her heart sank within her. Her weak knees would hardly sustain -her and she forgot her pride, her longing for vengeance, forgot even -the abuse and frivolous scandal that she had spread through the town. -To escape from loneliness she longed sincerely to be on good terms with -M. Bergeret once more. In such a shallow soul as hers this desire was -absolutely sincere and arose quite naturally. Yet it was a vain and -useless thought, for M. Bergeret went on ignoring the existence of his -wife.</p> - -<p>This particular evening Madame Bergeret said as she went into the -kitchen:</p> - -<p>“Go and ask your master, Euphémie, how he would like his eggs to be -cooked.”</p> - -<p>It was quite a new departure on her side to submit the bill of fare -to the master of the house. For of old, in the days of her lofty -innocence, she had habitually forced him to partake of dishes which -he disliked and which upset the delicate digestion of the sedentary -student. Euphémie’s mind was not of wide range, but it was impartial -and unwavering, and she protested to Madame Bergeret, as she had done -several times before on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> similar occasions, that it was absolutely -useless for her mistress to ask Monsieur anything. He never answered -a word, because he was in a “contrairy” mood. But Madame, turning her -face away and dropping her eyelids as a sign of determination, repeated -the order she had just given.</p> - -<p>“Euphémie,” she said, “do as I tell you. Go and ask your master how he -would like the eggs cooked, and don’t forget to tell him that they are -new-laid and come from Trécul’s.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was sitting in his study at work on the <i>Virgilius -nauticus</i>, which a publisher had commissioned him to prepare as an -extra embellishment of a learned edition of the <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite>, at which three -generations of philologists had been working for more than thirty -years, and the first sheets of which were already through the press. -And now, slip by slip, the professor sat compiling this special lexicon -for it. He conceived a sort of veneration for himself as he worked at -it, and congratulated himself in these words:</p> - -<p>“Here am I, a land-lubber who has never sailed on anything more -important than the Sunday steamboat which carries the townsfolk up -the river to drink sparkling wine on the slopes of Tuillières in -summer time; here am I, a good Frenchman, who has never seen the -sea except at Villers; here am I, Lucien Bergeret, acting as the -interpreter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> Virgil, the seaman. Here I sit in my study explaining -the nautical terms used by a poet who is accurate, learned and exact, -in spite of all his rhetoric, who is a mathematician, a mechanician, -a geometrician, a well-informed Italian, who was trained in seafaring -matters by the sailors who basked in the sun on the sea-shores of -Naples and Misenum, who had, maybe, his own galley, and under the clear -stars of Helen’s twin-brothers, ploughed the blue furrows of the sea -between Naples and Athens. Thanks to the excellence of my philological -methods I am able to reach this point of perfection, but my pupil, M. -Goubin, would be as fully equipped for the task as I.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret took the greatest pleasure in this work, for it kept his -mind occupied without any accompanying sense of anxiety or excitement. -It filled him with real satisfaction to trace on thin sheets of -pasteboard his delicate, regular letters, types and symbols as they -were of the mental accuracy demanded in the study of philology. All his -senses joined and shared in this spiritual satisfaction, so true is it -that the pleasures which man can enjoy are more varied than is commonly -supposed. Just now M. Bergeret was revelling in the peaceful joy of -writing thus:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> -<a name="quotes2" id="quotes2"></a><ins title="Original omitted opening quotes">“Servius</ins> -believes that Virgil wrote <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Attolli malos</cite><a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11" href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> in -mistake for <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Attolli vela</i>, -<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12" href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> and the reason which he gives -for this rendering is that <i>cum navigarent, non est dubium quod -olli erexerant arbores</i>.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13" href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> Ascencius takes the same side as -Servius, being either forgetful or ignorant of the fact that, -on certain occasions, ships at sea are dismasted. When the -state of the sea was such that the masts....”</p> -</blockquote> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent1"><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11" class="label">[11]</a> -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Attolli malos</i>, for the masts to be raised.</p> -</div></div> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent1"><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12" class="label">[12]</a> -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Attolli vela</i>, for the sails to be raised.</p> -</div></div> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent1"><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13" class="label">[13]</a> -<i>Cum navigarent, non est dubium quod olli erexerant -arbores</i>, when they were at sea, there is no doubt that the masts were -already <a name="up" id="up"></a><ins title="Original omitted fullstop">up.</ins></p> -</div></div> - -<p>M. Bergeret had reached this point in his work when Euphémie opened -the study door with the noise that always accompanied her slightest -movement, and repeated the considerate message sent by Madame Bergeret -to her husband:</p> - -<p>“Madame wants to know how you would like your eggs cooked?”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret’s only reply was a gentle request to Euphémie to withdraw. -He went on writing:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“ran the risk of breaking, it was customary to lower them, -by lifting them out of the well in which their heels were -inserted....”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Euphémie stood fixed against the door, while M. Bergeret finished his -slip.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“The masts were then stored abaft either on a crossbar or a -bridge.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>“Sir, Madame told me to say that the eggs come from Trécul’s.”</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> -“Una omnes fecere pedem.”<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14" href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> -</blockquote> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14" class="label">[14]</a> -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Una omnes fecere pedem</i>, then with one accord they veered -out the sheet.</p> -</div></div> - -<p>Filled with a sense of sadness M. Bergeret laid down his pen, for he -was suddenly overwhelmed with a perception of the uselessness of his -work. Unfortunately for his own happiness, he was intelligent enough to -recognise his own mediocrity, and, at times, it would actually appear -to him in visible shape, like a thin, little, clumsy figure dancing -about on his table between the inkstand and the file. He knew it well -and hated it, for he would fain have seen his personality come to him -under the guise of a lissom nymph. Yet it always appeared to him in its -true form, as a lanky, unlovely figure. It shocked him to see it, for -he had delicate perceptions and a taste for dainty conceits.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bergeret,” he said to himself, “you are a professor of -some distinction, an intelligent provincial, a university man with -a tendency to the florid, an average scholar shackled by the barren -quests of philology, a stranger to the true science of language, which -can be plumbed only by men of broad, unbiassed and trenchant views. -Monsieur Bergeret, you are not a scholar, for you are incapable of -grasping or classifying the facts of language. Michel Bréal will never -mention your poor, little,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> humble name. You will die without fame, and -your ears will never know the sweet accents of men’s praise.”