Monsieur Panneton de La Barge had prominent eyes and a shallow mind.
But his skin was so shiny that you could not help thinking that his
mind must of necessity be of a fatty nature. His whole being was
eloquent of arrogance, brusqueness and a pride that apparently had no
fear of being importunate. Monsieur Bergeret guessed that the man had
come to ask a favour of him.
They had known one another in the country. The professor, taking a walk
beside the sluggish river, had often noted, on a green hillside, the
slated roof of the château inhabited by Monsieur de La Barge and his
family. Monsieur de La Barge himself he saw less frequently, for the
latter was on visiting terms with the aristocracy of the countryside,
without being sufficiently grand himself to receive the humbler folk.
In the country he knew Monsieur Bergeret only on those critical days
when one or another of his sons was going in for some examination; but
now, in Paris, he wished to be friendly, and he made an effort to be so.
“Dear Monsieur Bergeret, I must first of all congratulate you.”
“Please do not trouble,” replied Monsieur Bergeret, with a little
gesture of refusal that Monsieur de La Barge quite wrongly interpreted
as inspired by modesty.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Bergeret, a professorship at the Sorbonne
is a much-coveted position, and one that you well deserve.”
“How is your son Adhémar?” inquired Monsieur Bergeret, remembering
the name as that of a candidate for the bachelor’s degree who had
interested in his incompetence the authorities of civil, military and
ecclesiastical society.
“Adhémar? He is doing well, very well; a little wild perhaps, but what
would you have? He has nothing to do. In some ways it might be better
for him to have some settled occupation. However, he is very young;
there is plenty of time; he takes after me; he will settle down once he
has found his vocation.”
“Didn’t he do a little demonstrating at Auteuil?” asked Monsieur
Bergeret gently.
“For the army, for the army,” answered Monsieur de La Barge, “and I
must confess that I could not find it in my heart to blame him. It
can’t be helped. I am connected with the army through my father-in-law,
the general, my brothers-in-law, and my cousin, the commandant.”
He was too modest to mention his father, the eldest of the Panneton
brothers, who was also connected with the army through the supply
department, and who, in 1872, as the result of an annoying charge in
the police courts, was given a light sentence, for having supplied to
the Army of the East, which was marching through the snow, shoes with
cardboard soles.
He died ten years later, in his château of La Barge, rich and honoured.
“I was brought up to venerate the army,” continued Monsieur Panneton de
La Barge. “When quite a child I worshipped a uniform. It is a family
tradition. I do not attempt to hide the fact that I hold by the old
style of things. I can’t help it, it is in my blood. I am a Monarchist
and authoritarian by temperament. I am a Royalist. Now the army is all
that is left us of the Monarchy; all that is left of a glorious past.
It consoles us for the present and fills us with hope for the future.”
Monsieur Bergeret might have interposed with some observations of
historical interest; but he did not do so, and Monsieur de La Barge
continued:
“That is why I regard those who attack the army as criminals, and
those who would dare to interfere with it as fools.”
“When Napoleon wished to praise one of the plays of Luce de Lancival,”
replied the professor, “he called it a headquarters tragedy. May I say
that your philosophy is that of a General Staff? However, seeing that
we live under the rule of liberty, it may perhaps be as well to conform
to its customs. When one lives with men who have the habit of speech
one must accustom oneself to hear anything. Do not hope that the right
to discuss any subject will ever again be denied in France. Consider,
too, that the army is by no means immutable; nothing in the world is
that. Institutions can exist only by ceaseless modifications. The army
has undergone such transformations in the course of its existence that
it will probably undergo even greater changes in the future, and it is
conceivable that in twenty years’ time it will be quite another thing
than what it is to-day.”
