1.F.1.8. PHILOSOPHY AFTER DRINKING
THE senator above mentioned was a clever man, who had
made his own way, heedless of those things which present
obstacles, and which are called conscience, sworn faith, justice,
duty: he had marched straight to his goal, without once
flinching in the line of his advancement and his interest. He
was an old attorney, softened by success; not a bad man by any
means, who rendered all the small services in his power to
his sons, his sons-in-law, his relations, and even to his friends,
having wisely seized upon, in life, good sides, good opportunities,
good windfalls. Everything else seemed to him very
stupid. He was intelligent, and just sufficiently educated to
think himself a disciple of Epicurus; while he was, in reality,
only a product of Pigault-Lebrun. He laughed willingly and
pleasantly over infinite and eternal things, and at the "Crotchets
of that good old fellow the Bishop." He even sometimes
laughed at him with an amiable authority in the presence of
M.Myriel himself, who listened to him.
On some semi-official occasion or other, I do not recollect
what, Count*** [this senator] and M. Myriel were to dine
with the prefect. At dessert, the senator, who was slightly
exhilarated, though still perfectly dignified, exclaimed: —
"Egad, Bishop, let's have a discussion. It is hard for a
senator and a bishop to look at each other without winking.
We are two augurs. I am going to make a confession to you.
I have a philosophy of my own."
"And you are right," replied the Bishop. "As one makes
one's philosophy, so one lies on it. You are on the bed of
purple, senator."
The senator was encouraged, and went on: —
"Let us be good fellows."
"Good devils even," said the Bishop.
"I declare to you," continued the senator, "that the Marquis
d'Argens, Pyrrhon, Hobbes, and M. Naigeon are no
rascals. I have all the philosophers in my library gilded on
the edges."
"Like yourself, Count," interposed the Bishop.
The senator resumed: —
"I hate Diderot; he is an ideologist, a declaimer, and a
revolutionist, a believer in God at bottom, and more bigoted
than Voltaire. Voltaire made sport of Needham, and he was
wrong, for Needham's eels prove that God is useless. A drop
of vinegar in a spoonful of flour paste supplies the fiat lux.
Suppose the drop to be larger and the spoonful bigger; you
have the world. Man is the eel. Then what is the good of
the Eternal Father? The Jehovah hypothesis tires me,
Bishop. It is good for nothing but to produce shallow people,
whose reasoning is hollow. Down with that great All, which
torments me! Hurrah for Zero which leaves me in peace!
Between you and me, and in order to empty my sack, and
make confession to my pastor, as it behooves me to do, I will
admit to you that I have good sense. I am not enthusiastic
over your Jesus, who preaches renunciation and sacrifice to
the last extremity. 'Tis the counsel of an avaricious man to
beggars. Renunciation; why? Sacrifice; to what end? I
do not see one wolf immolating himself for the happiness of
another wolf. Let us stick to nature, then. We are at the
top; let us have a superior philosophy. What is the advantage
of being at the top, if one sees no further than the end of
other people's noses? Let us live merrily. Life is all. That
man has another future elsewhere, on high, below, anywhere,
I don't believe; not one single word of it. Ah! sacrifice and
renunciation are recommended to me; I must take heed to
everything I do; I must cudgel my brains over good and evil,
over the just and the unjust, over the
fas and the
nefas.
Why?
Because I shall have to render an account of my actions.
When? After death. What a fine dream! After my death
it will be a very clever person who can catch me. Have a handful
of dust seized by a shadow-hand, if you can. Let us tell
the truth, we who are initiated, and who have raised the veil
of Isis: there is no such thing as either good or evil; there is
vegetation. Let us seek the real. Let us get to the bottom of
it. Let us go into it thoroughly. What the deuce! let us go to
the bottom of it! We must scent out the truth; dig in the
earth for it, and seize it. Then it gives you exquisite joys.
Then you grow strong, and you laugh. I am square on the
bottom, I am. Immortality, Bishop, is a chance, a waiting for
dead men's shoes. Ah! what a charming promise! trust to
it, if you like! What a fine lot Adam has! We are souls, and
we shall be angels, with blue wings on our shoulder-blades.
Do come to my assistance: is it not Tertullian who says that
the blessed shall travel from star to star? Very well. We
shall be the grasshoppers of the stars. And then, besides, we
shall see God. Ta, ta, ta! What twaddle all these paradises
are! God is a nonsensical monster. I would not say that in
the
Moniteur, egad! but I may whisper it among friends.
Inter pocula. To sacrifice the world to paradise is to let
slip
the prey for the shadow. Be the dupe of the infinite! I'm
not such a fool. I am a nought. I call myself Monsieur le
Comte Nought, senator. Did I exist before my birth? No.
Shall I exist after death? No. What am I? A little dust
collected in an organism. What am I to do on this earth?
The choice rests with me: suffer or enjoy. Whither will suffering
lead me? To nothingness; but I shall have suffered.
Whither will enjoyment lead me? To nothingness; but I shall
have enjoyed myself. My choice is made. One must eat or be
eaten. I shall eat. It is better to be the tooth than the grass.
Such is my wisdom. After which, go whither I push thee, the
grave-digger is there; the Pantheon for some of us: all falls
into the great hole. End.
Finis. Total liquidation. This
is the vanishing-point. Death is death, believe me. I laugh
at the idea of there being any one who has anything to tell me
on that subject. Fables of nurses; bugaboo for children;
Jehovah for men. No; our to-morrow is the night. Beyond
the tomb there is nothing but equal nothingness. You have
been Sardanapalus, you have been Vincent de Paul — it makes
no difference. That is the truth. Then live your life, above
all things. Make use of your
I while you have it. In truth,
Bishop, I tell you that I have a philosophy of my own, and I
have my philosophers. I don't let myself be taken in with
that nonsense. Of course, there must be something for those
who are down, — for the barefooted beggars, knife-grinders,
and miserable wretches. Legends, chimeras, the soul, immortality,
paradise, the stars, are provided for them to swallow.
They gobble it down. They spread it on their dry bread. He
who has nothing else has the good. God. That is the least he
can have. I oppose no objection to that; but I reserve Monsieur
Naigeon for myself. The good God is good for the
populace."
The Bishop clapped his hands.
"That's talking!" he exclaimed. "What an excellent and
really marvellous thing is this materialism! Not every one
who wants it can have it. Ah! when one does have it, one is
no longer a dupe, one does not stupidly allow one's self to be
exiled like Cato, nor stoned like Stephen, nor burned alive like
Jeanne d'Arc. Those who have succeeded in procuring this
admirable materialism have the joy of feeling themselves
irresponsible, and of thinking that they can devour everything
without uneasiness, — places, sinecures, dignities, power,
whether well or ill acquired, lucrative recantations, useful
treacheries, savory capitulations of conscience, — and that they
shall enter the tomb with their digestion accomplished. How
agreeable that is! I do not say that with reference to you,
senator. Nevertheless, it is impossible for me to refrain from
congratulating you. You great lords have, so you say, a
philosophy of your own, and for yourselves, which is exquisite,
refined, accessible to the rich alone, good for all sauces, and
which seasons the voluptuousness of life admirably. This philosophy
has been extracted from the depths, and unearthed by
special seekers. But you are good-natured princes, and you
do not think it a bad thing that belief in the good God should
constitute the philosophy of the people, very much as the
goose stuffed with chestnuts is the truffled turkey of the poor."