THE GARDENER'S STORY, CONCLUDED
"It seemed as if science and thought had perished for all eternity, and
that the earth would never again know peace, joy, and beauty.
"But one day, under the walls of Rome, some workmen, excavating the
earth on the borders of an ancient road, found a marble sarcophagus
which bore carved on its sides simulacra of Love and the triumphs of
Bacchus.
"The lid being raised, a maiden appeared whose face shone with dazzling
freshness. Her long hair spread over her white shoulders, she was
smiling in her sleep. A band of citizens, thrilled with enthusiasm,
raised the funeral couch and bore it to the Capitol. The people came in
crowds to contemplate the ineffable beauty of the Roman maiden and stood
around in silence, watching for the awakening of the divine soul held
within this form of adorable beauty.
"And it came to pass that the City was so greatly stirred by this
spectacle that the Pope, fearing, not without reason, the birth of a
pagan cult from this radiant body, caused it to be removed at night and
secretly buried. The precaution was vain, the labour fruitless. After so
many centuries of barbarism, the beauty of the antique world had
appeared for a moment before the eyes of men; it was long enough for its
image, graven on their hearts, to inspire them with an ardent desire to
love and to know.
"Henceforth, the star of the God of the Christians paled and sloped to
its decline. Bold navigators discovered worlds inhabited by numerous
races who knew not old Iahveh, and it was suspected that he was no less
ignorant of them, since he had given them no news of himself or of his
son the expiator. A Polish Canon demonstrated the true motions of the
earth, and it was seen that, far from having created the world, the old
demiurge of Israel had not even an inkling of its structure. The
writings of philosophers, orators, jurisconsults, and ancient poets were
dragged from the dust of the cloisters and passing from hand to hand
inspired men's minds with the love of wisdom. The Vicar of the jealous
God, the Pope himself, no longer believed in Him whom he represented on
earth. He loved the arts and had no other care than to collect ancient
statues and to rear sumptuous buildings wherein were displayed the
orders of Vitruvius re-established by Bramante. We began to breathe
anew. Already the old gods, recalled from their long exile, were
returning to dwell upon earth. There they found once more their temples
and their altars. Leo, placing at their feet the ring, the three crowns,
and the keys, offered them in secret the incense of sacrifices. Already
Polyhymnia, leaning on her elbow, had begun to resume the golden thread
of her meditations; already, in the gardens, the comely Graces and the
Nymphs and Satyrs were weaving their mazy dances, and at length the
earth had joy once more within its grasp. But, O calamity, unlucky
fate,--most tragic circumstance! A German monk, all swollen with beer
and theology, rose up against this renaissance of paganism, hurled
menaces against it, shattered it, and prevailed single handed against
the Princes of the Church. Inciting the nations, he called upon them to
undertake a reform which saved that which was about to be destroyed.
Vainly did the cleverest among us try to turn him from his work. A
subtle demon, on earth called Beelzebub, marked him out for attack, now
embarrassing him with learned controversial argument, now tormenting him
with cruel mockery. The stubborn monk hurled his ink-pot at his head and
went on with his dismal reformation. What ultimately happened? The
sturdy mariner repaired, calked, and refloated the damaged ship of the
Church. Jesus Christ owes it to this shaveling that his shipwreck was
delayed for perhaps more than ten centuries. Henceforth things went from
bad to worse. In the wake of this loutish monk, this beer-swiller and
brawler, came that tall, dry doctor from Geneva, who, filled with the
spirit of the ancient Iahveh, strove to bring the world back again to
the abominable days of Joshua and the Judges of Israel. A maniac was he,
filled with cold fury, a heretic and a burner of heretics, the most
ferocious enemy of the Graces.