</p> - -<p>“Sir ... Sir,” put in Euphémie in urgent tones, “do answer me. I have -no time to hang about. I have my work to do. Madame wants to know how -you’d like your eggs done. I got them at Trécul’s and they were laid -this morning.”</p> - -<p>Without so much as turning his head, M. Bergeret answered the girl in a -tone of relentless gentleness:</p> - -<p>“I want you to go and never again to enter my study—at any rate, not -until I call you.”</p> - -<p>Then the professor returned to his day-dream: “How happy is Torquet, -our dean! How happy is Leterrier, our rector! No distrust of -themselves, no rash misgivings to interrupt the smooth course of their -equable lives! They are like that old fellow Mesange, who was so -beloved by the immortal goddesses that he survived three generations -and attained to the Collège de France and the Institute without having -learnt anything new since the holy days of his innocent childhood. -He carried with him to his grave the same amount of Greek as he had -at the age of fifteen. He died at the close of this century, still -revolving in his little head the mythological fancies that the poets of -the First Empire had turned into verse beside his cradle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> But I—how -comes it that I have such a cruel sense of my own inadequacy and of the -laughable folly of all I undertake? For I have a mind as weak as that -Greek scholar’s, who had a bird’s brain as well as a bird’s name; I am -fully as incapable as Torquet the dean, and Leterrier, the rector, of -either system or initiative. I am, in fact, but a foolish, melancholy -juggler with words. May it not be a sign of mental supereminence -and a mark of my superiority in the realm of abstract thought? This -<cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Virgilius nauticus</cite>, which I use as the touchstone of my powers, -is it really my own work and the fruit of my mind? No, it is a task -foisted on my poverty by a grasping bookseller in league with a pack of -pseudo-scholars who, on the pretext of freeing French scholarship from -German tutelage, are bringing back the trivial methods of former times, -and forcing me to take part in the philological pastimes of 1820. May -the responsibility for it rest on them and not on me! It was no zeal -for knowledge, but the thirst for gain, that induced me to undertake -this <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Virgilius nauticus</cite>, at which I have now been working for three -years and which will bring me in five hundred francs: to wit, two -hundred and fifty francs on delivery of the manuscript, and two hundred -and fifty francs on the day of publication of the volume containing -this article. I determined to slake my horrible thirst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> for gold! I -have failed, not in brain power, but in force of character. That’s a -very different matter!”</p> - -<p>In this way did M. Bergeret marshal the flock of his wandering -thoughts. All this time Euphémie had not moved, but at last, for the -third time, she spoke to her master:</p> - -<p>“Sir.... Sir....”</p> - -<p>But at this attempt her voice stuck in her throat, strangled by sobs.</p> - -<p>When M. Bergeret at last glanced at her, he could see the tears rolling -down her round, red, shining cheeks.</p> - -<p>She tried to speak, but nothing came from her throat save hoarse -croaks, like the call that the shepherds of her native village sound -on their goat-horns of an evening. Then she crossed her two arms, bare -to the elbow, over her face, showing the fat, white flesh furrowed -with long red scratches, and wiped her eyes with the back of her brown -hands. Sobs tore her narrow chest and shook her stomach, abnormally -enlarged by the tabes from which she had suffered in her seventh year -and which had left her deformed. Then she dropped her arms to her -side, hid her hands under her apron, stifled her sobs, and exclaimed -peevishly, as soon as she could get the words out:</p> - -<p>“I cannot live any longer in this house. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> cannot any more. Besides, -it isn’t a life at all. I would rather go away than see what I do.”</p> - -<p>There was as much rage as misery in her voice, and she looked at M. -Bergeret with inflamed eyes.</p> - -<p>She was really very indignant at her master’s behaviour, and this -not at all because she had always been attached to her mistress. For -till quite recently, in the days of her pride and prosperity, Madame -Bergeret had overwhelmed her with insult and humiliation and kept -her half starved. Neither was it because she knew nothing of her -mistress’s lapse from virtue, and believed, with Madame Dellion and -the other ladies, that Madame Bergeret was innocent. She knew every -detail of her mistress’s liaison with M. Roux, as did the concierge, -the bread-woman, and M. Raynaud’s maid. She had discovered the truth -long before M. Bergeret knew it. Neither, on the other hand, was it -because she approved of the affair; for she strongly censured both M. -Roux and Madame Bergeret. For a girl who was mistress of her own person -to have a lover seemed a small thing to her, not worth troubling about, -when one knows how easily these things happen. She had had a narrow -escape herself one night after the fair, when she was close pressed -by a lad who wanted to play pranks at the edge of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> ditch. She knew -that an accident might happen all in a moment. But in a middle-aged -married woman with children such conduct was disgusting. She confessed -to the bread-woman one morning that really mistress turned her sick. -Personally, she had no hankering after this kind of thing, and if there -were no one but her to supply the babies, why then, the world might -come to an end for all she cared. But if her mistress felt differently, -there was always a husband for her to turn to. Euphémie considered that -Madame Bergeret had committed a horribly wicked sin, but she could not -bring herself to feel that any sin, however serious, should never be -forgiven and should always remain unpardoned. During her childhood, -before she hired herself out to service, she used to work with her -parents in the fields and vineyards. There she had seen the sun scorch -up the vine-flowers, the hail beat down all the corn in the fields in -a few minutes; yet, the very next year, her father, mother and elder -brothers would be out in the fields, training the vine and sowing the -furrow. There, amid the eternal patience of nature, she had learnt the -lesson that in this world, alternately scorching and freezing, good and -bad, there is nothing that is irreparable, and that, as one pardons the -earth itself, so one must pardon man and woman.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> -It was according to this principle that the people at home acted, and -after all, they were very likely quite as good as townsfolk. When -Robertet’s wife, the buxom Léocadie, gave a pair of braces to her -footman to induce him to do what she wanted, she was not so clever that -Robertet did not find out the trick. He caught the lovers just in the -nick of time, and chastised his wife so thoroughly with a horsewhip -that she lost all desire to sin again for ever and ever. Since then -Léocadie has been one of the best women in the country: her husband -hasn’t <em>that</em> to find fault with her for. M. Robertet is a man of sense -and knows how to drive men as well as cattle: why don’t people just do -as he did?