It was possible to admire for a long time, in the commune of Marseilles, an acephalous little girl that the savant academy of the city had succeeded in keeping alive by fabricating an artificial trachea and esophagus. It was concluded from this abnormal instance that the absence of the head reduced sensibility to simple reflexes and only left a human being with a very rudimentary vegetative mode of existence, akin to that of a mollusk. For eleven years, daily observations were carried out of the interesting subject; unfortunately, she decided to die one day, without the autopsy being able to determine clearly why. The Marseillais were slightly saddened to lose one of the most attractive curiosities in the country, but they poked fun at the ultra-scientific debates that took place around the unfortunate cadaver. One questionable joker even insinuated that the young monster might have died of a cerebral congestion.
Even better than the finest arguments, this anecdote at least demonstrates the prodigious virtuosity to which medical artistry was becoming incessantly more susceptible. It is only just to say that this virtuosity was also becoming incessantly more indispensable in confrontation with the new necessities created by therapeutics.
For several centuries, in the midst of the general inactivity, the employment of artificial stimulants, usually based on alcohol or opium, had expended singularly. Attempts had been made at first, in various regions and repeatedly, to prohibit their commerce and impose rather heavy punishments on the delinquents. Apart from the fact that the repression in question was offensive in principle, people were soon obliged to observe once again that any legal measure contrary to rights remains fatally inapplicable. The toxic compounds continued to flow; when one could not procure them outside, chemistry permitted them to be easily manufactured at home. The laws, which only ended up multiplying products that were less pure and more dangerous, ended up being repealed.
There was, in any case, no proof of the hypothesis of social decadence occasioned by the use of intellectual poisons. Great works have been accomplished in all eras by alcoholics and morphinomaniacs; if, in a variable lapse of time, each of them is doomed to almost certain physical and mental degeneration, the overstimulation of their genius has always given its contribution to the progress of humankind in advance. Why demand more of epochs in which strength and muscular activity no longer have any reason for being? Does not the nobility of human being consist in bringing life to the brain, even at risk to the body?
Medicine intervened usefully to attenuate the most dangerous cases. Antidotes had been discovered that slowed down the principal effects of intoxication and often avoided fatal accidents. The case was cited of a woman who, declared doomed at the age of thirty-eight, recovered without any serious infirmity other than a complete paralysis of the arms and legs, and did not die until her eighty-third year. Until the last moment, her intelligence remained lucid; every day she drank a liter of laudanum, having her biscuits dunked into it, and dictating works to her phonograph that some people considered to be remarkable.
Science, however, obtained much less obvious results when it had to treat patients afflicted with congenital lesions, and the quantity of those patients increased every year, all the more surely as the other scourges were no longer carrying out their murderous but salutary selection within the species. With regard to those unfortunates, there were no illusions with regard to the chances of success; doctors were content to employ a few preventive measures essential to general security.
For instance, in spite of all remedies, criminals conserved a stubborn propensity for crime, and the fourth century is still waiting for the alienist who can cure theft or murder. All attempts thus far have failed.
As it had previously been perceived that the ensemble of the condemned scarcely surpassed the level of intellectual culture inculcated by primary education, it was concluded that the diffusion of further education would diminish, if it did not reduce to zero, the number of crimes against property and persons. With time it was necessary to recant on that issue; murderers provided with all their diplomas committed no fewer murders.
The law, as transformed by physiology, did not permit them to be declared responsible, but was still forced to isolate them to safeguard their fellow citizens; no task demanded more tact and knowledge of how to distinguish between externally similar individuals. Not a week went by without errors or abuses coming to light. Public opinion, when it had nothing better to distract itself, commented with pleasure on the stupidity of the committee delegated to the service of criminology and demanded its abolition—but the following week, it demanded that its powers be increased if a series of bloody incidents suddenly awakened the instinct of personal security in everyone.
All in all, apart from a few faults and a few annoying incoherencies, nothing was more admirably in conformity with the religion of human pity than the administration devoted to the surveillance and maintenance of criminomaniacs. Setting out from the dogma that every so-called guilty party is unfortunate and ill, it treated him more carefully and gently as he manifested more malevolent dispositions. That evidently did not alter his natural antisocial tendencies—in spite of all the benefits that had once been hopefully anticipated from such medication—but it saved morality and furnished an inexhaustible pasture to the sensitivity of philanthropists.
Vast establishments installed with the latest refinements of comfort, so as not to be reminiscent of a prison, received individuals reputed to be dangerous. There they were served and cared for by a numerous body of nurses responsible for furnishing their domicile with all possible distractions, and, if they had a whim to go out, to accompany them outside. Never, in fact, was complete sequestration ordered, except in cases of furious delirium—and then advantage was taken of intervals between crises to allow the unfortunates certain appearances of liberty. They sometimes took advantage of that to yield to their unhealthy tendencies and commit some murder; their guardians were then reprimanded severely, even threatened with destitution. Fortunately, these events, although too frequent, were nevertheless rarer than one might think.
