daughter. My signature is honoured at the bank and at the church. I am
president of the Anti-semitic Committee of my district."
"That is going somewhat far," remarked Samuel.
"Jews who remain Jews are inexcusable!" said Ephraim, in irritation
against his people. "What is asked of them? A little salt water on their
heads. A great matter! Is there any question of denying Jehovah? None,
for it is our God whom, by our holy book, we have imposed upon the
Gallic barbarians. In all the temples it is Jehovah they worship. Why
should we refuse to enter? Whose effigies are they, if you please, on
the altars, in the niches? Those of Jews. All Jews! Peter, the first
pope--nothing less!--Paul, Joseph, Simon, Thomas, all the apostles. Even
to the Jewess Mary and her mother Anna, who are regularly worshipped and
who obtain favours from their son and grandson, Jesus, who Himself
proclaimed that He had come to fulfill the law of Moses. Now there is
not and there cannot be any other law than to vanquish one's rivals, and
the victory of Christ is manifestly the victory of Jehovah himself.
Christianity is the finest flower of Israel. It is the most flourishing
among the Jewish sects, and in it nothing is changed but certain words.
Shall we for the sake of a word or two forego that which makes life on
earth beautiful? The Jews will come to understand this, and if they
delay much longer the anti-semites will make them understand it."
The other two were silent in admiration.
"I suppose, brother," said Samuel after a time to Mordecai, "that your
story is practically the same."
"Not at all," replied Mordecai, curtly. "My case is wholly different. I
was rich from birth. My ancestors, a beggarly lot, I admit, had by
filing away at Christian coins made Jewish ingots, which I found in my
inheritance, and was able to increase considerably by analogous methods.
Hence, the idea could never have occurred to me to be--converted--for
the sake of gain." (This shaft was accompanied by a sidelong glance at
Ephraim, who did not flinch.) "I lived in peaceful enjoyment of the
things money can give, and it can give almost everything, as you know.
Sovereigns loved me. I entertained them in my various dwellings. They
pushed friendliness to the point of borrowing money from me which they
forgot to return. I had the friendship besides of all those
aristocracies that draw near at the sound of clinking coin, as serpents
do at the sound of the charmer's flute. Good priests came to my
antechamber on begging missions for the restoration or completion of
their cathedrals."
"I fail to see what more you could want," said Samuel.
"I wanted nothing. You have said it, brother. Count Mordecai of Brussels
was the equal of earth's kings. More princes applied for the hand of my
daughters than I had time to refuse."
"Well?"
"Well, Jehovah, or Christ, or both, placed an extinguisher over this too
bright happiness of mine."
"You are ruined?"
"Oh, no, on the contrary. Only, the wind changed. To divert the
attention of the crowd from a demagogue who shouted, 'Clericalism is the
great enemy!' the Jesuits devised the plan of raising a cry in
opposition: 'The great enemy is Semitism!' And as the Jesuits had the
whole Church behind them, and the demagogue controlled nothing but a
fluctuating crowd, a very feather in the wind, anti-semitism prospered.
Thereupon arose from somewhere or other certain so-called
"intellectuals," who defended us in the name of their "ideas." What
clumsy nonsense! And they could not be hushed up. They being our
defenders, others for that very reason attacked us. Whereas, had we,
according to our traditions, offered our backs to their blows, our
enemies would presently have desisted, from weariness. Now the harm is
done. We are contemned. No more priests after that sat on my benches. My
noble friends deserted my drawing rooms, leaving their unpaid notes in
my pocketbook. I went hunting with no company but the two hundred
gamekeepers for the battue. Society forsook me. I was no longer
"esteemed." Now, let me declare to you that there is no more exquisite
torture than to see the friendship of the great go up in smoke.
Unhesitatingly, therefore, resolutely, with the object of reinstating
myself in public favour, I turned Christian. It means nothing, as
Ephraim here demonstrated. My Christian friends came back, with
contribution boxes outstretched, just as in earlier days. My generosity
has ceased to be obnoxious. Now, as before, I build churches. So there
is nothing really new in my estate. When I shall have received some
honorary employment from the Vatican there will be nothing left to wish
for. I have all that is needed for winning in the game. As it is wise,
however, to neglect no detail, I thought that the intervention of the
Master----"
He indicated the Crucified. But Samuel gave him no time to finish.
