Les Misérables, v. 1/5: Fantine
Page 10
CHAPTER VIII.
PHILOSOPHY AFTER DRINKING.
The Senator, to whom we have already alluded, was a skilful man,who had made his way with a rectitude that paid no attention to allthose things which constitute obstacles, and are called conscience,plighted word, right, and duty: he had gone straight to his objectwithout once swerving from the line of his promotions and his interest.He was an ex-procureur, softened by success, anything but a wickedman, doing all the little services in his power for his sons, hissons-in-law, his relatives, and even his friends: he had selected thebest opportunities, and the rest seemed to him something absurd. He waswitty, and just sufficiently lettered to believe himself a discipleof Epicurus, while probably only a product of Pigault Lebrun. He wasfond of laughing pleasantly at things infinite and eternal, and at thecrotchets "of our worthy Bishop." He even laughed at them with amiableauthority in M. Myriel's presence. On some semi-official occasion theCount--(this Senator) and M. Myriel met at the Prefect's table. At thedessert the Senator, who was merry but quite sober, said,--
"Come, Bishop, let us have a chat. A senator and a bishop can hardlymeet without winking at each other, for we are two augurs, and I amabout to make a confession to you. I have my system of philosophy."
"And you are right," the Bishop answered; "as you make your philosophy,so you must lie on it. You are on the bed of purple."
The Senator, thus encouraged, continued,--"Let us be candid."
"Decidedly."
"I declare to you," the Senator went on, "that the Marquis d'Argens,Pyrrho, Hobbes, and Naigeon are no impostors. I have in my library allmy philosophers with gilt backs."
"Like yourself, Count," the Bishop interrupted him.
The Senator proceeded,--
"I hate Diderot; he is an ideologist, a declaimer, and a revolutionist,believing in his heart in Deity, and more bigoted than Voltaire. Thelatter ridiculed Needham, and was wrong, for Needham's eels prove thatGod is unnecessary. A drop of vinegar in a spoonful of flour suppliesthe _fiat lux_; suppose the drop larger, and the spoonful bigger, andyou have the world. Man is the eel; then, of what use is the EternalFather? My dear Bishop, the Jehovah hypothesis wearies me; it is onlyfitted to produce thin people who think hollow. Down with the greatAll which annoys me! Long live Zero, who leaves me at peace! Betweenourselves, and in order to confess to my pastor, as is right andproper, I confess to you that I possess common sense. I am not wildabout your Saviour, who continually preaches abnegation and sacrifice.It is advice offered by a miser to beggars. Abnegation, why? Sacrifice,for what object? I do not see that one wolf sacrifices itself to causethe happiness of another wolf. Let us, therefore, remain in nature.We are at the summit, so let us have the supreme philosophy. What isthe use of being at the top, if you cannot see further than the end ofother people's noses? Let us live gayly, for life is all in all. Asfor man having a future elsewhere, up there, down there, somewhere,I do not believe a syllable of it. Oh yes! recommend sacrifices andabnegation to me. I must take care of all I do. I must rack my brainsabout good and evil, justice and injustice, fas et nefas. Why so?because I shall have to give account for my actions. When? after mydeath. What a fine dream! after death! He will be a clever fellow whocatches me. Just think of a lump of ashes seized by a shadowy hand. Letus speak the truth, we who are initiated and have raised the skirt ofIsis; there is no good, no evil, but there is vegetation. Let us seekreality and go to the bottom; hang it all, we must scent the truth,dig into the ground for it and seize it. Then it offers you exquisitedelights; then you become strong and laugh. I am square at the base,my dear Bishop, and human immortality is a thing which anybody wholikes may listen to. Oh! what a charming prospect! What a fine billetAdam has! You are a soul, you will be an angel, and have blue wingson your shoulder-blades. Come, help me, is it not Tertullian who saysthat the blessed will go from one planet to the other? Very good; theywill be the grasshoppers of the planets. And then they will see God;Ta, ta, ta. These paradises are all nonsense, and God is a monstrousfable. I would not say so in the _Moniteur_, of course, but I whisperit between friends, _inter pocula_. Sacrificing the earth for paradiseis giving up the substance for the shadow. I am not such an ass as tobe the dupe of the Infinite. I am nothing, my name is Count Nothing,Senator. Did I exist before my birth? no; shall I exist after my death?no. What am I? a little dust aggregated by an organism. What have I todo on this earth? I have the choice between suffering and enjoyment.To what will suffering lead me? to nothingness, but I shall havesuffered. To what will enjoyment lead me? to nothingness, but I shallhave enjoyed. My choice is made; a man must either eat or be eaten, andso I eat, for it is better to be the tooth than the grass. That is mywisdom; after which go on as I impel you; the grave-digger is there,the Pantheon for such as us, and all fall into the large hole. _Finis_,and total liquidation, that is the vanishing point Death is dead, takemy word for it; and I laugh at the idea of any one present affirmingthe contrary. It is an invention of nurses, old Bogey for children,Jehovah for men. No, our morrow is night; behind the tomb there isnothing but equal nothings. You may have been Sardanapalus, you mayhave been St. Vincent de Paul: it all comes to the same--nothing.That is the truth, so live above all else; make use of your _me_, solong as you hold it. In truth, I tell you, my dear Bishop, I have myphilosophy, and I have my philosophers, and I do not let myself bedeluded by fables. After all, something must be offered persons whoare down in the world,--the barefooted, the strugglers for existenceand the wretched: and so they are offered pure legends--chimeras--thesoul--immortality--paradise--the stars--to swallow. They chew that andput it on their dry bread. The man who has nothing has God, and that issomething at any rate. I do not oppose it, but I keep M. Naigeon formyself; God is good for the plebs."
The Bishop clapped his hands.
"That is what I call speaking," he exclaimed. "Ah, what an excellentand truly wonderful thing this materialism is! it is not every manwho wishes that can have it. Ah! when a man has reached that point,he is no longer a dupe; he does not let himself be stupidly exiled,like Cato; or stoned, like St. Stephen; or burnt, like Joan of Arc.Those who have succeeded in acquiring this materialism have the joy offeeling themselves irresponsible, and thinking that they can devoureverything without anxiety, places, sinecures, power well or badlygained, dignities, lucrative tergiversations, useful treachery, folly,capitulations with their consciences, and that they will go down tothe tomb after digesting it all properly. How agreeable this is! I amnot referring to you, my dear Senator, still I cannot refrain fromcongratulating you. You great gentlemen have, as you say, a philosophyof your own, and for yourselves, exquisite, refined, accessible to therich alone, good with any sauce, and admirably seasoning the joys oflife. This philosophy is drawn from the profundities, and dug up byspecial searchers. But you are kind fellows, and think it no harm thatbelief in God should be the philosophy of the populace, much in thesame way as a goose stuffed with chestnuts is the truffled turkey ofthe poor."