But beyond the Daniels there are spots of light to be seen—faint, far
away, and in Paris, too. I am speaking of the Quartier Latin, of that
Aventine Hill to which the students and their teachers retreated, that
is, those of them who remained faithful to the great tradition of 1789,
to the encyclopaedists, to the Montagne, to the Socialist movement. There
the gospel of the first revolution is preserved; there the acts of its
apostles and the epistles of the holy fathers of the eighteenth century
are read; there the great problems of which Marc Dufraisse knows nothing
are familiar subjects; there men dream of the future Kingdom of Man just
as the monks of the first centuries dreamed of the Kingdom of God.
From the side-streets of this Latium, from the fourth storey of its
sombre houses, champions and missionaries continually go forth to
combat and preach and perish—for the most part morally, but sometimes
physically—_in partibus infidelium_, that is, on the other side of the
Seine.
Objective truth is on their side, every sort of justice and real
understanding is on their side, but that is all. ‘Sooner or later truth
is always triumphant.’ But we imagine that it is very much later, and
very rarely even then. From time immemorial reason has been unattainable
or detestable to the majority. That reason might be attractive,
Anacharsis Cloots had to dress it up as a pretty actress and to strip her
naked. One can only work upon men by seeing their dreams more clearly
than they see them themselves, and not by proving one’s thoughts to them
as geometrical theorems are proved.
The Quartier Latin recalls the mediaeval Carthusians or Camaldoli,[77]
who turned aside from the noise of the crowd with their faith in
brotherhood, mercy, and, above all, the speedy coming of the Kingdom
of God. And this at the very time when outside their walls knights and
_ritters_ were burning and slaying, shedding blood, plundering the
villeins and outraging their daughters.... Then followed other times,
also without brotherhood and the Second Coming—but the Camaldoli and the
Carthusians still clung to their faith. Manners have grown softer still,
the fashion of plundering has changed, women are outraged now for pay,
men are robbed in accordance with accepted rules. The Kingdom of God has
not come, but was inevitably coming (so it seemed to the Carthusians),
the tokens were growing clearer, more direct than ever; faith saved the
recluses from despair.
At every blow which sends the last fragments of freedom flying into dust,
at every downward step of society, at every insolent step backwards,
the Quartier Latin lifts up its head, _mezza voce_ at home sings the
Marseillaise, and, setting its cap straight, says: ‘That is as it should
be. They will reach the limit; the sooner the better.’ The Quartier
Latin believes in its course and boldly draws the plan of its ‘kingdom of
truth,’ running directly counter to the ‘kingdom of reality.’
And Pierre Leroux believes in Job!
And Victor Hugo in the Exhibition of universal brotherhood!
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