"Brothers," he cried, "I pity you! Conversion in itself means nothing, I
agree. It is none the less true that there are traditions worthy of
respect, which one must not renounce without serious reasons. A base
money lust guided you, Ephraim. And you, Mordecai, were moved by love of
the approbation of the majority. Which shows that man is never satisfied
on earth. One for material advantages, the other for a thing as illusory
as imprisoning the wind, you have sacrificed the ideal by which alone
humanity is strong----"
"But you?" cried the others. "Why were you converted?"
"Because of opinion. I came here even now to seek fuller light from----"
"What? What is that you say? Say it over again!"
"I have changed my religion simply because my convictions have
changed."
At these words Ephraim and Mordecai were unable to contain themselves.
Leaning for support against the stone pile, they burst into laughter so
wild, so loud, at the madness of the statement, that the neighbouring
windows shook. They uttered guttural cries, they tossed into the
affrighted air grunts of raucous merriment, before the unheard-of
monstrosity of the case. There were Ohs and Ahs and Hoo-hoos and
Hee-hees, interrupted by fits of coughing brought on by strangling
laughter. Then of a sudden, reflection, following upon amusement, turned
into fury.
"Villain! Are you making fools of us? Perhaps you think us such
simpletons as to swallow your lie. Dog! Reprobate! Accursed! Bad Jew!
Raca! Raca! Take that for your belief, your convictions!"
And they fell to beating him.
"What's the matter?" cried the watchman, arriving on the scene,
attracted by the noise. "You, over there! Stop pommeling one another, or
you will go to jail. Move on! Move on!"
In less time than it takes to tell it, the three men had quieted down.
They separated hastily, without good-night, and each with nimble foot
went home to bed.
The fourth Israelite, Jesus, son of Joseph, was left alone beneath the
stars. He is still there. Without disrespect, I blame Him for not having
on this occasion put in a word.
VIII
EVIL BENEFICENCE
Beneficence is a virtue: no one will deny it. But let no one deny,
either, that there are benefactors maleficent in the extreme, through
the stupidity of their benefactions.
In the distant days of my youth there flourished in the Woodland of the
Vendée a highly respected couple, who during a period of fifty years
wearied three cantons with their "kindness."
These excellent people were, of course, possessed of great wealth, for
in order to pester one's fellowman with generosity one must have
received the means for it from heaven. They were, on top of that, pious,
again as a matter of course, for the preacher's promise of eternal
reward has killed in man the beautiful disinterestedness that is the
fine flower of charity.
The Baron de Grillères was a small noble of large fortune. Formerly a
member of the body guard of Charles X, he had little care for "Divine
Right" or a return to the splendours of the old régime, as he proved by
accepting a captaincy in the militia called out by Louis Philippe to
crush the royalist attempt at an uprising in the Vendée, in which the
Duchesse de Berry so miserably failed. I have seen in the Baron's study
a shining panoply in which his epaulettes of a royal guardsman
eloquently fraternized with his collar piece of a captain of the
National Guard in arms against the King. In the centre were two crossed
swords, one of them formerly worn in the service of the legitimate
sovereign anointed at Rheims, the other drawn from its scabbard against
that same legitimacy, to uphold the rights of the usurper.
It is certain that the excellent soldier had never perceived anything
contradictory in these two manifestations of a martial spirit. He had
consistently upheld established order, that is to say, the régime which
assured him the peaceful enjoyment of his property, and the logic of his
conduct seemed to him unquestionable, for what in the world could be
more sacred than that which promoted the quietness of his life? Totally
uneducated, barely able to write his name, he was never troubled by any
longings after learning. The Church answered for everything; he referred
everything to the Church. This principle has the great advantage of
dispensing one from any effort to think for himself.
