De Jean Coste

THIRD CAHIER OF THE FOURTH SERIES

CAHIERS DE LA QUINZAINE appearing twenty times a year PARIS 8, rue de la Sorbonne, ground floor

To learn what the Cahiers de la Quinzaine are, it suffices to send a money order for three francs fifty to M. André Bourgeois, administrator of the cahiers, 8, rue de la Sorbonne, Paris. One will receive as samples six cahiers of the second and third series.

ON JEAN COSTE

What kept me from feeling joy that the gendarmes were packing the nuns off in third class was that I had received, a little before the beginning of the holidays, the following letter:

Montée de Charente July 22, 1902 Monsieur Charles Péguy, manager of the Cahiers de la Quinzaine 8, rue de la Sorbonne, Paris

Sir,

My husband has for some time been a member of the French League for the Defense of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, and we read the Cahiers de la Quinzaine, which another member of the league is kind enough to pass on to us.

I thought that, given the importance of the publication of which you are the manager, you must be in contact with many men of letters, journalists, publishers, booksellers. The democratic spirit that animates the articles of the cahiers gives me a good impression of the fraternity that must unite authors and readers; that is why I take the liberty of asking you a favor.

We are very poor people. My husband is a revenue clerk at a salary of 60 francs a month; I earn 80 francs as a public schoolteacher. We have been married for thirty-three months and in a month and a half I will have my third baby.

So many needs and such slender resources leave you to guess that we live narrowly. The arrival of a new child, the prospect of approaching expenses that will weigh so heavily on our small purse, makes us wish to work a little more in order to increase our resources. But it is very difficult for us to find, in the countryside where we are, supplementary occupations.

I thought that perhaps you could procure us some pen work: addresses to write, manuscripts to copy, etc. I hope I have not presumed too much upon your kindness; I think you will be good enough to answer me. May your reply bring me good news, I will be infinitely grateful! I take my holiday on August 2; I will have a month and a half of leisure and I would be so happy to be able to put it to useful purpose!

Please accept, Sir, with my apologies for the trouble I am about to cause you, the expression of my thanks and my most distinguished sentiments.

Marguerite Meunier, primary public schoolteacher at Montée de Charente Charente

Of course, I have changed the proper names, the name of the commune, the signature. A schoolteacher who looks for work to feed her children would be badly marked by the higher-ups; such steps would give the impression that the families of schoolteachers are not completely happy.

But if any of our subscribers wishes to enter into contact with this family and can procure work for them, we shall be happy to establish the connection. Write to M. André Bourgeois.

This letter reached us a few days before the beginning of the holidays. We receive a fairly large number of letters written by schoolteachers; I am fond of this careful, regular, grammatical handwriting, almost always modest, calm, and already conforming to typography; this schoolchild paper; this violet ink, used for correcting exercises.

Everything was there, in this letter: first, the division of roles between the French League for the Defense of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and the cahiers; the League, of which one is a member; the cahiers, which one reads; the League, charged with preparing the ceremonies of the new cults; the cahiers, to which one addresses oneself to ask for work.

Then this idea, this illusion of poor people, that the cahiers are already an important publication, of which I am the important manager, that I am in contact with many men of letters, journalists, publishers, booksellers, and that moreover the cahiers have a democratic spirit; that almost universal confusion, on which politicians thrive, between the democratic spirit and the popular soul; that no less universal confusion between fraternity, socialist solidarity, and bourgeois charity — work asked for as a favor.

Finally and above all, this supreme illusion of poor people: that one can easily find honest work; that it suffices to be courageous, willing to work, careful, to have the right to live by working; that we can save from poverty the people we love; that we can save our friends from hunger; that we ourselves are insured against deficit, against poverty, against decline, and against death.

A singular illusion of poor people, but one of whose causes at least is obvious. When it comes to organizing ceremonial events, or culinary ceremonies, funerals, banquets, or building monuments, we read in our newspapers that thousands of francs a day are pouring in; the poor conclude that all the more reason they should be able to find a living by working: they cannot imagine that money goes to representations, and that it is lacking for the organization of work.