</p> - -<p>Having been often beaten by her respected father, and being, moreover, -a simple, untamed being herself, Euphémie fully understood an act -of violence. Had M. Bergeret broken the two house brooms on Madame -Bergeret’s guilty back, she would have quite approved of his act. One -broom, it is true, had lost half its bristles, and the other, older -still, had no more hair than the palm of the hand, and served, with -the aid of a dishcloth, to wash down the kitchen tiles. But when her -master persisted in a mood of prolonged and sullen spite, the peasant -girl considered it hateful, unnatural and positively fiendish. What -brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> home to Euphémie all M. Bergeret’s crimes with still greater -force, was that his behaviour made her work difficult and confusing. -For since Monsieur refused to take his meals with Madame, he had to be -served in one place and she in another, for although M. Bergeret might -stubbornly refuse to recognise his wife’s existence, yet she could -not sustain even non-existence without sustenance of some sort. “It’s -like an inn,” sighed the youthful Euphémie. Then, since M. Bergeret no -longer supplied her with housekeeping money, Madame Bergeret used to -say to Euphémie: “You must settle with your master.” And in the evening -Euphémie would tremblingly carry her book to her master, who would wave -her off with an imperious gesture, for he found it difficult to meet -the increased expenditure. Thus lived Euphémie, perpetually overwhelmed -by difficulties with which she could not cope. In this poisoned air -she was losing all her cheerfulness: she was no longer to be heard in -the kitchen, mingling the noise of laughter and shouts with the crash -of saucepans, with the sizzling of the frying-pan upset on the stove, -or with the heavy blows of the knife, as on the chopping-block she -minced the meat, together with one of her finger-tips. She no longer -revelled in joy, or in noisy grief. She said to herself: “This house is -driving me crazy.” She pitied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> Madame Bergeret, for now she was kindly -treated. They used to spend the evening, sitting side by side in the -lamp-light, exchanging confidences. It was with her heart full of all -these emotions that Euphémie said to M. Bergeret:</p> - -<p>“I am going away. You are too wicked. I want to leave.”</p> - -<p>And again she shed a flood of tears.</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret was by no means vexed at this reproach. He pretended, in -fact, not to hear it, for he had too much sense not to be able to -make allowances for the rudeness shown by an ignorant girl. He even -smiled within himself, for in the secret depths of his heart, beneath -layers of wise thoughts and fine sayings, he still retained that -primitive instinct which persists even in modern men of the gentlest -and sweetest character, and which makes them rejoice whenever they -see they are taken for ferocious beings, as if the mere power of -injuring and destroying were the motive force of living things, their -essential quality and highest merit. This, on reflection, is indeed -true, since, as life is supported and nourished only upon murder, the -best men must be those who slaughter most. Then again, those who, -under the stimulus of racial and food-conquering instincts, deal the -hardest knocks, obtain the reputation of magnanimity, and please -women, who are naturally interested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> in securing the strongest mates, -and who are mentally incapable of separating the fruitful from the -destructive element in man, since these two forces are, in actual fact, -indissolubly linked by nature. Hence, when Euphémie in a voice as -countrified as a fable by Æsop, told him he was wicked, M. Bergeret, by -virtue of his philosophical temperament, felt flattered and fancied he -heard a murmur which filled out the gaps in the maid’s simple speech, -and said: “Learn, Lucien Bergeret, that you are a wicked man, in the -vulgar sense of the word—that is to say, you are able to injure -and destroy; in other words, you are in a state of defence, in full -possession of life, on the road to victory. In your own way, you must -know, you are a giant, a monster, an ogre, a man of terror.”</p> - -<p>But, being a sceptical man and never given to accepting men’s opinions -unchallenged, he began to ask himself if he were really what Euphémie -said. At the first glance into the inner recesses of his nature he -concluded that, on the whole, he was not wicked; that, on the contrary, -he was full of pity, highly sensitive to the woes of others, and full -of sympathy for the wretched; that he loved his fellow-men, and would -have gladly satisfied their needs by fulfilling all their desires, -whether innocent or guilty, for he refused to trammel his human charity -with the nets of any moral system,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> and for every kind of misery he -had compassion at his call. And to him everything that harmed no one -was innocent. In this way his heart was kinder than it ought to have -been, according to the laws, the morals, and the varying creeds of the -nations. Looking at himself in this way, he perceived the truth—that -he was not wicked, and the thought caused him some bewilderment. It -pained him to recognise in himself those contemptible qualities of mind -which do nothing to strengthen the life-force.</p> - -<p>With praiseworthy thoroughness, he next set himself to inquire whether -he had not thrown off his kindly temper and his peaceable disposition -in certain matters, and particularly in this affair of Madame Bergeret. -He saw at once that on this special occasion he had acted in opposition -to his general principles and habitual sentiments, and that on this -point his conduct presented several marked singularities of which he -noted down the strangest.</p> - -<p>“Chief singularities: I feign to consider her a criminal, and I act -as if I had really fallen into this vulgar error. And all the time -that her conscience condemns her for having committed adultery with my -pupil, M. Roux, I myself regard her adultery as an innocent act, since -it has harmed no one. Hence Madame Bergeret’s morality is higher than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> -mine, for, although she believes herself guilty, she forgives herself, -while I, who do not consider her guilty at all, refuse to forgive her. -My judgment of her is immoral, but merciful; my conduct, however, is -moral, but cruel. What I condemn so pitilessly is not her act, which -I consider to be merely ridiculous and unseemly: it is herself that I -condemn, as being guilty, not of what she has done, but of what she is. -The girl Euphémie is in the right: I <em>am</em> wicked!”</p> - -<p>He patted himself on the back, and revolving these new considerations, -said again to himself:</p> - -<p>“I am wicked because I act. I knew, before this experience happened to -me, that there is no such thing as an innocent action, for to act is to -injure or destroy. As soon as I began to act, I became a malefactor.”</p> - -<p>He had an excellent excuse for speaking thus to himself, since all this -time he had been performing a systematic, continuous, and consistent -act, in making Madame Bergeret’s life unbearable to her, by depriving -her of all the comforts needed by her homely common nature, her -domesticated character, and her gregarious mind. In a word, he was -engaged in driving from his house a disobedient and troublesome wife -who had done him good service by being unfaithful to him.</p> - -<p>The opportunity she gave he seized gladly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> doing his work with -wonderful vigour, considering the weak character he showed in ordinary -affairs. For, although M. Bergeret was usually vacillating in -purpose and without a will of his own, at this crisis he was driven -on by desire, by an invincible Lust. For it is desire, far stronger -than will, that, having created the world, now upholds it. In this -undertaking of his, M. Bergeret was sustained by unutterable desire, by -a masterful Lust to see Madame Bergeret no more. And this untempered, -transparent desire had the happy force of a great love, for it was -ruffled by no feeling of hatred.</p> - -<p>All this time Euphémie stood waiting for her master to answer her, or, -at any rate, to hurl furious words at her. For on this point she agreed -with Madame Bergeret, and considered silence far more cruel than insult -and invective.</p> - -<p>At last M. Bergeret broke the silence. He said in a quiet voice: “I -discharge you. You will leave this house in a week’s time.”