The Baroness, of middle-class origin, and doubtless for that reason very
proud of the three gates on her escutcheon, lived solely, as she was
pleased to say, "for the glory of God." Divinity, according to this
simple soul, needed the Baroness de Grillères in order to attain the
fullness of glory. It is a common idea among believers that the Creator
of the Universe is open to receiving from His creatures pleasant or
unpleasant impressions, just as we are from our fellow-beings. These
estimable people are convinced that the Good Lord of All is pleased or
angered accordingly as they act thus or so. They hold Providence in such
small esteem as to believe that It needs defending by those same human
beings whom It could with a gesture reduce to the original dust. Do we
not often hear it said that such and such a minister or party is bent on
"driving out God" from somewhere or other, and that they would in all
likelihood succeed but for some paladin, ecclesiastical or military,
stepping in to defend the Supreme Being, unequal, apparently, to
defending Himself? This Baroness of the Vendée, dwelling in perpetual
colloquy with the Eternal, either directly or through the mediation of
the divine functionaries delegated for that purpose, had taken as her
special mission to "contribute to the Glory of God." In some nebulous
way it seemed to her that if she gave an example of all the virtues, the
Sovereign Artificer, like Vaucanson, delighted with himself on account
of his famous mechanical duck, would be puffed up with pride at His
success in producing so perfect a human specimen, and that the
admiration of the world for the genius capable of such a masterpiece
would deliciously tickle the conceit of the Almighty. One might
attribute to the Master of the Infinite less human causes of
satisfaction. But, might one say, what matter, if this rather earthly
view of Divinity incited the devout Baroness to the practice of the
virtues?
"The virtues," when one has an income of 80,000 francs, and no personal
tastes, no passion of mind or heart to satisfy, do not seem beyond human
reach. For "the glory of God" the Baroness de Grillères was in life as
chaste as an iceberg, and at death bequeathed her wealth to the rich.
God, the Holy Virgin, and the Saints bid us to give. More especially,
they are pleased if we give first of all to the Church. Chapels sprang
up in the Baroness's footprints. After a consultation with her spiritual
adviser, she had dedicated her husband to Saint Joseph. The Saint and
the Baron exchanged a thousand amenities. The one received statues and
prayers, the other, the highest example of resignation. Wherever two
avenues crossed in the park, stood a group of the Holy Family, with an
inscription showing that the Baron and Baroness de Grillères aspired to
linking their names in the public memory with those of the pair
conspicuous for the greatest miracle known on earth.
Upon every religious establishment in the surrounding country
successively were bestowed sums of money, in exchange for which the
pious donors desired nothing but a marble tablet, placed well in view,
whereon was published in golden letters that Christian charity in
connection with which the Master has said that the right hand must not
know what is done by the left. Of course, the presence of the poor, the
sick, and the infirm, in an institution conducted by some congregation,
did not actually constitute a reason in the minds of the Baron and
Baroness for withholding their gifts. They considered, however, that
direct service to God and the Saints must be given precedence, for the
heavenly powers were the ones who dispensed rewards; it might, moreover,
be feared that there was a sort of impiety in thwarting the unfathomable
designs of Providence, by attempting to alleviate the trials It had seen
fit to impose upon human beings.
When the mayor of La Fougeraie, a notorious Free Mason, headed a
subscription for setting up a public fountain in the village square, the
lord and lady of the château refused to contribute, but immediately
devoted 2,000 francs to purchasing a holy water font of Carrara marble,
on which might be seen a flight of angels carrying heavenward the
escutcheon with the three gates.
As for the poor who did not shrink from personally soliciting alms, the
Baron and Baroness alike held them in profound contempt. In the history
of every wretched beggar there invariably turned out to be some fault in
conduct making him unworthy of charity. One of them had got drunk last
Sunday at the tavern, one was accused of stealing potatoes, another had
been mixed up in a brawl at the village festival. How could disorderly
living of this sort lead to anything but mendicancy? "You ought to go to
work, my good man," they would say. "Look for employment. Do you so much
as go to mass? Do you keep Lent? Go and see the _curé_. It is to him we
give our alms, for the whole countryside knows we keep nothing for
ourselves of what the Good God has given us. It is not to the deceitful
riches of this earth that we must cling, my poor friend; for heavenly
things only must we strive. Go and see the _curé_, he is so kind. He
will know how to minister to the needs of your soul."