"These mad apostles and their mad disciples made even demons like
myself, even the horned devils, look back longingly on the time when the
Son with his Virgin Mother reigned over the nations dazzled with
splendours: cathedrals with their stone tracery delicate as lace,
flaming roses of stained glass, frescoes painted in vivid colours
telling countless wondrous tales, rich orfrays, glittering enamel of
shrines and reliquaries, gold of crosses and of monstrances, waxen
tapers gleaming like starry galaxies amid the gloom of vaulted arches,
organs with their deep-toned harmonies. All this doubtless was not the
Parthenon, nor yet the Panathenæa, but it gladdened eyes and hearts; it
was, at all events, beauty. And these cursed reformers would not suffer
anything either pleasing or lovable. You should have seen them climbing
in black swarms over doorways, plinths, spires, and bell-towers,
striking with senseless hammers those images in stone which the demons
had carved working hand in hand with the master designers, those genial
saints and dear, holy women, and the touching idols of Virgin Mothers
pressing their suckling to their heart. For, to be just, a little
agreeable paganism had slipped into the cult of the jealous God. These
monsters of heretics were for extirpating idolatry. We did our best, my
companions and I, to hamper their horrible work, and I, for one, had the
pleasure of flinging down some dozens from the top of the porches and
galleries on to the Cathedral Square, where their detestable brains got
knocked out. The worst of it was that the Catholic Church also reformed
herself and grew more mischievous than ever. In the pleasant land of
France, the seminarists and the monks were inflamed with unheard-of fury
against the ingenious demons and the men of learning. My prior was one
of the most violent opponents of sound knowledge. For some time past my
studious lucubrations had caused him anxiety, and perhaps he had caught
sight of my cloven foot. The scoundrel searched my cell and found paper,
ink, some Greek books newly printed, and some Pan-pipes hanging on the
wall. By these signs he knew me for an evil spirit and had me thrown
into a dungeon where I should have eaten the bread of suffering and
drunk the waters of bitterness, had I not promptly made my escape by the
window and sought refuge in the wooded groves among the Nymphs and the
Fauns.
"Far and wide the lighted pyres cast the odour of charred flesh.
Everywhere there were tortures, executions, broken bones, and tongues
cut out. Never before had the spirit of Iahveh breathed forth such
atrocious fury. However, it was not altogether in vain that men had
raised the lid of the ancient sarcophagus and gazed upon the Roman
Virgin.
"During this time of great terror when Papists and Reformers rivalled
one another in violence and cruelty, amidst all these scenes of torture,
the mind of man was regaining strength and courage. It dared to look up
to the heavens, and there it saw, not the old Jew drunk with vengeance,
but Venus Urania, tranquil and resplendent. Then a new order of things
was born, then the great centuries came into being. Without publicly
denying the god of their ancestors, men of intellect submitted to his
mortal enemies, Science and Reason, and Abbé Gassendi relegated him
gently to the far-distant abyss of first causes. The kindly demons who
teach and console unhappy mortals, inspired the great minds of those
days with discourses of all kinds, with comedies and tales told in the
most polished fashion. Women invented conversation, the art of intimate
letter-writing, and politeness. Manners took on a sweetness and a
nobility unknown to preceding ages. One of the finest minds of that age
of reason, the amiable Bernier, wrote one day to St. Evremond: 'It is a
great sin to deprive oneself of a pleasure.' And this pronouncement
alone should suffice to show the progress of intelligence in Europe. Not
that there had not always been Epicureans but, unlike Bernier, Chapelle,
and Molière, they had not the consciousness of their talent.
"Then even the very devotees understood Nature. And Racine, fierce bigot
that he was, knew as well as such an atheistical physician as Guy Patin,
how to attribute to divers states of the organs the passions which
agitate mankind.
"Even in my abbey, whither I had returned after the turmoil, and which
sheltered only the ignorant and the shallow thinker, a young monk, less
of a dunce than the rest, confided to me that the Holy Spirit expresses
itself in bad Greek to humiliate the learned.