</p> - -<p>Euphémie’s sole response was a plaintive, animal cry. For a moment she -stood motionless. Then, thunderstruck, heart-broken and wretched, she -returned to her kitchen and gazed at the saucepans, now dented like -battle-armour by her valiant hands. She looked at the chair which had -lost its seat—without causing her any inconvenience, however, for the -poor girl hardly ever sat down; at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> cistern whose waters had often -swamped the house at night by overflowing from a tap left full on; at -the sink with its wastepipe perpetually choked; at the table notched by -the chopping-knife; at the cast-iron stove all eaten away by the fire; -at the black coal-hole; at the shelves adorned with paper-lace; at the -blacking-box and the bottle of brass-polish. And standing in the midst -of all these witnesses of her weary life, she wept.</p> - -<p>On the next day—that is, as they used to say, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">l’en demain</i>, which -happened to be market-day—M. Bergeret set out early to call on -Deniseau, who kept a registry office for country servants in the Place -Saint-Exupère. In the waiting-room he found a score of country girls -waiting, some young, some old, some short, ruddy and chubby-cheeked, -others tall, yellow and wizened, all differing in face and figure, -but all alike in one respect—that is, in the anxious fixity of their -gaze, for they all saw their own fate in the person of every caller who -happened to open the door. For a moment M. Bergeret stood looking at -the group of girls who waited to be hired. Then he passed on into the -office adorned with calendars, where Deniseau sat at a table covered -with dirty registers and old horse-shoes that served as paper-weights.</p> - -<p>He told the man that he required a servant, and apparently he wanted -one with quite unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> qualities, for after ten minutes’ conversation -he came out in very low spirits. Then, as he crossed the waiting-room -a second time, he caught sight of a woman in a dark corner whom he had -not noticed the first time. It was a long, thin shape that he beheld, -ageless and sexless, crowned by a bald, bony head, with a forehead -set like an enormous sphere on a short nose that seemed nothing but -nostril. Through her open mouth her great horse-teeth were visible in -all their nakedness, and under her drooping lip there was no chin to -speak of. She stayed in her corner, neither moving nor looking, perhaps -realising that she would not easily find anyone to hire her, and that -others would be taken in preference to her. Yet she seemed quite -satisfied with herself and quite easy in her mind. She was dressed like -the women of the low-lying, agueish lands, and to her wide-brimmed, -knitted hat clung pieces of straw.</p> - -<p>For a long time M. Bergeret stood looking at her with saturnine -admiration. Then, pointing her out to Deniseau, he said: “The one over -there will suit me.”</p> - -<p>“Marie?” asked the man in a tone of surprise.</p> - -<p>“Marie,” answered M. Bergeret.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-n_drop.jpg" width="80" height="87" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">Now</span> that M. Mazure, the archivist, had at last attained to academic -honours, he began to regard the government with genial tolerance. -But, as he was never happy unless he was at variance with someone, -he now turned his wrath against the clericals, and began to denounce -the scheming of the bishops. Meeting M. Bergeret in the Place -Saint-Exupère, he warned him of the peril threatening from the clerical -party.</p> - -<p>“Finding it impossible,” said he, “to overturn the Republic, the curés -now want to divert it to their own ends.”</p> - -<p>“That is the ambition of every party,” answered M. Bergeret, “and the -natural result of our democratic institutions, for democracy itself -consists entirely in the struggle of parties, since the nation itself -is not at one either in sentiments or interests.”</p> - -<p>“But,” answered M. Mazure, “the unbearable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> part of this is that the -clericals should put on the mask of liberty in order to deceive the -electors.”</p> - -<p>To this M. Bergeret replied:</p> - -<p>“Every party which finds itself shut out from the Government demands -liberty, because to do so strengthens the opposition and weakens -the party in power. For the same reason the party in power curtails -liberty as much as possible and it passes, in the sacred name of the -sovereign people, the most despotic laws. For there is no charter -which can safeguard liberty against the acts of the sovereign nation. -Democratic despotism theoretically has no limits, but in actual fact, -and considering only the present period, I grant that its power is not -boundless. Democracy has given us ‘the black laws,’ but it never puts -them in force.”</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bergeret,” said the archivist, “let me give you a piece -of good advice. You are a Republican: then don’t fire on your own -friends. If we don’t look out, we shall fall back into the rule of the -Church. Reaction is making terrible progress. The whites are always -the whites; the blues are always the blues, as Napoleon said. You are -a blue, Monsieur Bergeret. The clerical party will never forgive you -for calling Jeanne d’Arc a mascotte, and even I can scarcely pardon you -for it, for Jeanne d’Arc and Danton are my two special idols. You are a -free-thinker.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> Then join us in our anti-clerical campaign! Let us unite -our forces! It is union alone that can give us the strength to conquer. -The highest interests are at stake in the fight against the church -party.”</p> - -<p>“It is just party interest that I see mainly at work in that conflict,” -answered M. Bergeret. “But if I were obliged to join a party at all, -it must needs be yours, since it is the only one I could help without -too much hypocrisy. But, happily, I am not reduced to this extremity, -and I am by no means tempted to clip the wings of my mind in order to -force it into a political compartment. To tell the truth, I am quite -indifferent to your disputes, because I feel how empty they are. The -dividing line between you and the clericals is a trifling matter at -bottom. They would succeed you in office, provided there were no change -in the position of the individual. And in the State it is the position -of the individual that alone matters. Opinions are but verbal jugglery, -and it is only opinions that separate you from the church party. You -have no moral system to oppose to theirs, for the simple reason that -in France we have no religious code existing in opposition to a code -of civil morality. Those who believe that we have these two opposing -systems of morality are merely deceived by appearances. I will prove -this to you in a few words.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> -“In every era we find that there are habits of life which determine a -line of thought common to all men. Our moral ideas are not the fruit of -thought, but the result of habit. No one dares openly to resist these -ideas, because obedience to them is followed by honours, and revolt -against them by humiliation. They are adopted by the entire community -without question, independently of religious creeds and philosophic -opinions, and they are as keenly upheld by those whose deeds by no -means conform to their dictates, as they are by those who constrain -themselves to live according to the rules laid down by them. The origin -of these ideas is the only point that admits of discussion: so-called -free-thinkers believe that the rules which direct their conduct are -natural in origin, whilst pious souls discern the origin of the rules -they obey in their religion, and these rules are found to agree, or -nearly so, not because they are universal, that is, divine and natural, -as people delight to say, but, on the contrary, because they are the -product of the period and clime, deduced from the same habits, derived -from the same prejudices. Each epoch has its predominant moral idea, -which springs neither from religion nor from philosophy, but from -habit, the sole force that is capable of linking men in the same bond -of feeling, for the moment we touch reason we touch the dividing -principle in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> humanity, and the human race can only exist on condition -that it never reflects on what is essential to its own existence. -Morality governs creeds, which are ever matters of dispute, whilst -morality itself is never analysed.