第 84 页

out of life, and that a prodigy of love had extricated him from his

nothingness, still strong and sound, since that dear child of his was

there, sturdy and smiling. Life had brought forth life; and truth had

burst forth, as dazzling as the sun. He had made his third experiment

with Paris, and this had been conclusive; it had been no wretched

miscarriage with increase of darkness and grief, like his other

experiments at Lourdes and Rome. In the first place, the law of labour

had been revealed to him, and he had imposed upon himself a task, as

humble a one as it was, that manual calling which he was learning so late

in life, but which was, nevertheless, a form of labour, and one in which

he would never fail, one too that would lend him the serenity which comes

from the accomplishment of duty, for life itself was but labour: it was

only by effort that the world existed. And then, moreover, he had loved;

and salvation had come to him from woman and from his child. Ah! what a

long and circuitous journey he had made to reach this finish at once so

natural and so simple! How he had suffered, how much error and anger he

had known before doing what all men ought to do! That eager, glowing love

which had contended against his reason, which had bled at sight of the

arrant absurdities of the miraculous grotto of Lourdes, which had bled

again too in presence of the haughty decline of the Vatican, had at last

found contentment now that he was husband and father, now that he had

confidence in work and believed in the just laws of life. And thence had

come the indisputable truth, the one solution--happiness in certainty.

Whilst Pierre was thus plunged in thought, Bache and Morin had already

gone off with their customary handshakes and promises to come and chat

again some evening. And as Jean was now crying more loudly, Marie took

him in her arms and unhooked her dress-body to give him her breast.

"Oh! the darling, it's his time, you know, and he doesn't forget it!" she

said. "Just look, Pierre, I believe he has got bigger since yesterday."

She laughed; and Pierre, likewise laughing, drew near to kiss the child.

And afterwards he kissed his wife, mastered as he was by emotion at the

sight of that pink, gluttonous little creature imbibing life from that

lovely breast so full of milk.

"Why! he'll eat you," he gaily said to Marie. "How he's pulling!"

"Oh! he does bite me a little," she replied; "but I like that the better,

it shows that he profits by it."

Then Mere-Grand, she who as a rule was so serious and silent, began to

talk with a smile lighting up her face: "I weighed him this morning,"

said she, "he weighs nearly a quarter of a pound more than he did the

last time. And if you had only seen how good he was, the darling! He will

be a very intelligent and well-behaved little gentleman, such as I like.

When he's five years old, I shall teach him his alphabet, and when he's

fifteen, if he likes, I'll tell him how to be a man.... Don't you

agree with me, Thomas? And you, Antoine, and you, too, Francois?"

Raising their heads, the three sons gaily nodded their approval, grateful

as they felt for the lessons in heroism which she had given them, and

apparently finding no reason why she might not live another twenty years

in order to give similar lessons to Jean.

Pierre still remained in front of Marie, basking in all the rapture of

love, when he felt Guillaume lay his hands upon his shoulders from

behind. And on turning round he saw that his brother was also radiant,

like one who felt well pleased at seeing them so happy. "Ah! brother,"

said Guillaume softly, "do you remember my telling you that you suffered

solely from the battle between your mind and your heart, and that you

would find quietude again when you loved what you could understand? It

was necessary that our father and mother, whose painful quarrel had

continued beyond the grave, should be reconciled in you. And now it's

done, they sleep in peace within you, since you yourself are pacified."

These words filled Pierre with emotion. Joy beamed upon his face, which

was now so open and energetic. He still had the towering brow, that

impregnable fortress of reason, which he had derived from his father, and

he still had the gentle chin and affectionate eyes and mouth which his

mother had given him, but all was now blended together, instinct with

happy harmony and serene strength. Those two experiments of his which had

miscarried, were like crises of his maternal heredity, the tearful

tenderness which had come to him from his mother, and which for lack of

satisfaction had made him desperate; and his third experiment had only

ended in happiness because he had contented his ardent thirst for love in

accordance with sovereign reason, that paternal heredity which pleaded so

loudly within him. Reason remained the queen. And if his sufferings had

thus always come from the warfare which his reason had waged against his

heart, it was because he was man personified, ever struggling between his

intelligence and his passions. And how peaceful all seemed, now that he

had reconciled and satisfied them both, now that he felt healthy, perfect

and strong, like some lofty oak, which grows in all freedom, and whose

branches spread far away over the forest.

"You have done good work in that respect," Guillaume affectionately

continued, "for yourself and for all of us, and even for our dear parents

whose shades, pacified and reconciled, now abide so peacefully in the

little home of our childhood. I often think of our dear house at Neuilly,

which old Sophie is taking care of for us; and although, out of egotism,

a desire to set happiness around me, I wished to keep you here, your Jean

must some day go and live there, so as to bring it fresh youth."

Pierre had taken hold of his brother's hands, and looking into his eyes

he asked: "And you--are you happy?"

"Yes, very happy, happier than I have ever been; happy at loving you as I

do, and happy at being loved by you as no one else will ever love me."

Their hearts mingled in ardent brotherly affection, the most perfect and

heroic affection that can blend men together. And they embraced one

another whilst, with her babe on her breast, Marie, so gay, healthful and

loyal, looked at them and smiled, with big tears gathering in her eyes.

Thomas, however, having finished his motor's last toilet, had just set it

in motion. It was a prodigy of lightness and strength, of no weight

whatever in comparison with the power it displayed. And it worked with

perfect smoothness, without noise or smell. The whole family was gathered

round it in delight, when there came a timely visit, one from the learned

and friendly Bertheroy, whom indeed Guillaume had asked to call, in order

that he might see the motor working.

