Monsieur Leterrier, the rector, who was of an arbitrary turn of mind, and whose philosophy leaned towards spiritualism, had never felt much sympathy for the critical intellect of M. Bergeret. A circumstance, memorable enough, had, however, brought them together. M. Leterrier had taken part in the Affair. He had signed a protest against the verdict, which he conscientiously considered illegal and mistaken. No sooner had he done so than he became the object of public anger and contempt. The town, which numbered 150,000 inhabitants, only contained five people of the same opinion as himself with regard to the Affair; these were M. Bergeret, his colleague at the FacultÉ, two artillery officers, and M. EusÈbe Boulet. The two officers maintained the strictest silence on the subject, and the position of M. EusÈbe Boulet, as editor of the Phare, compelled him to express daily, and with no little violence, ideas which were contrary M. Bergeret had written a letter of congratulation to his rector, and M. Leterrier called upon him. “Do you not think,” said M. Leterrier, “that truth contains a power that renders her invincible, and, sooner or later, ensures her final triumph? This was the belief of the great Ernest Renan; it has also been expressed more recently in words worthy to be engraved in bronze.” “It is precisely what I, personally, do not think,” returned M. Bergeret. “On the contrary, I opine that in the majority of cases truth is likely to fall a victim to the disdain or insults of mankind and to perish in obscurity. I could give you many instances of this. Remember, my dear sir, that truth has so many points of inferiority to falsehood as practically to be doomed to extinction. To begin with, truth stands alone; she stands alone as M. l’AbbÉ Lantaigne says; for which reason he admires her. But there are no real grounds for such admiration, for falsehood is manifold, and so truth has numbers arrayed against her. That is not her only shortcoming. She is inert, is not capable of modification, is not adapted to those machinations which would enable her to win her way into the hearts and minds of men. Falsehood, “You are evidently not here referring to scientific truths,” said M. Leterrier. “Their progress is rapid, irresistible, and salutary.” “It is, unfortunately, beyond all question,” replied M. Bergeret, “that the scientific verities which penetrate the average mind sink as though in a swamp, and drown. They cause no upheaval and are powerless to destroy error and prejudice. Truths of the laboratory which hold sovereign sway over you and me, Monsieur, have no authority over the minds of the general public. I will mention one example only, to prove this. The system of Copernicus and Galileo is absolutely irreconcilable with Christian philosophy, and yet you know that, both in France itself and the world over, it has penetrated even into the elementary schools without the very smallest modification being made in the theological conceptions it was calculated to annihilate. It is certain that the ideas of a man like Laplace make the old JudÆo-Christian cosmogony appear as puerile as the painting upon the dial of a Swiss clock. And yet the theories of Laplace have been clearly exposed for nearly a century without in the least depreciating the value of the little Jewish or Chaldean legends which are still found in the Christian books on religion. Science has never harmed religion, and “You are like the Greeks, M. Bergeret,” said M. Leterrier. “You indulge in fine sophisms, and your reasonings are tuned to the flute of Pan. And yet, I believe with Renan, I believe with Émile Zola, that truth possesses within herself a penetrating force, unknown alike to error and to falsehood. I say ‘truth,’ and you understand my meaning, M. Bergeret. For the beautiful words, truth and justice, need not be defined in order to be understood in their true sense. They bear within them a shining beauty and a heavenly light. I firmly believe in the triumph of truth; that is what upholds me in the time of trial through which I am now passing.” “And may you be right, Monsieur le Recteur,” replied M. Bergeret. “But, generally speaking, I think that the knowledge we have of men and “But,” objected M. Leterrier, “there is such a thing as the hour of justice and reparation.” “Do you think,” demanded M. Bergeret, “that the hour of justice and reparation ever sounded for Macbeth?” “Macbeth?” “Yes, Macbeth, son of Finleg, King of Scotland. Two great powers, legend and Shakespeare, have made of him a criminal. Now I am convinced, Monsieur, that he was a most excellent man. He protected the people and the clergy against the “I do not think so,” replied M. Leterrier. “Neither do I,” said M. Bergeret, with a sigh. At this moment a great clamour arose from the market-place. Some citizens, actuated by zeal for the Army, and in conformity with their recently formed custom, were on their way to break the windows of Meyer the bootmaker. “Mort À Zola! Mort À Leterrier! Mort À Bergeret! Mort aux juifs!” they shouted; and as the rector gave way to some symptoms of distress and indignation, M. Bergeret pointed out to him that he must try and comprehend the enthusiasm of mobs such as this one. “These people,” he said, “are going to break the windows of a bootmaker, and will succeed in doing so without any trouble. Do you think they “No doubt,” replied M. Leterrier, who was frankness personified. “But, all the same, these events fill me with consternation. Can we callously look on at the overthrow of justice and truth by a people from whom Europe first learned the law, and who taught the meaning of justice to the whole world?” |