</p> - -<p>“And simply because a moral code is the sum-total of the prejudices -of the community, there cannot possibly exist two rival codes at the -same time and in the same place. I could illustrate this truth by a -great number of examples, but none of them could be more to the point -than that of the Emperor Julian, with whose works I have lately been -making myself somewhat familiar. Julian, who fought on the side of -the Pagan gods with such staunchness and magnanimity—Julian, who -was a sun-worshipper, yet professed all the moral sentiments of the -Christians. Like them, he scorned the pleasures of the flesh and -vaunted the efficacy of fasting, because it brings a man into union -with the divine. Like them, he upheld the doctrine of atonement -and believed in the purifying effect of suffering. He had himself -initiated, too, into mysteries which satisfied his keen desire for -purity, renunciation and divine love, quite as efficaciously as the -mysteries of the Christian religion. In a word, his neo-paganism was, -morally speaking, own brother to the rising cult of Christianity. -And what is there surprising in that? The two creeds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> were the twin -children of Rome and of the East. They both corresponded to the same -human habits, to the same deep instincts in the Asiatic and Latin -worlds. Their souls were alike, though in name and phraseology they -differed from each other. This difference was enough to make them -deadly enemies, for it is about mere words that men usually quarrel. It -is for the sake of words that they most willingly kill and are killed. -Historians are in the habit of asking anxiously what would have become -of civilisation, if the philosopher-emperor had conquered the Galilean -by winning a victory that he had rightly earned by his constancy and -moderation. It is no easy game thus to reconstruct history. Yet it -seems clear enough that in this case, polytheism, which had already -by the reign of Julian been reduced to a species of monotheism, would -have submitted to the new mental habits of the time and would have -assumed precisely the same moral form that one sees it taking under -Christianity. Look at all the great revolutionary leaders and tell me -if there is a single one who showed himself in any way an original -thinker, as far as morality is concerned. Robespierre’s ideas of -righteousness were to the end those in which he had been trained by the -priests of Arras.</p> - -<p>“You are a free-thinker, Monsieur Mazure, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> you think that man’s -object on this planet ought to be to get the maximum amount of -happiness out of it. M. de Terremondre, who is a Catholic, believes, -on the contrary, that we are all here in a place of expiation in order -that we may gain eternal life through suffering. Yet, notwithstanding -the contradiction in your creeds, you have both practically the same -moral code, because morality is independent of creeds.”</p> - -<p>“You make fun of things,” said M. Mazure, “and you make me want to -swear like a trooper. Religious ideas, when all is said and done, enter -into the formation of moral ideas to a degree that one cannot ignore. -I am therefore right in saying that there is such a thing as Christian -morality, and that I heartily disapprove of it.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear sir,” answered the professor gently, “there are as many -Christian codes of morality as there are ages during which Christianity -has lasted and countries into which she has penetrated. Religions, -like chameleons, copy the colours of the soil over which they run. -Morality, though it is peculiar to each generation, since it is the one -link to bind it together, changes incessantly along with the habits -and customs of which she is the most striking representative, like -an enlarged reflection on a wall. So true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> is this fact that it may -actually be affirmed that the morality of these Catholics who offend -you resembles your own very closely, and yet differs widely from that -of a Catholic at the time of the League—to say nothing of those -Christians of the apostolic ages who would seem to M. de Terremondre -most extraordinary beings, were it possible for him to see them at -close quarters. Be impartial and just, if you can, and tell me this: -in what essential respect does your morality as a free-thinker differ -from the morality of those good people who to-day go to Mass? They -profess, as the bedrock of their creed, the doctrine of the atonement, -but they are as indignant as you when that doctrine is put before them -in a striking manner by their own priests. They profess to believe that -suffering is good and pleasing to God. But—do you ever see them sit -down on nails? You have proclaimed toleration for every creed: they -marry Jewesses and have stopped burning their fathers-in-law. What -ideas have you which they do not share with you about sexual questions, -about the family, about marriage, except that you allow divorce, though -you take good care not to recommend it? They believe it is damnation -to look at a woman and lust after her. Yet at dinners and parties -are the necks of their women any less bare than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> necks of yours? -Do they wear dresses that reveal less of their figures? And do they -bear in mind the words of Tertullian about widows’ raiment? Are they -veiled and do they hide their hair? Do you not settle their fashions? -Do you insist that they shall go naked because you don’t believe -that Eve covered herself with a branch of a fig-tree under the curse -of Javeh? In what way do your ideas about your country differ from -theirs? For they exhort you to serve and defend it, just as if their -own abiding city were not in the heavens. Or about forced military -service, to which they submit, with the solitary reservation of one -point in ecclesiastical discipline, which in practice they yield? Or -on war, in which they will fight side by side with you, whenever you -wish, although their God gave them the command: “Thou shalt not kill.” -Are you anarchical and cosmopolitan enough to separate from them on -these important questions in practical life? What can you name which -is peculiar to you alone? You cannot even adduce the duel, which, on -account of its being fashionable, is a part of their code as of yours, -although it is neither in accordance with their principles, since both -their kings and priests forbid it, nor with yours, for it is based -on the incredible intervention of God Himself. Have you not the same -moral code<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> with respect to the organisation of labour, to private -property and capital, to the whole organisation of society as it is -to-day, under which you both endure injustice with equal patience—as -long as you don’t personally suffer from it? You would have to -become Socialists for things to be otherwise, and were you to become -socialistic, so doubtless would they. You are willing to tolerate -injustice that survives from bygone days, every time that it works in -your favour. And, on their side, your ostensible opponents gratefully -accept the results of the Revolution, whenever it is a question of -acquiring a fortune derived from some former impropriator of national -property. They are parties to the Concordat, and so are you; so that -even religion links you together.</p> - -<p>“Their creed has so little effect on their feelings that they love the -life they ought to despise, quite as much as you do; and they cling as -closely to their possessions, which are a stumbling-block in the way of -their salvation. Having practically the same customs as you, they have -practically the same moral code. You quibble with them as to matters -which only interest politicians and which have no connection with the -organisation of a society which cares not a whit about your rival -claims. Faithful to the same traditions, ruled by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> the same prejudices, -living in the same depths of ignorance, you devour one another like -crabs in a basket. As one watches your conflicts of frogs and mice, one -no longer craves for undiluted civil government.