The Sermon on the Fall of Rome, стр. 15

absolute triviality. And, to crown it all, what this wallowing in moralism was simply designed to serve was an utterly cynical ambition, it was palpably obvious that for him the university was merely a necessary but insignificant stage on a road that would lead him to the crowning glory of appearing on television talk shows where, in the company of similar creatures, he would publicly debase the name of philosophy, before the delighted gaze of uncultured and gleeful presenters, for Libero was no longer in any doubt that the media and commerce had now taken the place of thought, and he was like a man who, after unbelievable striving, has just won a fortune in a currency that is no longer valid. It is true that the attitude of this Normalien was not typical of that of the other teachers, who fulfilled their task with an austere integrity that won them Libero’s respect. He had boundless admiration for the doctoral student who, every Thursday from six to eight p.m., dressed in beige corduroy pants and a bottle green jacket with gilded buttons that looked as if it had come from a Stasi surplus shop and bore witness to his indifference to material goods, would comment imperturbably on Book Gamma of the Metaphysics of Aristotle in front of a meager audience of persistent and attentive students of ancient Greek philosophy. But the atmosphere of devotion that prevailed in the dusty lecture room on Staircase C to which they had been relegated could not conceal the extent of their defeat, they were all losers, beings who had failed to adapt, and would soon be incomprehensible, the survivors of a sly apocalypse which had decimated the ranks of their fellow students and brought low the temples of the divinities they worshipped, the light of which had once shone around the world. For a long time Libero felt affection for his comrades in misfortune. They were honorable men. Their shared defeat was their badge of honor. It ought to be possible to act as if nothing had happened, to continue leading a life resolutely behind the times, completely devoted to the veneration of relics that have been profaned. Libero still believed the honorable nature of such a life was inscribed on the monumental pediment of a pure and lofty heaven and it mattered little that its existence was known to no one. One must turn aside from those moral and political questions that are corrupted by the poison of topicality, and take refuge in the arid deserts of metaphysics, in the company of authors who were never likely to be tarnished by media attention. He decided to do his dissertation on Augustine. Matthieu, whose steadfast friendship often took the form of sycophantic approval, chose Leibniz and lost himself without conviction in the giddy labyrinths of the divine intellect, in the shadow of the unimaginable pyramid of possible worlds in which his hand, multiplied to infinity, finally made contact with Judith’s cheek. Libero read the four sermons on the fall of Rome, feeling as if he were performing an act of supreme resistance and also read The City of God, but as the nights drew in the last of his optimism became dissolved in the mist and rain that bore down on the damp pavements. Everything was sad and dirty, nothing was written in heaven but promises of storms and drizzle and his band of resistance fighters now became as loathsome as the conquerors, they were not villains but clowns and failures, and he the first among them, who had been trained to produce dissertations and commentaries as useless as they were irreproachable, for the world might still have need of Augustine and Leibniz, but it had no use at all for the wretched authors of critical commentaries and Libero was now filled with contempt for himself and for his teachers, scholars and philistines alike, as well as for his fellow pupils, beginning with Judith Haller, whom he reproached Matthieu for continuing to see, on the grounds that when she was not being stupid she was being pedantic, nothing escaped the furious outbursts of his contempt, not even Augustine, whom he could no longer abide, now he was certain he had understood him better than ever before. He now saw him as nothing more than an uncivilized barbarian who rejoiced in the fall of the Empire because it marked the arrival of the world of mediocrities and triumphant slaves, of which he was a part, his sermons were dripping with vengeful and perverse relish, there was the ancient world of gods and poets disappearing before his eyes, swamped by Christianity with its repellent cohort of ascetics and martyrs, and there was Augustine concealing his glee beneath hypocritical accents of wisdom and compassion that smacked of village priests. Libero finished his dissertation as best he could in such a state of moral exhaustion that continuing his studies had become impossible. When he learned that Bernard Gratas had completed his descent into destitution with a fine flourish, he knew that a unique opportunity beckoned and told Matthieu that they absolutely must take on the management of the bar. Matthieu was quite naturally all in favor. When they reached the village, at the beginning of summer, Bernard Gratas had just informed Marie-Angèle that, because of undeserved but consistent losses at poker, he would be unable to pay the management fee and the fresh slaps Vincent Leandri dealt him made no difference. Marie-Angèle received the news stoically. Having abandoned all hope of improving the situation, she went so far as to consider that, rather than resuming charge of the bar herself, she might leave its management to Gratas until September, so that he could pay her at least a part of what he owed her. Libero and Matthieu came to see her and offered their services. She freely recognized that it would be hard for them to do worse than their predecessors. But where could they find the money?