"Nevertheless, theology and controversy were still raging in this
society of thinkers. Not far from Paris in a shady valley there were to
be seen solitary beings known as 'les Messieurs,' who called themselves
disciples of St. Augustine, and argued with honest conviction that the
God of the Scriptures strikes those who fear Him, spares those who
confront Him, holds works of no account, and damns--should He so wish
it--His most faithful servant; for His justice is not our justice, and
His ways are incomprehensible.
"One evening I met one of these gentlemen in his garden, where he was
pacing thoughtfully among the cabbage-plots and lettuce-beds. I bowed
my horned head before him and murmured these friendly words: 'May old
Jehovah protect you, sir. You know him well. Oh, how well you know him,
and how perfectly you have understood his character.' The holy man
thought he discerned in me a messenger from Hell, concluded he was
eternally damned, and died suddenly of fright.
"The following century was the century of philosophy. The spirit of
research was developed, reverence was lost; the pride of the flesh was
diminished and the mind acquired fresh energy. Manners took on an
elegance until then unknown. On the other hand, the monks of my order
grew more and more ignorant and dirty, and the monastery no longer
offered me any advantage now that good manners reigned in the town. I
could bear it no longer. Flinging my habit to the nettles, I put a
powdered wig on my horned brow, hid my goat's legs under white
stockings, and cane in hand, my pockets stuffed with gazettes, I
frequented the fashionable world, visited the modish promenades, and
showed myself assiduously in the _cafés_ where men of letters were to be
found. I was made welcome in _salons_ where, as a happy novelty, there
were arm-chairs that fitted the form, and where both men and women
engaged in rational conversation.
"The very metaphysicians spoke intelligibly. I acquired great weight in
the town as an authority on matters of exegesis, and, without boasting,
I was largely responsible for the Testament of the curé Meslier and _The
Bible Explained_, brought out by the chaplains to the King of Prussia.
"At this time a comic and cruel misadventure befel the ancient Iahveh.
An American Quaker, by means of a kite, stole his thunderbolts.
"I was living in Paris, and was at the supper where they talked of
strangling the last of the priests with the entrails of the last of the
kings. France was in a ferment; a terrible revolution broke out. The
ephemeral leaders of the disordered State carried on a Reign of Terror
amidst unheard-of perils. They were, for the most part, less pitiless
and less cruel than the princes and judges instituted by Iahveh in the
kingdoms of the earth; nevertheless, they appeared more ferocious,
because they gave judgment in the name of Humanity. Unhappily they were
easily moved to pity and of great sensibility. Now men of sensibility
are irritable and subject to fits of fury. They were virtuous; they had
moral laws, that is to say they conceived certain narrowly defined moral
obligations, and judged human actions not by their natural consequences
but by abstract principles. Of all the vices which contribute to the
undoing of a statesman, virtue is the most fatal; it leads to murder. To
work effectively for the happiness of mankind, a man must be superior to
all morals, like the divine Julius. God, so ill-used for some time
past, did not, on the whole, suffer excessively harsh treatment from
these new men. He found protectors among them, and was adored under the
name of the Supreme Being. One might even go so far as to say that
terror created a diversion from philosophy and was profitable to the old
demiurge, in that he appeared to represent order, public tranquillity,
and the security of person and property.
"While Liberty was coming to birth amid the storm, I lived at Auteuil,
and visited Madame Helvetius, where freethinkers in every branch of
intellectual activity were to be met with. Nothing could be rarer than a
freethinker, even after Voltaire's day. A man who will face death
without trembling dare not say anything out of the ordinary about
morals. That very same respect for Humanity which prompts him to go
forth to his death, makes him bow to public opinion. In those days I
enjoyed listening to the talk of Volney, Cabanis, and Tracy. Disciples
of the great Condillac, they regarded the senses as the origin of all
our knowledge. They called themselves ideologists, were the most
honourable people in the world, and grieved the vulgar minds by refusing
them immortality. For the majority of people, though they do not know
what to do with this life, long for another that shall have no end.
During the turmoil, our small philosophical society was sometimes
disturbed in the peaceful shades of Auteuil by patrols of patriots.