Yet that is what must be understood; the bourgeois vice of maintaining luxury with what is owed to labor has perhaps never raged with such ferocity in the bourgeois world as in a certain so-called socialist world. When it comes to commemorations, feasts and banquets, meetings, elections, political demonstrations, travel, dead monuments, exhibitions, published lists, romanticism and theater, money falls into the hands of innumerable Puechs and innumerable Barriases. And not only the money of numerous bourgeois who have strayed into the so-called socialist movement and remained snobs, but, alas, the money of genuine little people. For the little people are eager above all to imitate the great ones of their world. When it comes on the contrary to living works and living men, and when anonymous devotion is called for, I would be doing a disservice to the many solid friends who work for us and who work for several truly socialist institutions if I said that no one is found and nothing is found; but all those who have tried to prepare or organize genuine work know, considering the market as a whole, how much the yield that benefits labor falls short of the floods that feed representation. Far from having fed representation, the habitual subscribers then feeling themselves all the more obliged, all the more reason, to nourish labor, they argue, on the contrary, from what they have spent on representations to not spend on labor: “We are exhausted; as you know, one must contribute every day; the opportunities are not lacking.” — We are not the only ones to whom this language has become customary; all those who wanted to organize work without luxury, nor patter, without affectation, without glory, without posture or publicity, have come up against the same refusals, whether they sought to make cooperatives or schools, books or bread — that is to say, in the last analysis, whatever the production cooperatives they sought to create, for we never do anything that is not, in the last analysis, production cooperatives; and making books is no less indispensable than making bread; so when the initiators, when the founders, when the managers of laborious institutions, their errands finished and poorly consummated, return to their workshop, to their meager shop, and to their miserable office, should some occasion for a grand list arise the same day, they have that same day the bitter consolation of finding, marked with variable but rather considerable coefficients, noted down for significant sums, the names of those who found themselves too poor to provide the means of work. And what must be noted because it is a considerable moral event is that the money of the poor refuses itself to the poor almost as much as the money of the rich; the poor who emerge from selfishness and misery, instead of directly acquiring a class solidarity, begin by giving themselves a party pride, an affectation of grandeur, a bourgeois taste for ceremony and representation.

To these aberrations of the poor and the rich, we know there are numerous exceptions; we know they are much more numerous among the poor than among the rich; we are better situated here than anywhere else to appreciate at their just value the anonymous devotions of some rich and many poor; we shall return to this distribution; but what I wish to indicate today is that in the republican, socialist, revolutionary, anarchist, and secular parties and companies, and among the corresponding individuals, under the same labels, under the same appearances, two kinds of men coexist and cohabit: ones concerned with work, and whom we must call the classicals, and others preoccupied with representation, whom I am quite forced to call the romantics; these two kinds of men interpenetrate everywhere; and everywhere since the beginning of the revolutionary movement the classicals are governed by the romantics; those who work are governed by those who represent; the introduction of parliamentary government among us, I do not say with all its abuses, but I say: preferably through its abuses, in its abusive forms, is only a particular introduction of this general government, and save for rare and honorable exceptions, emancipated workers think of governing rather than of working; the romantics and the classicals live together everywhere, on good terms, because the classicals are easy-going, because the romantics are imposing, because the classicals ask only to be imposed upon; all the romantics are governmental, ministerial, statist, even when they profess, by electoral demagogy, to be anti-governmental, anti-ministerial, anti-statist; it is because the military State, totally incapable of organizing work, is quite capable of organizing representations, romantic manifestations. These two kinds of men live together because the classicals, good heads, have accepted romantic servitude. In reality, there is perhaps more difference between these two kinds than there is between the most bitter political and social enemies. There is perhaps between these two kinds the deepest and gravest of contemporary separations. Those who love sincere work and those who love the ritual lies of romantic cults are perhaps separated by the most profound of contemporary disagreements. It is permissible to hope that this will be recognized someday. Already there are signs that the workers are weary of the government of actors. And it may be that this broadest emancipation will constitute the entire history of the period we are entering.

This letter from a schoolteacher was perfectly written. Those of our subscribers who have never wanted for bread cannot imagine how difficult it is to ask for some. Asking for a constituency from the electoral mob is nothing: it suffices, save for rare and honorable exceptions, to be servile; asking for a government from the parliamentary mob is nothing: it suffices, save for rare and honorable exceptions, to be servile; but asking for bread, even through the medium of work, when one is wellborn, without servility, without declamation, is a delicate operation.