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-t_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">The</span> coming of Marie was like the entrance of death into the house. At -the very first sight of her, Madame Bergeret knew that her day was over.</p> - -<p>Euphémie sat for a long while on her caneless chair, silent and -motionless, but with flushed cheeks. Her deep-rooted attachment to her -employers and her employers’ house was instinctive, but sure, and, like -a dog’s love, not dependent on reason. She shed no tears, but fever -spots came out on her lips. Her good-bye to Madame Bergeret was said -with all the solemnity of a pious, countrified heart. During the five -years of her service in the house she had endured at Madame Bergeret’s -hands, not only abusive violence, but hard avarice, for she was fed -but meagrely; on her side, she had given way to fits of insolence -and disobedience, and she had slandered her mistress among the other -servants. But she was a Christian, and at the bottom of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> heart -she revered her pastors and masters as she did her father and mother. -Snivelling with grief, she said:</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Madame. I will pray to the good God for you, that He may -make you happy. I wish I could have said good-bye to the young ladies.”</p> - -<p>Madame Bergeret knew that she was being hunted out of the house, like -this young girl, but she would not show how moved she was, for fear of -seeming undignified.</p> - -<p>“Go, child,” said she, “and settle your wages with Monsieur.”</p> - -<p>When M. Bergeret handed her her wages, she slowly counted out the -amount and moving her lips as though in prayer, made her calculations -three times over. She examined the coins anxiously, not being sure -of her bearings among so many different varieties. Then she put this -little property, her sole wealth in all the world, into the pocket of -her skirt, under her handkerchief. Next she dug her hand deep into her -pocket, and having taken all these precautions, said:</p> - -<p>“You have always been good to me, Monsieur, and I wish you every -happiness. But, all the same, you have driven me away.”</p> - -<p>“You think I am a wicked man,” answered M. Bergeret. “But if I send -you away, my good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> girl, I do it regretfully and only because it is -absolutely necessary. If I can help you in any way, I shall be very -glad to do so.”</p> - -<p>Euphémie passed the back of her hand over her eyes, sniffed aloud and -said softly, with big tears flowing down her cheeks:</p> - -<p>“There’s nobody wicked here.”</p> - -<p>She went out, closing the door behind her as noiselessly as possible, -and M. Bergeret began to picture her standing at the bottom of the -waiting-room in Deniseau’s office, with anxious looks fixed on the -door, among the melancholy crowd of girls waiting to be hired, in her -white head-dress with her blue cotton umbrella stuck between her knees.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Marie, the stable-girl, who had never in her life waited on -anything but beasts, was filled with amazement and stupefaction at -the ways of these townsfolk, till the terror that she communicated to -others began to overwhelm her own mind. She squatted in her kitchen and -gazed at the saucepans. Bacon soup was the only thing she could make -and dialect the only language she understood. She was not even well -recommended, for it turned out that she had not only lived loosely, but -was in the habit of drinking brandy and even spirits of wine.</p> - -<p>The first visitor to whom she opened the door was Captain Aspertini, -who, in passing through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> town, had called to see M. Bergeret. She -evidently made a deep impression on the Italian savant’s mind, for no -sooner had he greeted his host than he began to speak of the maid with -that interest which ugliness always inspires when it is overwhelmingly -terrible.</p> - -<p>“Your maid, Monsieur Bergeret,” said he, “reminds me of that expressive -face which Giotto has painted on an arch of the church at Assisi. It -represents that Being to whom no one ever opens the door with a smile, -and was suggested by a verse in Dante.</p> - -<p>“That reminds me,” continued the Italian; “have you seen the portrait -of Virgil in mosaic that your compatriots have just discovered at -Sousse in Algeria? It is a picture of a Roman with a wide, low -forehead, a square head and a strong jaw, and is not in the least like -the beautiful youth whom they used to tell us was Virgil. The bust -which for a long time was taken for a portrait of the poet is really a -Roman copy of a Greek original of the fourth century and represents a -young god worshipped in the mysteries of Eleusis. I think I may claim -the honour of being the first to give the true explanation of this -figure in my pamphlet on the child Triptolemus. But do you know this -Virgil in mosaic, Monsieur Bergeret?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> -“As well as I can judge from the photograph I have seen,” answered -M. Bergeret, “this African mosaic seems the copy of an original full -of character. This portrait might quite stand for Virgil, and it -is by no means impossible that it is an authentic portrait of him. -Your Renaissance scholars, Monsieur Aspertini, always depicted the -author of the <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite> with the features of a sage. The old Venetian -editions of Dante that I have turned over in our library are full of -wood engravings in which Virgil wears the beard of a philosopher. -The next age made him as beautiful as a young god. Now we have him -with a square jaw and wearing a fringe of hair across his forehead in -the Roman style. The mental effect produced by his work has varied -just as much. Every literary age creates pictures from it which are -entirely different according to the period. And without recalling the -legends of the Middle Ages about Virgil the necromancer, it is a fact -that the Mantuan is admired for reasons that change according to the -period. In him Macrobius hailed the Sibyl of the Empire. It was his -philosophy that Dante and Petrarch seized upon, while Chateaubriand -and Victor Hugo discovered in him the forerunner of Christianity. For -my part, being but a juggler with words, I only use his works as a -philological pastime. You, Monsieur Aspertini, see him in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> guise -of a great storehouse of Roman antiquities, and that is perhaps the -most solidly valuable part of the <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Æneid</cite>. The truth is that we are -in the habit of hanging our ideas upon the letter of these ancient -texts. Each generation forms a new conception of these masterpieces of -antiquity and thus endows them with a kind of progressive immortality. -My colleague Paul Stapfer has said many good things on this head.”</p> - -<p>“Very noteworthy things indeed,” answered Captain Aspertini. “But he -does not entertain such hopeless views as yours as to the ebb and flow -of human opinions.”</p> - -<p>Thus did these two good fellows toss from one to the other those -glorious and beautiful ideas by which life is embellished.</p> - -<p>“Do tell me what has become,” asked Captain Aspertini, “of that -soldierly Latinist whom I met here, that charming M. Roux, who seemed -to value military glory at its true worth, for he disdained to be a -corporal.”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret replied curtly that M. Roux had returned to his regiment.</p> - -<p>“When last I passed through the town,” continued Captain Aspertini, “on -the second of January I think it was, I caught this young savant under -the lime-tree in the courtyard of the library, chatting with the young -porteress, whose ears, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> remember, were very red. And you know that is -a sign that she was listening with pleased excitement. There could be -nothing prettier than that dainty little ruby shell clinging above the -white neck. With great discretion I pretended not to see them, in order -that I might not be like the Pythagorean philosopher who used to harass -lovers in Metapontus. That is a very charming young girl, with her red, -flame-like hair and her delicate skin, faintly dappled with freckles, -yet so pearly that it seems lit up from within. Have you ever noticed -her, Monsieur Bergeret?”