M. Bergeret

“ Again, she added to her own jewels which, be it said, were of no great value, the watch and chain of M. Bergeret’s father, a professor at the University, who, having refused in 1852 to swear fidelity to the Empire, had died in 1873, poor and forgotten.
Madame Bergeret interrupted her packing only to go and pay her farewell calls, visits both sad and triumphant. Public opinion was in her favour. Men’s judgments are diverse, and there is no place in the world where there is undivided and unanimous opinion on any single subject. ”

“ On the other hand, she pleased M. Bergeret, who was at last enjoying peace in his house and deliverance from all his troubles.
His books, which heretofore had been despised and thrown about, were now displayed upon long shelves in the big sunny room. There he could work in quiet at his Virgilius nauticus, and indulge freely in silent orgies of meditation. Before the window a young plane tree gently waved its pointed leaves, and, farther away, a dark buttress of Saint-Exupère reared its jagged pinnacle, in which grew a cherry tree, doubtless planted there by a bird. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ As we examine ourselves, let us uncover our true countenance, which is rough and violent like that of our forefathers, and, as we have the advantage over them of a longer tradition, let us at least recognize the sequence and continuity of our ignorance.”
Thus pondered M. Bergeret, as he settled himself in his new abode. He was not sad, neither was he glad, as he reflected that he would always yearn in vain for Madame de Gromance, not realizing the fact that she was only precious to him by virtue of the craving which she inspired. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ Under the elm-trees173 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. ”

“ When she awoke one morning a melancholy ray of pale sunlight was shining between the folds of the curtain on the132 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. ”

“ Gently stroking the short, smooth coat of his companion, M. Bergeret addressed him in the following affectionate terms:
“Dog! at the price of the repose which is dear to your heart, you came to me when I was dismayed and brought low. You did not laugh, as any young person of my own species would have done. It is true that however joyous or terrible nature may appear to you at times, she never inspires you with a sense of the ridiculous. And it is for that very reason, because of your innocent gravity, that you are the surest friend a man can have. ”

“ 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 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. ”

“ And his clerk, Léon, looked at M. Bergeret with indignant surprise.
“I do not know whether you will ever be enlightened,” went on M. Bergeret sweetly. “I do not think so, although all things are possible, even the triumph of truth.”
“You mean the Revision,” said M. de Terremondre. “That, never! You will never succeed in getting the Revision; I have been told as much by three Ministers and twenty deputies.”
“The poet Bouchor,” replied M. Bergeret, “teaches us that it is better to endure the horrors of war than to commit an unjust action. ”

“ And his gaze spoke of simple, mysterious thoughts, common alike to the thoughtful beasts and simple men of the earth.
Tired, perhaps, with the intellectual effort he had made for the purpose of entering into communication with a human being, he closed his beautiful eyes, and, yawning widely, revealed his pink mouth, his curled-up tongue, and his array of dazzling teeth.
M. Bergeret put his hand into the dog’s mouth, and allowed him to lick it, at which old Angélique gave a smile of relief.
“A more affectionate little creature doesn’t breathe,” she said. ”

“ 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. ”

“ You linger over the sayings of Coignard, if you feel that in some mood or other you could have said them. You accept with gratitude the follies, the humours of M. Bergeret, if you recognise in him a kinship, however distant, with yourself. In listening to a play you side, at least in simpler moods, with the character whose code of values approximates to that by which you are in the habit of weighing your actions and those of others. ”

“ At the sound of the bell Riquet leapt down from the couch he was sharing with his master, and, with one eye on the door, set up a terrific barking. When M. Leterrier came into the room, the dog received him with hostile growls; the portly form and full, grave countenance fringed with grey beard, were not familiar to him.
“You too!” murmured the rector gently.
“Please excuse him,” said M. Bergeret. “He is a domesticated animal. When men undertook the training of his forefathers, and, in so doing, formed the characteristics he has inherited, they themselves regarded a stranger as an enemy. ”

“ O benefactors of humanity! you have taught us the true science of life, a kindly scorn of the human race!”
127 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ More than once, when the day was over and his work done, his club must have weighed heavily upon him.” M. Bergeret raised aloft his umbrella with an effort as though it had been a heavy weapon. Then he continued his discourse. “He was strong, yet weak. We love him because he is like ourselves.”
“Hercules?” asked M. Goubin.
“Yes,” replied M. Bergeret. “Like ourselves, he was born unhappy, the child of a god and a woman. From this mixed origin he derived the sadness of a thoughtful spirit and the cravings of a ravening body. ”

“ The whole town was there. M. Bergeret was among the stragglers following the procession, and M. Mazure, coming up to him, whispered in his ear:
“I knew that old Cassignol had been a fanatical zealot all his life, but I didn’t know he was such a prig. He called himself a Liberal!”
“And so he was,” answered M. Bergeret. “He had to be, because his ambition was to govern. Is it not through liberty that we progress along the road to domination? ”

“ And now you have made me lose the drift of an important passage in Servius, referring to the construction of one of the ships of Æneas. Know then, Riquet, my friend, that this is the house of silence and the abode of meditation, and that if you are anxious to stay here you must become literary. Be quiet!”
Thus spoke M. Bergeret. Riquet, who had listened to him with mute astonishment, approached his master, and with suppliant gesture placed a timid paw upon the knee, which he seemed to revere in a fashion that savoured of long ago. Then a kind thought struck M. Bergeret. ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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. ”

“ A man never knows himself, and is a monster without realizing it.”
Thus did M. Bergeret examine himself with praiseworthy sincerity. As he was passing the church of Saint-Exupère, however, he stopped under the porch of the Last Judgment. He had always loved the old legendary sculptures, and taken an interest in the stories graven upon the stone. One devil in particular, who had a dog’s head on his shoulders, and a man’s face on the nether portion of his anatomy, had a peculiar fascination for him. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 or16 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! ”

“ 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. ”