Sometimes the gift of a little brass medal with the image of Saint
Joseph or the Virgin Mary would accompany this homily, and the beggar,
however hardened in his evil ways, would depart with humble salutations
and a melancholy thankfulness.
It is true that vice deserves hate, but can it be denied that certain
aspects of virtue are utterly hateful? Vice, not unlikely to bring about
humility and repentance, is sometimes capable of generous actions
without hope of reward. The selfish goodness of calculating virtue sees
in Christian charity the opening of a bank account with the Creator, and
while making lavish gifts, forfeits the merit of giving, by the avowed
exaction of a profit immeasurably greater than the amount paid. The
Baron and Baroness de Grillères basked in the delight of hearing
themselves praised from the pulpit. No flattering hyperbole seemed to
them excessive, for, as they sowed money on all sides, they looked for a
great harvest of splendidly ostentatious veneration. All they lacked in
order to be loved was that they should first love a little.
Of family life they never knew anything but the companionship of two
egoisms, both fiercely straining toward an incomprehensible future
felicity, to be earned by the application of a language of love, in
which was wrapped their lust of eternity. They had for incidental
diversion the base adulation of poor relations, whose mean calculations
did not, however, escape them. But the habit of hearing, at every step,
every conceivable virtue attributed to them, was an agreeable one, and
although they knew that money counted for something in the outpouring of
eulogistic superlatives of which they were the objects, they lent
themselves easily to the sweet belief that they did, in fact, achieve
prodigies of kindness every hour of their lives. No need to say that
they never made a gift of three shirts or a pair of shoes to a grand
nephew without the fact being trumpeted abroad.
A delightful game, for the Baroness, was distributing legacies among her
relatives. Not a piece of furniture, of jewellery, or of silver, did she
possess, not a single object of commonest use, that she had not in
theory and in anticipation given to some one of her heirs. She would
open a wardrobe and show the happy prospective owner a label posted on
the inside of the door: "I bequeathe this piece of furniture, which came
to me from my dear Mamma, to my good little cousin Mary, whom I love
with all my heart." Picture the embraces, the ensuing effusions of
tenderness! Further on, the corner of a bit of paper would stick out
from under the pedestal of a clock. "I bequeathe this clock, which was
the property of my beloved Grandmother, to my grandnephew, Charles, who
will pray for his good aunt." With what ecstasy little grandnephew
Charles, led with much mystery to the spot, would with his own eyes read
the text naming him possessor of the treasure! No member of the family
was without his allotted share.
Only, the capricious Baroness, whom it was very easy to annoy, was
perpetually taking offence. For a delayed letter, for thanks which
seemed insufficient tribute to her generosity, she would declare that
Mary or Charles no longer loved her, and as she looked upon affection
merely as a marketable commodity, the little slips of paper referring to
heirship were immediately replaced by others. Mary's wardrobe would fall
to Selina. Charles's clock would leap into John's inheritance, who would
be apprised of the fact in deep secret, until presently, for some
unconscious fault, the clock would be temporarily bestowed upon
Alphonse, and the wardrobe upon Rose. Variable book-keeping, which
kindled among relatives inextinguishable hatreds. But the Baroness'
masterpiece was the marriage between John and Rose.
John was an overseer of highway and bridge construction. He loved his
cousin Mary, who contributed by her needlework to the slender family
earnings. The young people had been betrothed six months, when one fine
day, without any known reason, the Baroness declared that Rose was the
one for John, and John exactly suited to Rose. Great commotion. The fear
of being disinherited kept every one concerned in subjection to the
"dearly beloved Aunt." Mary, desperately weeping, was preached into
promising to enter a convent, the Baroness paying her dowry; this for
the dear sake of John, whose name she might unite in her prayers with
that of the Providential Aunt, who mercifully opened the way of
salvation to her. John, alas, was more easily persuaded than she, when
he learned that he and Rose together would be chief heirs; and Rose, who
had ideas of grandeur, and dreamt of nothing less than going on to the
stage, lent herself with her whole heart to the comedy of love fatly
remunerative. John was invited to give up his work and "live like a
gentleman," and Rose's natural tendencies coöperating, the young couple,
loaded down with gifts of sounding specie, spread themselves gloriously,
under the happy eyes of the Baroness, in every description of silly
extravagance.