</p> - -<p>M. Bergeret replied by a nod, for he had often noticed her, and found -her very much to his taste. He was too honourable a man and had too -much prudence and respect for his position ever to have taken any -liberty with the young porteress at the library. But the delicate -colouring, the thin, supple figure, the graceful beauty of this girl -had more than once floated before his eyes in the yellow pages of -Servius and Domat, when he had been sitting over them a long while. -Her name was Mathilde and she had the reputation of being fond of -pretty lads. Although M. Bergeret was usually very indulgent towards -lovers, the idea of M. Roux finding favour with Mathilde was distinctly -distasteful to him.</p> - -<p>“It was in the evening, after I had been reading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> there,” continued -Captain Aspertini. “I had copied three unpublished letters of Muratori, -which were not in the catalogue. As I was crossing the court where -they keep the remains of ancient buildings in the town, I saw, under -the lime-tree near the well and not far from the pillar of the -Romano-Gallic boatmen, the young porteress with the golden hair. She -was listening with downcast eyes to the remarks of your pupil, M. Roux, -while she balanced the great keys at the end of her fingers. What he -said was doubtless very like what the herdsman of the Oaristys<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15" href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> said -to the goat-girl. There was little doubt as to the gist of his remarks. -I felt sure, in fact, that he was making an assignation. For, thanks to -the skill I have acquired in interpreting the monuments of ancient art, -I immediately grasped the meaning of this group.”</p> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15" class="label">[15]</a> -First idyll of André Chénier.</p> -</div></div> - -<p>He went on with a smile:</p> - -<p>“I cannot, Monsieur Bergeret, really feel all the subtleties, all the -niceties of your beautiful French tongue, but I do not like to use the -word ‘girl’ or ‘young girl’ to describe a child like this porteress of -your municipal library. Neither can one use the word maid,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16" href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> which is -obsolete and has degenerated in meaning. And I would say in passing, -it is a pity that this is the case. It would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> ungracious to call -her a young person, and I can see nothing but the word nymph to suit -her. But, pray, Monsieur Bergeret, do not repeat what I told you about -the nymph of the library, lest it should get her into trouble. These -secrets need not be divulged to the mayor or the librarians. I should -be most distressed, if I thought I had inadvertently done the slightest -harm to your nymph.”</p> - -<div class="border"> -<div class="footnote"> -<p class="outdent"><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16" class="label">[16]</a> -<em>Pucelle.</em></p> -</div></div> - -<p>“It is true,” thought M. Bergeret, “that my nymph is pretty.”</p> - -<p>He felt vexed, and at this moment could scarcely have told whether he -was more angry with M. Roux for having found favour in the eyes of the -library porteress, or for having seduced Madame Bergeret.</p> - -<p>“Your nation,” said Captain Aspertini, “has attained to the highest -mental and moral culture. But it still retains, as a relic of the -barbarism in which it was so long plunged, a kind of uncertainty and -awkwardness in dealing with love affairs. In Italy love is everything -to the lovers, but of no concern to the outside world. Society in -general feels no interest in a matter which only concerns the chief -actors in it. An unbiassed estimate of licence and passion saves us -from cruelty and hypocrisy.”</p> - -<p>For some considerable time Captain Aspertini continued to entertain his -French friend with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> views on different points in morals, art and -politics. Then he rose to take leave, and catching sight of Marie in -the hall, said to M. Bergeret:</p> - -<p>“Pray don’t take offence at what I said about your cook. Petrarch also -had a servant of rare and peculiar ugliness.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> - -<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> -</div> - -<div class="width80"> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-a_drop.jpg" width="80" height="88" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="uppercase">As</span> soon as he had removed from Madame Bergeret, deposed, the management -of his house, M. Bergeret himself took command, and a very bad job he -made of it. Yet in excuse it should be said that the maid Marie never -carried out his orders, since she never understood them. But since -action is the essential condition of life and one can by no means avoid -it, Marie acted, and was led by her natural gifts into the most unlucky -decisions and the most noxious deeds. Sometimes, however, the light -of her genius was quenched by drunkenness. One day, having drunk all -the spirits of wine kept for the lamp, she lay stretched unconscious -on the kitchen tiles for forty hours. Her awaking was always terrible, -and every movement she made was followed by catastrophe. She succeeded -in doing what had been beyond the powers of anyone else—in splitting -the marble chimney-piece by dashing a candlestick on it. She took to -cooking all the food in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> frying-pan, amid deafening clamour and -poisonous smells, and nothing that she served was eatable.</p> - -<p>Shut up alone in the solitude of her bedroom, Madame Bergeret screamed -and sobbed with mingled grief and rage, as she watched the ruin of her -home. Her misery took on strange, unheard-of shapes that were agony -to her conventional soul and became ever more formidable. Until now -M. Bergeret had always handed over to her the whole of his monthly -salary, without even keeping back his cigarette money from it. But -she no longer received a penny from him, and as she had dressed -expensively during the gay time of her liaison with M. Roux, and even -more expensively during her troublous times when she was upholding her -dignity by constantly visiting her entire circle, she was now beginning -to be dunned by her milliner and dressmaker, and Messrs. Achard, a firm -of outfitters, who did not regard her as a regular customer, actually -issued a writ against her, which on this particular evening struck -consternation into the proud heart of the daughter of Pouilly. When -she perceived that these unprecedented trials were the unexpected, but -fatal, results of her sin, she began to perceive the heinousness of -adultery. With this thought came a memory of all she had been taught in -her youth about this unparalleled, this unique crime; for, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> truth, -neither envy, nor avarice, nor cruelty bring such shame to the sinner -as this one offence of adultery.</p> - -<p>As she stood on the hearthrug before stepping into bed, she opened the -neck of her nightdress, and dropping her chin, looked down at the shape -of her body. Foreshortened in this way beneath the cambric, it looked -like a warm white mass of cushions and pillows, lit up by the rays -of the lamplight. She knew nothing of the beauty of the simple human -form, having merely the dressmaker’s instinct for style, and never -asked herself whether these outlines below her eyes were lovely or not. -Neither did she find grounds for humiliation or self-glorification -in this fleshly envelope; she never even recalled the memory of past -pleasures: the only feeling that came was one of troubled anxiety -at the sight of the body whose secret impulses had worked such -consequences in her home and outside it.</p> - -<p>She was a being of moral and religious instincts, and sufficiently -philosophic to grasp the absolute value of the points in a game of -cards: the idea came to her then that an act in itself entirely trivial -might be great in the world of ideas. She felt no remorse, because she -was devoid of imagination, and having a rational conception of God, -felt that she had already been sufficiently punished.