In conclusion, there are not and never will be societies as absolutely perfect as those imagined by poets and the constructors of utopias. In spite of certain grave defects, the European civilization of the fourth century approaches the ideal more closely than any other has ever done in any epoch of the world’s history. Freed from the servitudes that laws of nature or aristocratic tyrannies once imposed, emancipated from ignorance and superstitions regarding an afterlife, liberated from great calamities such as epidemics and wars, provided from birth with a material wellbeing that would have eclipsed the most sumptuous of old, humans, happy and free, know for the first time the reign of justice, fraternity and progress. If a few reforms still remain for them to accomplish, science is extending its conquests every day, and offers the hope of an unlimited development on the victorious road on which they now march with a sure tread.
Events in Andalusia
If it is always painful for a trusting and sensitive soul to see its hopes and legitimate convictions belied by the brutal intervention of events, how much sharper the disillusionment seems in the heart of a writer whose entire life has been consecrated to a vocation revealed as chimerical! He does not have the resource of fooling himself by forgetting his former opinions, denying them, or, at least, accommodating them to the new situation imposed by the facts. His prose, molded in printed characters, remains as an irrefutable witness to his error and establishes bitterly, for him more than anyone else, the depths of the abyss between the dream of yesterday and the reality of today—not to mention that human malevolence will never spare him the humiliation of hearing himself unanimously taken for an imbecile by his readers and his colleagues.
In the present case, however, who could have foreseen, while the festival in Orléans was being celebrated in 313, that, less than sixteen years after that date, such frightful catastrophes would have changed the face of the world? Is it, therefore, necessary to doubt that comfortable and peaceful
civilization, which was so sweet and which one enjoyed so much? Such a doubt would be very serious. In addition, it would imply the corollary of an extravagant mysticism, that humans are not here to resolve the question of general wellbeing, and that they have, on the contrary, a goal beyond their own happiness and that of their fellows. It is better, in spite of the appearances furnished by history, to persist in humanitarian and social faith. An intransigent attitude is in conformity with the spirit of progress. Besides which, it is more dignified.
Errors have certainly been made. If those who were trivial could not possibly do anything against the menacing perils, it is certain that the municipal administrators, to whom the care of public interests and safety had been delegated, gave proof of a lamentable negligence. Some of them, since subjected to the just execration of posterity, have tried to defend themselves by claiming that they did not govern because their fellow citizens were ungovernable: a pitiful excuse, for, although the right of a free people consists of not being subject to any kind of authority, it does not follow that it is duty bound to take responsibility for its own misfortunes.
Moreover, whoever the real guilty parties might be, an impartial study demonstrates, with evidence, that in the universal disaster, the radical party is perhaps the only one that has nothing for which to reproach itself. The proof is that it has never ceased to preach the march forward, to issue loud cries for reform and to maintain a pitiless opposition to everyone in a position of responsibility.
Contrary to long-standing opinion, while Europe, from the beginning of the Republican Era, was accomplishing its admirable political, intellectual and moral evolution, Islam was expanding alongside it, invading the whole of Africa on the one hand, and absorbing Asia all the way to India and the Far East on the other. Ignorant, poor, fanatical and barbaric, it nevertheless constituted a force, and one would have been wrong not to foresee that it might one day become a danger to world peace.
Even before abandoning their powerful centralizations of earlier days to the profit of autonomous communes, the European nationalities had gradually let go of their distant domains, whose conquest and conservation were costing too much money and blood. The shameful protesters who, in the beginning, criticized the expeditions and colonial annexations, without daring frankly to demand the withdrawal of expeditionary troops and the evacuation of the annexed territories, were eventually emboldened. Supported by a public sentiment that was no longer blinded by the vainglory of militarism, and became more disgusted every day by those laborious and costly enterprises, they had inveighed vigorously against the inhumanity and injustice of every armed occupation.
Humanity and justice are words that are never invoked in vain before honest men, when one makes us of them to flatter resentments or the desires of personal egotism. A day came when the barbaric States, by means of a few articles of vague vassalage, reacquired power over their former Arab possessions. Everyone congratulated themselves on an event that liberated France from continual occasions for expense, trouble and annoyance, and did not prevent her living tranquilly within her own boundaries.
It was the epoch of the great mechanical and chemical discoveries that had transformed the conditions of existence so marvelously. The decrease of the population and the increase of wealth constituted a guarantee for the Muslims that no one would seek to disturb them in their empire. They were even offered the means of improving themselves by contact with civilization. By subsequently invading Europe, scorning the most elementary human right, they therefore gave proof of an indescribable brutality and demonstrated once again the pernicious influence of religious fanaticism.