By chance, and through an intermediary, I was able to put this family in touch with an author who had copying work to have done; but most often I have nothing; I cannot procure work for the poor people who ask for it; I cannot find tutoring for the comrades who need it; I cannot answer their letters, because I am myself overworked; I feel remorse about it; and this remorse prevents me from sharing the secular State joy.

Personalities. Jean Coste is a character. He is not imaginary. He is not literary. He is real. People speak of him as of someone. We know who he is. People began by wanting to ignore him. But he made himself known by his own strength. Today the deputies, the journalists, the education columnists, Téry, speak of him often, as of someone well known.

I did not reproach Téry for having totally stifled Jean Coste. He could not. He did not want to. I reproached him for not having welcomed, supported Jean Coste from the beginning with all the justice, with all the strength that this work deserved. I still believe that Jean Coste, under its name, was worth a lead article, on the front page of the Petite République. The Petite République makes great use of schoolteachers. It could have launched Jean Coste.

People have said: I cannot take an interest in Jean Coste; he is pretentious, posturing, simpering.

We know well enough what he is like. He is not perfect. He is not a saint. He is a man. He is a village schoolteacher. He is what he is. By the virtues that are demanded of the poor, how many critics and how many publishers would be worthy of being schoolmasters?

People want him to be perfect. They do not see that it is the very mark of poverty, and its most formidable effect, this ungrateful alteration, mental and moral; this alteration of character, of will, of lucidity, of mind and soul. Those who practice armchair philanthropy, and who are, properly speaking, the pedants of philanthropy, can imagine that poverty makes virtues shine. One may then ask why they fight poverty. If it were pumice stone or tripoli to make precious virtues gleam, one should carefully cultivate it. In reality, poverty alters, obliterates the virtues, which are daughters of strength and daughters of health.

People say he is weak, and that if strong he could escape from his prison. Those who practice armchair moralizing, that is to say, properly speaking, the pedants of morality, can imagine that poverty is an exercise in virtues. It is the weight and the inevitable force of poverty that it makes the poor irredeemably weak, and that it thus invincibly prevents the poor from escaping their very miseries. In reality, poverty damages the virtues, which are daughters of strength and daughters of beauty.

Poverty does not merely make the poor unhappy, which is serious; it makes the poor bad, ugly, weak, which is no less serious; a bourgeois can honestly and logically imagine that poverty is a means of cultivation, an exercise in virtue; we socialists know that economic poverty is a faultless impediment to moral and mental improvement, because it is a faultless instrument of servitude. It is precisely for this reason that we are socialists. We are socialists precisely because we know that all moral and mental emancipation is precarious unless accompanied by economic emancipation.

It is for this reason that above all we must free Jean Coste, as well as all the destitute, from economic servitude.

People almost always confuse poverty with destitution; this confusion comes from the fact that destitution and poverty are neighbors; they are neighbors, no doubt, but situated on either side of a boundary; and this boundary is precisely the one that divides the economy with regard to morality; this economic boundary is the one on this side of which economic life is not assured, beyond which economic life is assured; this boundary is the one where the assurance of economic life begins; on this side of this boundary the destitute person either has the certainty that his economic life is not assured, or has no certainty whether it is or is not assured — he runs the risk; the risk ceases at this boundary; beyond this boundary the poor man or the rich man has the certainty that his economic life is assured; certainty reigns beyond this boundary; doubt and counter-certainty share the lives that remain on this side; everything is destitution on this side, destitution of doubt or destitution of wretched certainty; the first zone beyond is that of poverty; then the successive zones of wealth are ranged in tiers.

Many economic, moral, or social problems, even political ones, would be preliminarily illuminated if one introduced, or rather if one recognized as due, the consideration of this boundary. We shall return to it if we can. We shall examine whether this boundary exists in fact, whether this delimitation holds in law, to what extent, under what conditions.

When we speak of hell with the people, or truly among the people, we mean exactly that destitution is in economics what hell is in theology; purgatory corresponds only to certain elements of poverty; but destitution corresponds fully to hell; hell is the eternal certainty of eternal death; but destitution is for the most part the total certainty of human death, the total penetration of what remains of life by death; and when there is uncertainty, this uncertainty is almost as painful as the fatal certainty.

Our first conclusion will therefore be that simple human destitution has a supreme importance. Damnation has a supreme importance for Catholics. Social destitution has a supreme importance for us.

