are claimed to be the laws of nature—or the idea that people have of them—and the supposition of a disturbance due to that intervention isn’t totally absurd. I’ve been told about lawsuits prompted by rockets converting hail into rain, which victims of disaster accuse of having diverting storms over their fields.”
While he was speaking the chicken à la crème circulated, embellished with soft mushrooms, and the Bourgueil poured out its crimson flood. The conversation turned to the difficulty of discerning, calculating and detecting in the waves of time the epoch to which it was necessary to attribute them.
Ségétan, in a firm voice, said: “We’re still at the astrological stage. The hour of astronomy will sound, and new forms of calculation, like quanta—or hyperquanta, if you prefer—will permit us to draw up tables, according to the frequency of their vibrations, of the ages of the waves and their periodicities. All of that won’t come about without new distresses, excitations and unexpected intoxications leaking out for that vast guinea-pig, the human species. The railway has had its accidents, aviation too. The waves of duration will have theirs. Everything down here has a price; Abbé Parroy tells us so.”
During dessert, as was his custom, Bénalep made a speech. He was a philosophical improviser comparable to a Chopin or a Paganini, who extracted ingenious and powerful themes from the circumstances and ambiance. Mélanie’s presence visibly inspired him.
“The mind,” he said, “actually has two forms, which intermingle or separate in the most mysterious fashion: words and numbers; or, more precisely, verbal roots and numbers. The former is applied to movement and action, the second to mechanism, whether theoretical, technical or terrestrial. The former is qualitative the latter quantitative. Hence there are two forms of civilization. Ancient Egypt and present-day America are quantitative civilizations, with a predominance of numbers and machines. Perhaps that’s a trifle schematic, but it’s food for thought.”
The coffee and cigars were brought in.
“Tomorrow evening, if the weather’s as fine and calm as today,” Ségétan concluded, getting up from the table. “I invite you to a wave experiment behind the farm at Les Arges. I think there’s what I call a ‘station of yesteryear’ there—or, if you prefer, an echo of temporal waves—which it will be interesting to capture, and, if possible, situate. Besides which, we’ll have a full moon, and the spectacle will be charming. I’ll invite the Duc d’Ignacio.”
“And the beautiful Ariana?” asked Mélanie, sarcastically.
“Certainly.”
“And the no-less-beautiful Tullie?”
“Of course. The temperature is exceptionally warm. I shall ask all of you to come in evening dress.”
* * * *
Having returned home, Romain Ségétan found a letter on his desk in long, free-flowing handwriting, like a Breton shower. It was a hymn from Tullie Moneuse, uncertain in its spelling, with a hint of meridional exaltation that warmed his heart, transmuting desire into tenderness. However impetuous his blood might be, he was not unaware of the delicate sentimental network by which the sacred fluid circles and thus irrigates the immense domain of the heart. Just as there are names and numbers in the mind, according to Bénalep, there are a thousand shades of emotion in the heart, and in the mental frisson that results therefrom.
My lover, my master,
The sum of the days that I spent in your home, after the horrible accident that made me a widow and your mistress, extends before me like a bed of scented flowers. I only live to breathe its perfume. I would like to live alone here with these recent, immense memories—alone and waiting for you.
Whether it will be possible for me to go back to work, to continue the deceased or his shade, in the measure of my strength, I don’t know. At least I’m close to you, and from my window, overlooking the fields, I can see the bell-tower and the nearest house of Avenillon. Everything important to me is there.
Jean stayed here in the end. He hasn’t said anything to me. He’s extremely useful to me. He issues orders like a true leader—but his gaze is still worrying. Bah! I’m not scared any more, when I think of you, my conqueror and the conqueror of nature, who can recall the deeds of the dead at your whim!
I’m press myself against you, my Romain. I’m counting the minutes before I see you again—but that’s not enough to have you, and in order for you to have your
Tullie
The scientist read and reread the letter. With that woman, he felt strongly that a new element had entered into his life, amplifying the force of conception but also creating disturbances, as if charged with latent drama. The carnal exchange had been so magnificent that absence and separation were also fecund, but accompanied by a suffering whose extent he could not measure.
Tullie had taken him into an enchanted realm, the unknown aspects of which he was considering with astonishment.
3. Approximately, “Mr. Well-Intentioned.”
4. The battle of Châteaudun in October 1870 was an unfortunate episode in the Franco-Prussian War. After taking the town without any significant resistance the Prussians left it under the guard of a small contingent of troops. A colonel of Franc-Tireurs [riflemen], Emanuel de Lipowski, backed up by National Guardsmen, took it back, apparently for no better reason than that he could (it had no strategic significance). When the irritated Germans came back, Lipowski refused to leave, and the subsequent bombardment, followed by a massacre, virtually obliterated the town and decimated its population. French military history records it as a typical instance of German atrocity rather than a not-altogether-atypical instance of lunatic French bravado.
5. A Burial at Ornans, 1849-50.
6. The Curé d’Ars—a small village near Lyon—was Jean-Baptiste-Marie Vianney (1786-1859), a famous ascetic who was canonized in 1925.
7. The Spanish painter Francisco de Zurbarán (1598-1664) was best-known for his religious paintings, including numerous saints and martyrs.
8. The quotation is from Le Roman de Lamartine (1909) by Léon Séché.
9. The thirteenth-century philosopher Ramon Lull (or Llull) set out a supposedly logical theory of philosophical and religious philosophy in his Ars generalis ultima (1305; also known as Ars magna) based on the rational organization of ideas stemming from a limited number of axioms. His method influenced Gottfried Leibniz and is sometimes claimed as the ultimate origin of information science.
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