At first, things seemed to be working out quite well. Although continually stirred up by marabouts preaching holy war, agitated incessantly by the last representatives of a few great families hypnotized by the memory of the Spanish Caliphates, who had been piously handing down from father to son, for centuries, the keys to their houses in Grenada or Cordova, and bellicose by nature and education, the Arabs did not attempt any irruption on the far side of the Mediterranean. Satisfied to feel that they were masters of Africa, they made no attempt to emerge therefrom, and merely authorized themselves to abduct a few women occasionally, or risk a few raids on the European coast. These acts of piracy injured the communes that were exposed to them profoundly, but they were too circumspect to worry the cities situated inland.
Some alarmists claimed, it is true, that the questions of armament neglected by the superior races since the establishment of the definitive peace, were of great interest to the Mohammedan potentates; they made the most of the fact that the dislocation of nations had led to the almost complete suppression of all navies and serious artillery, and that if any conflict ever broke out in such conditions, unexpected resistance might be encountered, and bitter disappointments experienced.
In spite of these disturbing prognostications, public opinion remained unmoved. Everyone knew that if the barbaric states were organizing powerful armies, it was to defend themselves against their Sudanese or Saharan rivals, or to fight one another, not with the objective of preparing an aggression against Europe for which no one could see any reasonable motive. In any case, one could count, in the last resort, on the terrible explosives or other engines of destruction that science had at its disposal, and on the moral force that the prestige of intelligence always provides against half-savage hordes. In that they were mistaken, for intellectual prestige is revealed by the notoriously unequal consequences of the prestige of several million bayonets; as for the explosives, on the day when it became desirable to make use of them, it was realized that the licensed mercenaries had communicated the formula to their fellow citizens a long time before.
Unfortunately, everyone was unaware of these details. So, it was with much astonishment that in Floreal 300 the news arrived of a disembarkation of Moors in Andalusia.
Sharp disagreements had existed for several years between the communes of Almeria, Motril and Malaga on the one hand and the Sultan of Morocco on the other. The perennial brigandage committed by the latter’s subjects had ended up exhausting the patience of the coastal cities. Weary of feeling that their protests were futile, of seeing their ambassadors tricked or even grossly misled by Moroccan functionaries, they decided to threaten reprisals. Less than two weeks later, four young Malagan women were abducted by pirates and their family massacred. Action was decided; a boat belonging to fishermen from Ceuta was seized, and its crew hidden from view.
This manifestation of energy certainly caused more emotion on the Spanish coast than the African. The Andalusians, frightened by their own audacity and terrified by the thought of its possible consequences, lived in the worst apprehension, expecting the Sultan’s vengeance at any moment. In order at least to assuage his fury, they treated their prisoners with respect, surrounded them with concern and lavished all the joys of the most refined luxury upon them—so effectively that after a week of detention, six of the eleven savages fell ill by virtue of over-indulgence at table. One of them, in spite of the physicians, even went so far as to die within forty-eight hours of hastily ingesting twenty seven raspberry ice-creams.
The announcement of that accident did nothing to calm the general anxiety of the population. The inhabitants of Malaga trembled in feeling the suspicion weigh upon them of poisoning their hostages. They could already hear their neighbors accusing them of compromising, by imprudence and incompetence, the good reputation of the entire Iberia peninsula. At this juncture, their attitude was firm and calm; they courageously threw out the municipal council in office and appointed a new one.
The latter immediately went into session, and after five hours of stormy debate, voted on a motion whose import was that the situation was grave, although not desperate, but nevertheless capable of becoming so. The next day, it decided to elect a committee charged with investigating the best course to follow in order to enter into negotiations with His Majesty the Sharif. The report of this committee was unanimously approved, when it
was seen to conclude with the release of the ten prisoners from Ceuta. For one thing, they were beginning to seem an embarrassment; for another, it was thought that the move would be appreciated by their government as a mark of courtesy and a proof of peaceful intentions.
These wise efforts were, however, to remain in vain. While the Andalusian communes were preparing to make all the concessions not incompatible with their dignity, the Sultan, supported by the Deys of Algiers and Oran, mobilized his troops, gathered them at various favorable embarkation points, and requisitioned all available commercial vessels for their transport. This suspect activity was materially impossible to hide from the other side of the Straits of Gibraltar; those against whom it was directed were not unaware of it. They were obliged to see nothing and say nothing in order not to frighten themselves; then, passing abruptly from their feigned security to a very sincere alarm, they resolved not to prolong an intolerable state of affairs any longer.
Public meetings were convened; new committees were set up; an initial political program was drafted that was poorly welcomed, and immediately replaced by a second that was much better received; the municipalities declared themselves permanent and fell into accord in order to concentrate on the appropriate measures to be taken—except that they nearly fell into dispute in studying the best voting system and exchanged bitter words while dividing up their various tasks. Nevertheless, quickly getting a grip on themselves, they recognized unanimously that it was a worse moment than ever to sever their formerly amicable relations and give rise to internal disputes. A tribunal of arbitration was instituted with the aim of cutting through litigious matters. Finally, the Grand Council of the Federation of Communes was able to open the session and begin its work.
Investigations of the Future Page 10