The Atheists Mass | Page 2

ever finding the
individual soul, which is indispensable to religious theory. When he
detected a cerebral centre, a nervous centre, and a centre for aerating
the blood--the first two so perfectly complementary that in the latter

years of his life he came to a conviction that the sense of hearing is not
absolutely necessary for hearing, nor the sense of sight for seeing, and
that the solar plexus could supply their place without any possibility of
doubt--Desplein, thus finding two souls in man, confirmed his atheism
by this fact, though it is no evidence against God. This man died, it is
said, in final impenitence, as do, unfortunately, many noble geniuses,
whom God may forgive.
The life of this man, great as he was, was marred by many meannesses,
to use the expression employed by his enemies, who were anxious to
diminish his glory, but which it would be more proper to call apparent
contradictions. Envious people and fools, having no knowledge of the
determinations by which superior spirits are moved, seize at once on
superficial inconsistencies, to formulate an accusation and so to pass
sentence on them. If, subsequently, the proceedings thus attacked are
crowned with success, showing the correlations of the preliminaries
and the results, a few of the vanguard of calumnies always survive. In
our day, for instance, Napoleon was condemned by our contemporaries
when he spread his eagle's wings to alight in England: only 1822 could
explain 1804 and the flatboats at Boulogne.
As, in Desplein, his glory and science were invulnerable, his enemies
attacked his odd moods and his temper, whereas, in fact, he was simply
characterized by what the English call eccentricity. Sometimes very
handsomely dressed, like Crebillon the tragical, he would suddenly
affect extreme indifference as to what he wore; he was sometimes seen
in a carriage, and sometimes on foot. By turns rough and kind, harsh
and covetous on the surface, but capable of offering his whole fortune
to his exiled masters--who did him the honor of accepting it for a few
days--no man ever gave rise to such contradictory judgements.
Although to obtain a black ribbon, which physicians ought not to
intrigue for, he was capable of dropping a prayer-book out of his pocket
at Court, in his heart he mocked at everything; he had a deep contempt
for men, after studying them from above and below, after detecting
their genuine expression when performing the most solemn and the
meanest acts of their lives.

The qualities of a great man are often federative. If among these
colossal spirits one has more talent than wit, his wit is still superior to
that of a man of whom it is simply stated that "he is witty." Genius
always presupposes moral insight. This insight may be applied to a
special subject; but he who can see a flower must be able to see the sun.
The man who on hearing a diplomate he has saved ask, "How is the
Emperor?" could say, "The courtier is alive; the man will follow!"--that
man is not merely a surgeon or a physician, he is prodigiously witty
also. Hence a patient and diligent student of human nature will admit
Desplein's exorbitant pretensions, and believe--as he himself believed
--that he might have been no less great as a minister than he was as a
surgeon.
Among the riddles which Desplein's life presents to many of his
contemporaries, we have chosen one of the most interesting, because
the answer is to be found at the end of the narrative, and will avenge
him for some foolish charges.
Of all the students in Desplein's hospital, Horace Bianchon was one of
those to whom he most warmly attached himself. Before being a house
surgeon at the Hotel-Dieu, Horace Bianchon had been a medical
student lodging in a squalid boarding house in the Quartier Latin,
known as the Maison Vauquer. This poor young man had felt there the
gnawing of that burning poverty which is a sort of crucible from which
great talents are to emerge as pure and incorruptible as diamonds,
which may be subjected to any shock without being crushed. In the
fierce fire of their unbridled passions they acquire the most impeccable
honesty, and get into the habit of fighting the battles which await
genius with the constant work by which they coerce their cheated
appetites.
Horace was an upright young fellow, incapable of tergiversation on a
matter of honor, going to the point without waste of words, and as
ready to pledge his cloak for a friend as to give him his time and his
night hours. Horace, in short, was one of those friends who are never
anxious as to what they may get in return for what they give, feeling
sure that they will in their turn get more