Our second conclusion will be that simple human destitution has an infinite importance. Damnation has an infinite importance for Catholics. Social destitution has an infinite importance for us.

A particular fact can cause total suffering. A particular absence can cause total privation:

“A single being is missing, and everything is depopulated.”

We cannot — it would be convenient, but we cannot — believe that there is no destitution because we do not look at it; it exists all the same, and watches us. We cannot invoke the sentiments of solidarity to ask destitution to leave us in peace; we are forced to go as far as the sentiments of charity; but solidarity suffices for destitution to be able to summon us.

The duty to tear the destitute from destitution and the duty to distribute goods equally are not of the same order: the first is a duty of urgency; the second is a duty of suitability; not only are the three terms of the republican motto — liberty, equality, fraternity — not on the same plane, but the last two, which are closer to each other than they are both close to the first, present several notable differences; through fraternity we are bound to tear from destitution our brothers, our fellow men; it is a prior duty; on the contrary, the duty of equality is a much less pressing duty; as much as it is passionate, troubling to know that there are still men in destitution, so much is it a matter of indifference to me to know whether, outside of destitution, men have larger or smaller portions of fortune; I cannot manage to grow passionate over the famous question of who will get, in the city of the future, the bottles of champagne, the rare horses, the chateaux of the Loire valley; I hope that things will always work themselves out; provided that there is truly a city, that is to say provided that no man is banished from the city, held in exile in economic destitution, held in economic exile, it matters little to me that this one or that one has this or that situation; quite other problems will no doubt solicit the attention of the citizens; on the contrary, it suffices that a single man be knowingly held, or, what amounts to the same thing, knowingly left in destitution, for the entire civic pact to be null; as long as there is a man outside, the door that is shut in his face closes a city of injustice and hatred.

The problem of destitution is not on the same plane, is not of the same order as the problem of inequality. Here again, the old, traditional, instinctive preoccupations of humanity prove upon analysis to be much deeper, much more justified, much truer than the recent and almost always factitious manifestations of democracy; to save the destitute is one of the oldest concerns of noble humanity, persisting through all civilizations; from age to age, fraternity — whether it takes the form of charity or the form of solidarity; whether it is exercised toward the stranger in the name of Zeus the hospitable, whether it welcomes the destitute as a figure of Jesus Christ, or whether it establishes a minimum wage for workers; whether it invests the citizen of the world, whether by baptism it introduces into universal communion, or whether by economic uplift it introduces into the international city — this fraternity is a hardy, imperishable, human sentiment; it is an old sentiment that maintains itself from form to form through transformations, that is bequeathed and transmitted from generation to generation, from culture to culture, that, long anterior to ancient civilizations, has maintained itself in Christian civilization and endures and will no doubt blossom in modern civilization; it is one of the best among good sentiments; it is a sentiment at once profoundly conservative and profoundly revolutionary; it is a simple sentiment; it is one of the principal sentiments that have made humanity, that have maintained it, that will no doubt emancipate it; it is a great sentiment, of great function, of great history, and of great future; it is a great and noble sentiment, old as the world, that has made the world.

Beside this great sentiment, the sentiment of equality will appear small; less simple too; when every man is provided with the necessities, the true necessities, bread and books, what do we care about the distribution of luxuries; what do we care, in truth, about the allocation of automobiles with two hundred and fifty horsepower, if there are any; the sentiments of fraternity must be formidable to have held in check since the beginning of humanity, since the evolution of animality, all the sentiments of war, barbarism, and hatred, and to have gained ground against them.

The true destitute, once he has managed to escape from his destitution, generally does not ask for more; the truly destitute, once withdrawn, are so happy to have escaped that, save for rare exceptions, they are content for the rest of their lives; willingly poor, they are so happy to have acquired certainty that this happiness contents them; the contemplation of this happiness nourishes them; optimistic, satisfied, henceforth docile, gentle, conservative, they love this abode of tranquility; they do not ask for an equalization of wealth, because they feel or because they know that this equalization would bring new adventures, that it would reopen the era of uncertainties, that it would give rise to or allow for the resumption of risk; they can thus dread this equalization as a resumption of destitution; they are scarcely partisans of it; they love political and social conservation because they love the conservation of certainty.