Author: Victor Hugo
Category: Literature
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CHAPTER VIII--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 calledconscience, sworn faith, justice, duty: he had marched straight to hisgoal, without once flinching in the line of his advancement and hisinterest. He was an old attorney, softened by success; not a bad man byany 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 wiselyseized upon, in life, good sides, good opportunities, good windfalls.Everything else seemed to him very stupid. He was intelligent, and justsufficiently educated to think himself a disciple of Epicurus; while hewas, in reality, only a product of Pigault-Lebrun. He laughed willinglyand pleasantly over infinite and eternal things, and at the "crotchetsof that good old fellow the Bishop." He even sometimes laughed at himwith an amiable authority in the presence of M. Myriel himself, wholistened 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 stillperfectly dignified, exclaimed:--
"Egad, Bishop, let's have a discussion. It is hard for a senator and abishop to look at each other without winking. We are two augurs. I amgoing 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 thephilosophers 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. Voltairemade sport of Needham, and he was wrong, for Needham's eels prove thatGod is useless. A drop of vinegar in a spoonful of flour paste suppliesthe _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 EternalFather? The Jehovah hypothesis tires me, Bishop. It is good for nothingbut to produce shallow people, whose reasoning is hollow. Down with thatgreat 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 confessionto my pastor, as it behooves me to do, I will admit to you that Ihave good sense. I am not enthusiastic over your Jesus, who preachesrenunciation and sacrifice to the last extremity. 'Tis the counsel of anavaricious man to beggars. Renunciation; why? Sacrifice; to what end?I do not see one wolf immolating himself for the happiness of anotherwolf. Let us stick to nature, then. We are at the top; let us have asuperior philosophy. What is the advantage of being at the top, ifone sees no further than the end of other people's noses? Let us livemerrily. 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 toeverything I do; I must cudgel my brains over good and evil, over thejust and the unjust, over the _fas_ and the _nefas_. Why? Because Ishall have to render an account of my actions. When? After death. What afine dream! After my death it will be a very clever person who can catchme. Have a handful of dust seized by a shadow-hand, if you can. Let ustell the truth, we who are initiated, and who have raised the veilof Isis: there is no such thing as either good or evil; there isvegetation. Let us seek the real. Let us get to the bottom of it. Let usgo into it thoroughly. What the deuce! let us go to the bottom of it! Wemust scent out the truth; dig in the earth for it, and seize it. Thenit gives you exquisite joys. Then you grow strong, and you laugh. I amsquare on the bottom, I am. Immortality, Bishop, is a chance, a waitingfor dead men's shoes. Ah! what a charming promise! trust to it, if youlike! 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 itnot 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! Godis a nonsensical monster. I would not say that in the _Moniteur_, egad!but I may whisper it among friends. _Inter pocula_. To sacrifice theworld to paradise is to let slip the prey for the shadow. Be the dupe ofthe infinite! I'm not such a fool. I am a nought. I call myself Monsieurle Comte Nought, senator. Did I exist before my birth? No. Shall I existafter death? No. What am I? A little dust collected in an organism. Whatam I to do on this earth? The choice rests with me: suffer or enjoy.Whither will suffering lead me? To nothingness; but I shall havesuffered. Whither will enjoyment lead me? To nothingness; but I shallhave enjoyed myself. My choice is made. One must eat or be eaten. Ishall eat. It is better to be the tooth than the grass. Such is mywisdom. After which, go whither I push thee, the grave-digger isthere; 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 anythingto tell me on that subject. Fables of nurses; bugaboo for children;Jehovah for men. No; our to-morrow is the night. Beyond the tomb thereis nothing but equal nothingness. You have been Sardanapalus, you havebeen Vincent de Paul--it makes no difference. That is the truth. Thenlive your life, above all things. Make use of your _I_ while you haveit. 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 withthat nonsense. Of course, there must be something for those who aredown,--for the barefooted beggars, knife-grinders, and miserablewretches. Legends, chimæras, the soul, immortality, paradise, the stars,are provided for them to swallow. They gobble it down. They spread it ontheir dry bread. He who has nothing else has the good God. That is theleast he can have. I oppose no objection to that; but I reserve MonsieurNaigeon 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 marvellousthing 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 stupidlyallow one's self to be exiled like Cato, nor stoned like Stephen, norburned alive like Jeanne d'Arc. Those who have succeeded in procuringthis admirable materialism have the joy of feeling themselvesirresponsible, and of thinking that they can devour everything withoutuneasiness,--places, sinecures, dignities, power, whether well orill acquired, lucrative recantations, useful treacheries, savorycapitulations of conscience,--and that they shall enter the tomb withtheir digestion accomplished. How agreeable that is! I do not say thatwith reference to you, senator. Nevertheless, it is impossible for meto refrain from congratulating you. You great lords have, so you say, aphilosophy of your own, and for yourselves, which is exquisite, refined,accessible to the rich alone, good for all sauces, and which seasonsthe voluptuousness of life admirably. This philosophy has beenextracted from the depths, and unearthed by special seekers. But you aregood-natured princes, and you do not think it a bad thing that belief inthe good God should constitute the philosophy of the people, very muchas the goose stuffed with chestnuts is the truffled turkey of the poor."