Condorcet, our great man, was an outlaw. I myself was regarded as
suspect by the friends of the people, who, in spite of my rustic
appearance and my frieze coat, believed me to be an aristocrat, and I
confess that independence of thought is the proudest of all
aristocracies.
"One evening while I was stealthily watching the dryads of Boulogne, who
gleamed amid the leaves like the moon rising above the horizon, I was
arrested as a suspect, and put in prison. It was a pure
misunderstanding; but the Jacobins of those days, like the monks whose
place they had usurped, laid great stress on unity of obedience. After
the death of Madame Helvetius our society gathered together in the
_salon_ of Madame de Condorcet. Bonaparte did not disdain to chat with
us sometimes.
"Recognizing him to be a great man, we thought him an ideologist like
ourselves. Our influence in the land was considerable. We used it in his
favour, and urged him towards the Imperial throne, thinking to display
to the world a second Marcus Aurelius. We counted on him to establish
universal peace; he did not fulfil our expectations, and we were
wrong-headed enough to be wroth with him for our own mistake.
"Without any doubt he greatly surpassed all other men in quickness of
intelligence, depth of dissimulation, and capacity for action. What
made him an accomplished ruler was that he lived entirely in the present
moment, and had no thoughts for anything beyond the immediate and actual
reality. His genius was far-reaching and agile; his intelligence, vast
in extent but common and vulgar in character, embraced humanity, but did
not rise above it. He thought what every grenadier in the army thought;
but he thought it with unprecedented force. He loved the game of chance,
and it pleased him to tempt fortune by urging pigmies in their hundreds
and thousands against each other. It was the game of a child as big as
the world. He was too wily not to introduce old Iahveh into the
game,--Iahveh, who was still powerful on earth, and who resembled him in
his spirit of violence and domination. He threatened him, flattered him,
caressed him, and intimidated him. He imprisoned his Vicar, of whom he
demanded, with the knife at his throat, that rite of unction which,
since the days of Saul of old, has bestowed might upon kings; he
restored the worship of the demiurge, sang _Te Deums_ to him, and made
himself known through him as God of the earth, in small catechisms
scattered broadcast throughout the Empire. They united their thunders,
and a fine uproar they made.
"While Napoleon's amusements were throwing Europe into a turmoil, we
congratulated ourselves on our wisdom, a little sad, withal, at seeing
the era of philosophy ushered in with massacre, torture, and war. The
worst is that the children of the century, fallen into the most
distressing disorder, formed the conception of a literary and
picturesque Christianity, which betokens a degeneracy of mind really
unbelievable, and finally fell into Romanticism. War and Romanticism,
what terrible scourges! And how pitiful to see these same people nursing
a childish and savage love for muskets and drums! They did not
understand that war, which trained the courage and founded the cities of
barbarous and ignorant men, brings to the victor himself but ruin and
misery, and is nothing but a horrible and stupid crime when nations are
united together by common bonds of art, science, and trade.
"Insane Europeans who plot to cut each others' throats, now that one and
the same civilisation enfolds and unites them all!
"I renounced all converse with these madmen and withdrew to this
village, where I devoted myself to gardening. The peaches in my orchard
remind me of the sun-kissed skin of the Mænads. For mankind I have
retained my old friendship, a little admiration, and much pity, and I
await, while cultivating this enclosure, that still distant day when the
great Dionysus shall come, followed by his Fauns and his Bacchantes, to
restore beauty and gladness to the world, and bring back the Golden Age.
I shall fare joyously behind his car. And who knows if in that day of
triumph mankind will be there for us to see? Who knows whether their
worn-out race will not have already fulfilled its destiny, and whether
other beings will not rise upon the ashes and ruins of what once was man
and his genius? Who knows if winged beings will not have taken
possession of the terrestrial empire? Even then the work of the good
demons will not be ended,--they will teach a winged race arts and the
joy of life."