Penguin Island — 49 Bk6 Ch11 - Conclusion

XI. CONCLUSION

The appeal was allowed, and Pyrot was brought down from his cage.

But the Anti-Pyrotists did not regard themselves as beaten.

The military judges re-tried Pyrot.

Greatauk, in this second affair, surpassed himself.

He obtained a second conviction; he obtained it by declaring that the proofs communicated to the Supreme Court were worth nothing, and that great care had been taken to keep back the good ones, since they ought to remain secret.

In the opinion of connoisseurs he had never shown so much address.

On leaving the court, as he passed through the vestibule with a tranquil step, and his hands behind his back, amidst a crowd of sight-seers, a woman dressed in red and with her face covered by a black veil rushed at him, brandishing a kitchen knife.

“Die, scoundrel!” she cried.

It was Maniflore.

Before those present could understand what was happening, the general seized her by the wrist, and with apparent gentleness, squeezed it so forcibly that the knife fell from her aching hand.

Then he picked it up and handed it to Maniflore.

“Madam,” said he with a bow, “you have dropped a household utensil.”

He could not prevent the heroine from being taken to the police-station; but he had her immediately released and afterwards he employed all his influence to stop the prosecution.

The second conviction of Pyrot was Greatauk’s last victory.

Justice Chaussepied, who had formerly liked soldiers so much, and esteemed their justice so highly, being now enraged with the military judges, quashed their judgments as a monkey cracks nuts.

He rehabilitated Pyrot a second time; he would, if necessary, have rehabilitated him five hundred times.

Furious at having been cowards and at having allowed themselves to be deceived and made game of, the Republicans turned against the monks and clergy.

The deputies passed laws of expulsion, separation, and spoliation against them.

What Father Cornemuse had foreseen took place.

That good monk was driven from the Wood of Conils.

Treasury officers confiscated his retorts and his stills, and the liquidators divided amongst them his bottles of St. Oberosian liqueur.

The pious distiller lost the annual income of three million five hundred thousand francs that his products procured for him.

Father Agaric went into exile, abandoning his school into the hands of laymen, who soon allowed it to fall into decay.

Separated from its foster-mother, the State, the Church of Penguinia withered like a plucked flower.

The victorious defenders of the innocent man now abused each other and overwhelmed each other reciprocally with insults and calumnies.

The vehement Kerdanic hurled himself upon Phœnix as if ready to devour him.

The wealthy Jews and the seven hundred Pyrotists turned away with disdain from the socialist comrades whose aid they had humbly implored in the past.

“We know you no longer,” said they.

“To the devil with you and your social justice.

Social justice is the defence of property.”

Having been elected a Deputy and chosen to be the leader of the new majority, comrade Larrivée was appointed by the Chamber and public opinion to the Premiership.

He showed himself an energetic defender of the military tribunals that had condemned Pyrot.

When his former socialist comrades claimed a little more justice and liberty for the employés of the State as well as for manual workers, he opposed their proposals in an eloquent speech.

“Liberty,” said he, “is not licence.

Between order and disorder my choice is made: revolution is impotence.

Progress has no more formidable enemy than violence.

Gentlemen, those who, as I am, are anxious for reform, ought to apply themselves before everything else to cure this agitation which enfeebles government just as fever exhausts those who are ill.

It is time to reassure honest people.”

This speech was received with applause.

The government of the Republic remained in subjection to the great financial companies, the army was exclusively devoted to the defence of capital, while the fleet was designed solely to procure fresh orders for the mine-owners.

Since the rich refused to pay their just share of the taxes, the poor, as in the past, paid for them.

In the mean time from the height of his old steamline, beneath the crowded stars of night, Bidault-Coquille gazed sadly at the sleeping city.

Maniflore had left him.

Consumed with a desire for fresh devotions and fresh sacrifices, she had gone in company with a young Bulgarian to bear justice and vengeance to Sofia.

He did not regret her, having perceived after the Affair, that she was less beautiful in form and in thought than he had at first imagined.

His impressions had been modified in the same direction concerning many other forms and many other thoughts.

And what was cruelest of all to him, he regarded himself as not so great, not so splendid, as he had believed.

And he reflected: “You considered yourself sublime when you had but candour and good-will.

Of what were you proud, Bidault-Coquille?

Of having been one of the first to know that Pyrot was innocent and Greatauk a scoundrel.

But three-fourths of those who defended Greatauk against the attacks of the seven hundred Pyrotists knew that better than you.

Of what then did you show yourself so proud?

Of having dared to say what you thought?

That is civic courage, and, like military courage, it is a mere result of imprudence.

You have been imprudent.

So far so good, but that is no reason for praising yourself beyond measure.

Your imprudence was trifling; it exposed you to trifling perils; you did not risk your head by it.

The Penguins have lost that cruel and sanguinary pride which formerly gave a tragic grandeur to their revolutions; it is the fatal result of the weakening of beliefs and character.

Ought one to look upon oneself as a superior spirit for having shown a little more clear-sightedness than the vulgar?

I am very much afraid, on the contrary, Bidault-Coquille, that you have given proof of a gross misunderstanding of the conditions of the moral and intellectual development of a people.

You imagined that social injustices were threaded together like pearls and that it would be enough to pull off one in order to unfasten the whole necklace.

That is a very ingenuous conception.

You flattered yourself that at one stroke you were establishing justice in your own country and in the universe.

You were a brave man, an honest idealist, though without much experimental philosophy.

But go home to your own heart and you will recognise that you had in you a spice of malice and that our ingenuousness was not without cunning.

You believed you were performing a fine moral action.

You said to yourself: ‘Here am I, just and courageous once for all.

I can henceforth repose in the public esteem and the praise of historians.’ And now that you have lost your illusions, now that you know how hard it is to redress wrongs, and that the task must ever be begun afresh, you are going back to your asteroids.

You are right; but go back to them with modesty, Bidault-Coquille!”

BOOK VII. MODERN TIMES

MADAME CÉRÈS

“Only extreme things are tolerable.” Count Robert de Montesquiou.