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> But, at the -same time, since she followed the ordinary line of thought in morality -and conceived that a woman’s honour could only be judged by the common -criterion, since she had formed no colossal plan of overthrowing -the moral scheme in order to manufacture for herself an outrageous -innocence, she could feel no quietness, no satisfaction in life, nor -could she enjoy any sense of the inner peace that sustains the mind in -tribulation.</p> - -<p>Her troubles were the more harassing because they were so mysterious, -so indefinitely prolonged. They unwound themselves like the ball -of red string that Madame Magloire, the confectioner in the Place -Saint-Exupère, kept on her counter in a boxwood case, and which she -used to tie up hundreds of little parcels by means of the thread that -passed through a hole in the cover. It seemed to Madame Bergeret that -she would never see the end of her worries; she even, under sadness and -regret, began to acquire a certain look of spiritual beauty.</p> - -<p>One morning she looked at an enlarged photograph of her father, whom -she had lost during the first year of her married life, and standing in -front of it, she wept, as she thought of the days of her childhood, of -the little white cap worn at her first communion, of her Sunday walks -when she went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> drink milk at the Tuilerie with her cousins, the two -Demoiselles Pouilly of the Dictionary, of her mother, still alive, but -now an old lady living in her little native town, far away at the other -end of France in the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">département du Nord</i>. Madame Bergeret’s father, -Victor Pouilly, a headmaster and the author of a popular edition of -Lhomond’s grammar, had entertained a lofty notion of his social dignity -in the world and of his intellectual prowess. Being overshadowed and -patronised by his elder brother, the great Pouilly of the Dictionary, -being also under the thumb of the University authorities, he took it -out of everybody else and became prouder and prouder of his name, his -Grammar, and his gout, which was severe. In his pose he expressed the -Pouilly dignity, and to his daughter his portrait seemed to say: “My -child, I pass over, I purposely pass over everything in your conduct -which cannot be considered exactly conventional. You should recognise -the fact that all your troubles come from having married beneath you. -In vain I flattered myself that I had raised him to our level. This -Bergeret is an uneducated man, and your original mistake, the source -of all your troubles, my daughter, was your marriage.” And Madame -Bergeret gave ear to this speech, while the wisdom and kindness of her -father, so clearly stamped on it, sustained her drooping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> courage in a -measure. Yet, step by step, she began to yield to fate. She ceased to -pay denunciatory visits in the town, where, in fact, she had already -tired out the curiosity of her friends by the monotonous tenour of her -complaints. Even at the rector’s house they began to believe that the -stories which were told in the town about her liaison with M. Roux were -not entirely fables. She had allowed herself to be compromised, and -she wearied them; they let her plainly see both facts. The only person -whose sympathy she still retained was Madame Dellion, and to this lady -she remained a sort of allegorical figure of injured innocence. But -although Madame Dellion, being of higher rank, pitied her, respected -her, admired her, she would not receive her. Madame Bergeret was -humiliated and alone, childless, husbandless, homeless, penniless.</p> - -<p>One last effort she made to resume her rightful position in the house. -It was on the morning after the most miserable and wretched day that -she had ever spent. After having endured the insolent demands of -Mademoiselle Rose, the modiste, and of Lafolie, the butcher, after -having caught Marie stealing the three francs seventy-five centimes -left by the laundress on the dining-room sideboard, Madame Bergeret -went to bed so full of misery and fear that she could not sleep. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> -overwhelming troubles brought on an attack of romantic fancy, and in -the shades of night she saw a vision of Marie pouring out a poisonous -potion that M. Bergeret had prepared for her. With the dawn her fevered -terrors fled, and having dressed carefully, she entered M. Bergeret’s -study with an air of quiet gravity. So little had he expected her that -she found the door open.</p> - -<p>“Lucien! Lucien!” said she.</p> - -<p>She called upon the innocent names of their three daughters. She begged -and implored, while she gave a fair enough description of the wretched -state of the house. She promised that for the future she would be good, -faithful, economical and good-tempered. But M. Bergeret would not -answer.</p> - -<p>Kneeling at his feet, she sobbed and twisted the arms that had once -been so imperious in their gestures. He deigned neither to see nor to -hear her.</p> - -<p>She showed him the spectacle of a Pouilly at his feet. But he only took -up his hat and went out. Then she got up and ran after him, and with -outstretched fist and lips drawn back shouted after him from the hall:</p> - -<p>“I never loved you. Do you hear that? Never, not even when I first -married you! You are hideous, you are ridiculous and everything else<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> -that’s horrid. And everyone in the town knows that you are nothing but -a ninnyhammer ... yes, a ninnyhammer....”</p> - -<p>She had never heard this word save on the lips of Pouilly of the -Dictionary, who had been in his grave for more than twenty years, and -now it recurred to her mind suddenly, as though by a miracle. She -attached no definite meaning to it, but as it sounded excessively -insulting, she shouted down the staircase after him, “Ninnyhammer, -ninnyhammer!”</p> - -<p>It was her last effort as a wife. A fortnight after this interview -Madame Bergeret appeared before her husband and said, this time in -quiet, resolute tones, “I cannot remain here any longer. It is your -doing entirely. I am going to my mother’s; you must send me Marianne -and Juliette. Pauline I will let you have....”</p> - -<p>Pauline was the eldest; she was like her father, and between them there -existed a certain sympathy.</p> - -<p>“I hope,” added Madame Bergeret, “that you will make a suitable -allowance for your two daughters who will live with me. For myself I -ask nothing.”</p> - -<p>When M. Bergeret heard these words, when he saw her at the goal whither -he had guided her by foresight and firmness, he tried to conceal his -joy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> for fear lest, if he let it be detected, Madame Bergeret might -abandon an arrangement that suited him admirably.</p> - -<p>He made no answer, but he bent his head in sign of consent.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="tn"> -<p class="center p120">Transcriber’s Note:</p> - -<p class="noi">Hyphenation and spelling have been retained -as appeared in the original publication except -as follows:</p> - -<ul class="nobullet"> -<li>Page 68</li> -<li><ul> -<li>For you’re no stranger to <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#quotes">“For</a> you’re no stranger to</li> -</ul></li> - -<li>Page 76</li> -<li><ul> -<li>tho most respected families <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#the">the</a> most respected families</li> -</ul></li> - -<li>Page 93</li> -<li><ul> -<li>which are associdate <i>changed to</i><br /> -which are <a href="#associated">associated</a></li> -</ul></li> - -<li>Page 229</li> -<li><ul> -<li>Servius believes that Virgil wrote <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#quotes2">“Servius</a> believes that Virgil wrote</li> - -<li>masts were already up <i>changed to</i><br /> -masts were already <a href="#up">up.</a></li> -</ul></li> -</ul> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wicker Work Woman, by Anatole France - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WICKER WORK WOMAN *** - -***** This file should be named 50286-h.htm or 50286-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/8/50286/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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