The great chemist at once expressed his admiration; and when he had

examined the mechanism and understood how the explosive was employed as

motive power--an idea which he had long recommended,--he tendered

enthusiastic congratulations to Guillaume and Thomas. "You have created a

little marvel," said he, "one which may have far-reaching effects both

socially and humanly. Yes, yes, pending the invention of the electrical

motor which we have not yet arrived at, here is an ideal one, a system of

mechanical traction for all sorts of vehicles. Even aerial navigation may

now become a possibility, and the problem of force at home is finally

solved. And what a grand step! What sudden progress! Distance again

diminished, all roads thrown open, and men able to fraternise! This is a

great boon, a splendid gift, my good friends, that you are bestowing on

the world."

Then he began to jest about the new explosive, whose prodigious power he

had divined, and which he now found put to such a beneficent purpose.

"And to think, Guillaume," he said, "that I fancied you acted with so

much mysteriousness and hid the formula of your powder from me because

you had an idea of blowing up Paris!"

At this Guillaume became grave and somewhat pale. And he confessed the

truth. "Well, I did for a moment think of it."

However, Bertheroy went on laughing, as if he regarded this answer as

mere repartee, though truth to tell he had felt a slight chill sweep

through his hair. "Well, my friend," he said, "you have done far better

in offering the world this marvel, which by the way must have been both a

difficult and dangerous matter. So here is a powder which was intended to

exterminate people, and which in lieu thereof will now increase their

comfort and welfare. In the long run things always end well, as I'm quite

tired of saying."

On beholding such lofty and tolerant good nature, Guillaume felt moved.

Bertheroy's words were true. What had been intended for purposes of

destruction served the cause of progress; the subjugated, domesticated

volcano became labour, peace and civilisation. Guillaume had even

relinquished all idea of his engine of battle and victory; he had found

sufficient satisfaction in this last invention of his, which would

relieve men of some measure of weariness, and help to reduce their labour

to just so much effort as there must always be. In this he detected some

little advance towards Justice; at all events it was all that he himself

could contribute to the cause. And when on turning towards the window he

caught sight of the basilica of the Sacred Heart, he could not explain

what insanity had at one moment cone over him, and set him dreaming of

idiotic and useless destruction. Some miasmal gust must have swept by,

something born of want that scattered germs of anger and vengeance. But

how blind it was to think that destruction and murder could ever bear

good fruit, ever sow the soil with plenty and happiness! Violence cannot

last, and all it does is to rouse man's feeling of solidarity even among

those on whose behalf one kills. The people, the great multitude, rebel

against the isolated individual who seeks to wreak justice. No one man

can take upon himself the part of the volcano; this is the whole

terrestrial crust, the whole multitude which internal fire impels to rise

and throw up either an Alpine chain or a better and freer society. And

whatever heroism there may be in their madness, however great and

contagious may be their thirst for martyrdom, murderers are never

anything but murderers, whose deeds simply sow the seeds of horror. And

if on the one hand Victor Mathis had avenged Salvat, he had also slain

him, so universal had been the cry of reprobation roused by the second

crime, which was yet more monstrous and more useless than the first.

Guillaume, laughing in his turn, replied to Bertheroy in words which

showed how completely he was cured: "You are right," he said, "all ends

well since all contributes to truth and justice. Unfortunately, thousands

of years are sometimes needed for any progress to be accomplished....

However, for my part, I am simply going to put my new explosive on the

market, so that those who secure the necessary authorisation may

manufacture it and grow rich. Henceforth it belongs to one and all....

And I've renounced all idea of revolutionising the world."

But Bertheroy protested. This great official scientist, this member of

the Institute laden with offices and honours, pointed to the little

motor, and replied with all the vigour of his seventy years: "But that is

revolution, the true, the only revolution. It is with things like that

and not with stupid bombs that one revolutionises the world! It is not by

destroying, but by creating, that you have just done the work of a

revolutionist. And how many times already have I not told you that

science alone is the world's revolutionary force, the only force which,

far above all paltry political incidents, the vain agitation of despots,

priests, sectarians and ambitious people of all kinds, works for the

benefit of those who will come after us, and prepares the triumph of

truth, justice and peace.... Ah, my dear child, if you wish to

overturn the world by striving to set a little more happiness in it, you

have only to remain in your laboratory here, for human happiness can

spring only from the furnace of the scientist."

He spoke perhaps in a somewhat jesting way, but one could feel that he

was convinced of it all, that he held everything excepting science in

utter contempt. He had not even shown any surprise when Pierre had cast

his cassock aside; and on finding him there with his wife and child he

had not scrupled to show him as much affection as in the past.

Meantime, however, the motor was travelling hither and thither, making no

more noise than a bluebottle buzzing in the sunshine. The whole happy

family was gathered about it, still laughing with delight at such a

victorious achievement. And all at once little Jean, Monsieur Jean,

having finished sucking, turned round, displaying his milk-smeared lips,

and perceived the machine, the pretty plaything which walked about by

itself. At sight of it, his eyes sparkled, dimples appeared on his plump

cheeks, and, stretching out his quivering chubby hands, he raised a crow

of delight.

Marie, who was quietly fastening her dress, smiled at his glee and

brought him nearer, in order that he might have a better view of the toy.

"Ah! my darling, it's pretty, isn't it? It moves and it turns, and it's

strong; it's quite alive, you see."

The others, standing around, were much amused by the amazed, enraptured

expression of the child, who would have liked to touch the machine,

perhaps in the hope of understanding it.

"Yes," resumed Bertheroy, "it's alive and it's powerful like the sun,

like that great sun shining yonder over Paris, and ripening men and

things. And Paris too is a motor, a boiler in which the future is

boiling, while we scientists keep the eternal flame burning underneath.