The Baron died of an attack of gout, a disease unknown to clodhoppers.
His wealth passed to his wife. Rose and John had received on their
marriage an income of only 10,000 francs, but they had the formal
promise of the entire inheritance. Unfortunately, a week before her
death, the Baroness was shocked by "a lack of regard" on Rose's part,
which consisted in not having evinced a sufficiently vociferous despair
at the recital of her Aunt's sufferings! By a will made in her last
moments everything was bequeathed to the Church, in payment for
numberless ceremonies whereby the utmost of celestial bliss was to be
secured for the dying woman.
Rose and John, after a torrent of invectives, left that part of the
country. An income of 10,000 francs signified poverty for them. They
fled to Paris, where in less than a year John lost down to his last
penny in speculations. After that they went their respective ways, Rose
to sing in a café-concert of the Faubourg St. Martin, John to take
employment with a booking agency for the races. He has as yet only been
sentenced to one month's imprisonment for a swindling card-game.
Admirable results of an Evil Beneficence!
IX
A MAD THINKER
Among the wise, some will perhaps agree with me, the maddest madmen are
not those who are commonly called so. In great walled and barred and
guarded buildings--prisons where people who are condemned by "science,"
just as elsewhere people are condemned by "law," expiate the crime of a
psychological disorder greater than that of the majority--unfortunate
beings are kept behind bolts and triple locks, for the incoherence of
their syllogisms, while fellow mortals no more mentally stable are
allowed to do their raving out on the world's stage.
For one whole year in my youth I dwelt among the lunatics of Bicêtre. I
had many interviews with "impulsives," whom a sudden disturbance of the
organism had made dangerously violent, and who talked pathetically about
their "illness," believing it cured, whereas it was not. I held
discussions with patients suffering from more or less specific
delusions. From those now long-past associations I have retained a habit
of comparing the mentalities inside asylums with those outside, which
proceeding leads rather to the proposal than the solution of problems.
What seems clear, however, is that we have not discovered a standard of
good sense, a way of measuring reason, by which we could definitely
separate sane from morbid psychology; that, furthermore, such a method,
had we discovered it, would not help us much, considering the
disconcerting ease with which men pass from the normal to the
pathological state, and vice versa. We should need too many asylums, and
there would be too continual a coming and going in and out of them. We
should not have time, between sojourns there, to study what we wanted to
learn, to teach what we knew, to prove to each other that we are all
afloat in a sea of errors, to quarrel, to vote, to kill one another, and
to reproduce ourselves for the sake of perpetuating the balance of
unbalance amid which fate has placed us.
Let us then accept the human phenomenon as it stands, and beware of
classifications which might lead us to believe that the mere fact of
being at liberty on the public highways is a guarantee of sound mind.
Whoever doubts this may wisely consider the judgments men are pleased to
pass upon one another. Question the Christian with regard to the
atheist, he will tell you that one must be totally devoid of common
sense to deny evidence that to him seems conclusive. The Mahomedan will
not conceal from you, if you discuss Christianity with him, that one
must unmistakably be mad, to identify three in one, and believe in a
physical manifestation of God to man. The Buddhist will look upon the
Mussulman as feeble in reasoning power, and the practiser of fetishism
on the coast of Africa or of Australasia will declare all these sects
foolish, since to him the only rational thing is to worship his
fetishes, which are, strangely enough, matched in our religion by the
many miraculous statues. Lastly, let me mention the philosophers, who
agree in regarding all those people as affected with morbid
degeneration, while pitying one another because of the mutual imputation
of diseased understanding.