Monsieur Patissot, wounded in all his natively chivalric instincts, declared:
“You are not a Frenchman, Monsieur. French gallantry is one of the forms of patriotism.”
Monsieur Rade retorted: “I have very little patriotism, Monsieur, the least possible.”
At this a coolness spread throughout the company, but he tranquilly continued:
“Admit with me that war is a monstrous thing; that this custom of official slaughtering of the people constitutes a permanent state of savagery. It is odious, since the only real good is life, to see the government, whose duty it is to protect the existence of its subjects, persistently seeking methods to destroy them. That is so, isn’t it? And, if war is a terrible thing is not patriotism also, since it is the mother idea which supports it? When an assassin kills, he has usually some design, that of robbing; but when a brave man with a bayonet-thrust kills another honest man, the father of a family, or a great artist, perhaps, what thought does he obey?”
Everyone felt deeply hurt.
“When a man thinks of such things he does not often mention them in society,” added Monsieur Rade.
Monsieur Patissot rejoined: “There are nevertheless, Monsieur, certain principles that all honest men recognize.”
“What are they?” asked Monsieur Rade.
“Morality, Monsieur,” solemnly replied Monsieur Patissot.
Monsieur Rade beamed.
“Let me give you a single example,” he said, “one little example, Monsieur. What opinion have you of certain men who live at the expense of women? Well, only a hundred years ago it was considered quite the thing to live at a woman’s expense, and even to devour her whole property. So you see that the principles of morality are not fixed, and thus—”
Monsieur Perdrix, visibly embarrassed, stopped him.
“You would sap the foundation of society, Monsieur Rade. There must always be moral principles as public safeguards. Thus in politics, Monsieur de Sombreterre is Legitimist, Monsieur Vallin, Orléanist, Monsieur Patissot and I are Republicans, we all have very different principles, and yet we get along very well, because we have principles of some kind.”
But Monsieur Rade cried: “I have principles too, Messieurs—very decided ones.”
Monsieur Patissot raised his head and coldly replied:
“I should be happy to hear them, Monsieur.”
Monsieur Rade did not wait to be urged.
“Here they are, Monsieur: First principle—that government by one man is a monstrosity. Second principle—Restricted suffrage is an injustice. Thid principle—Universal suffrage is a piece of stupidity. To deliver up millions of men, choice minds, learned men, geniuses even, to the caprice or will of a being who, in a moment of gaiety, madness, intoxication, or love, will not hesitate to sacrifice everything for his excited fancy, will squander the riches of the country, painfully gathered by all, will cut to pieces thousands of men on battlefields, seems to me, a mere logician, to be a monstrous aberration.
“But, admitting that a country ought to govern itself, to exclude from suffrage, under some always debatable pretext, a part of the citizens, is an injustice so flagrant that it seems to me useless to discuss it further.
“There remains universal suffrage. You will admit with me that men of genius are rare, will you not? To be generous, let us agree that there are five in France today. Let us add, still to be within our estimate, two hundred men of great talent, a thousand others possessing various talents, and two thousand men who are superior in some way. There you have a staff of three thousand two hundred and five minds. After which you have the army of mediocrities, followed by the multitudes of imbeciles. As the mediocrities and the imbeciles always form the immense majority, it is inadmissible that they can erect an intelligent government.
“To be just, I will add that, logically, universal suffrage seems to me the only admissible principle, but I assert that it is inapplicable and I will show you the reason why.
“To make all the living forces of a country cooperate in the government, to represent all interests, and conserve all rights, is an ideal dream, but not practical, because the only force that can be measured is just that which ought to be most neglected—the brute force of numbers. According to your method, unintelligent numbers lead genius, learning, all the acquired knowledge, wealth, and industry. When you are able to give to a member of the Institute ten thousand votes against a ragman’s one vote, a hundred votes to a great landed proprietor, against ten to his farmer, you will have nearly established an equilibrium between the forces and obtained a national representation that will truly represent all the powers of the nation. But I defy you to do it.
“Here are my conclusions: Formerly when a man could not succeed at anything else, he became a photographer; now he becomes a deputy. A power thus composed will always be lamentably incapable, but incapable of doing evil as well as incapable of doing good. A despot, on the contrary, if he is stupid, may do much evil, and if he is intelligent, which very rarely happens, he may accomplish much good.
“Between these forms of government I do not pretend to decide; and I declare myself an anarchist—I mean a partisan of the power the most effaced, the most imperceptible, yet the most liberal, in the widest sense of the word, and revolutionary at the same time; that is to say, revolutionary against its eternal enemy, which can be nothing but absolutely defective, under present conditions.”
Cries of indignation rose about the table, and all the guests—Legitimists, Orléanists, and Republicans—grew red with anger. Monsieur Patissot especially, was choking with rage, and turning toward Monsieur Rade, he said:
“Then, Monsieur, you don’t believe in anything.”
“No, Monsieur,” the other replied, simply.
The anger roused in all the guests at this reply, prevented Monsieur Rade from continuing, and