“I prefer to tell you at once,” replied Monsieur Panneton de La
Barge, “that where the army is concerned I admit of no discussion. I
repeat, it must not be interfered with. It represents, as it were, the
battle-axe, and as such it must not be touched. During the last session
of the Conseil Général of which I have the honour to be president,
the Radical-Socialist minority put forward a vote in favour of two
years’ service. I protested against so unpatriotic a suggestion. I
had no difficulty in proving a two years’ service would mean the end
of the army. You cannot make an infantryman in two years, much less a
cavalryman. Perhaps you will style those who clamour for the two years’
service reformers. I call them wreckers. And it is the same with all
other reforms. They are machinations directed against the army. If only
the Socialists would say that their desire is to replace the army by a
vast national guard, they would at least be honest.”
“The Socialists,” replied Monsieur Bergeret, “are against all attempts
at territorial conquest; they propose to organize militia solely for
purposes of home defence. They do not hide their views, they spread
them broadcast. And possibly their views are worth some examination.
You need not fear that their desires will be too quickly realized. All
progress is slow and uncertain, and is followed, more often than not,
by retrograde movements. The advance toward a better order of things
is vague and indeterminate. The profound and innumerable forces which
chain man to the past cause him to cherish its errors, superstitions,
prejudices and cruelties as precious symbols of his security. Salutary
innovation terrifies him. Prudence makes him imitative, and he dare
not quit the tumble-down shelter that protected his fathers and which
is about to fall in upon him. Do you not agree with me, Monsieur
Panneton?” inquired Monsieur Bergeret, with a charming smile.
Monsieur Panneton de La Barge’s reply was that he defended the army. He
represented it as misunderstood, persecuted and menaced, and in rising
tones he continued:
“This campaign in favour of the Traitor, obstinate and enthusiastic as
it is, whatever may be the intentions of its leaders, has a certain
visible and undeniable effect. It weakens the army and injures its
chiefs.”
“I am going to tell you some very simple facts,” replied Monsieur
Bergeret. “If the army is attacked in the person of certain of its
chiefs, that is not the fault of those who have asked for justice; it
is the fault of those who have so long refused it. It is not the fault
of those who demanded an explanation, but of those who have obstinately
avoided one with extraordinary stupidity and abominable wickedness.
After all, if crimes have been committed the evil is not that they have
been made known but that they have been committed. They have concealed
themselves in all their enormity and in all their deformity. They were
not recognizable; they passed over the crowds like dark clouds. Did
you imagine they would never burst? Did you think the sun would never
shine again upon the classic land of Justice, upon the country that
taught the Law to Europe and the world?”
“Don’t let us speak of the Affair,” replied Monsieur de La Barge. “I
know nothing of it. I wish to know nothing. I did not read a word
of the Inquiry. Commandant de La Barge, my cousin, assured me that
Dreyfus was guilty. That affirmation was enough for me. I came, dear
Monsieur Bergeret, to ask your advice about my son Adhémar, whose
prospects in life are now engaging my attention. A year of military
service is a long time for a young fellow of good family. Three years
would be nothing short of disaster. It is essential to find a means of
exemption. I had thought of letting him take his degree in literature,
but I’m afraid it is too difficult. Adhémar is intelligent, but he has
no taste for literature.”
“Well,” said Monsieur Bergeret, “try the School of Higher Commercial
Studies; or the Commercial Institute, or the School of Commerce. I do
not know if the Watchmakers’ College at Cluses would still furnish
means of exemption. It used not to be difficult, I’ve been told, to
obtain the certificate.”
“But Adhémar cannot very well make watches,” replied Monsieur de La
Barge with a certain modesty.
“Then try the School of Oriental Languages,” said Monsieur Bergeret
obligingly. “It was an excellent institution to begin with.”
“It has gone down since,” sighed Monsieur de La Barge.
“It still has its good points. What about Tamil, for instance?”
“Tamil, do you think?”
“Or Malagasy.”
“Malagasy, perhaps.”
“There is also a certain Polynesian language which was spoken, at the
beginning of this century, by only one old yellow woman. She died,
leaving behind her a parrot. A German scholar collected a few words of
the language from the parrot, and from these he compiled a dictionary.
Perhaps this language is still taught at the School of Oriental
Languages. I should advise your son to find out.”
Upon this advice, Monsieur Panneton de La Barge made his adieux and
thoughtfully took his departure.