ere, no doubt,
it is a calamity; but with relation to things it is different. Do not
separate mind from matter."

"However, sir, before the Creation----"

"There was no Creation. It has always existed. Otherwise this would be a
new being adding itself to the Divine idea, which is absurd."

The priest arose; business matters called him elsewhere.

"I flatter myself I've floored him!" said Pecuchet. "One word more.
Since the existence of the world is but a continual passage from life to
death, and from death to life, so far from everything existing, nothing
is. But everything is becoming--do you understand?"

"Yes; I do understand--or rather I don't."

Idealism in the end exasperated Bouvard.

"I don't want any more of it. The famous _cogito_ stupefies me. Ideas of
things are taken for the things themselves. What we understand very
slightly is explained by means of words which we don't understand at
all--substance, extension, force, matter, and soul. So much abstraction,
imagination. As for God, it is impossible to know in what way He is, if
He is at all. Formerly, He used to cause the wind, the thunderstorms,
revolutions. At present, He is diminishing. Besides, I don't see the
utility of Him."

"And morality--in this state of affairs."

"Ah! so much the worse."

"It lacks a foundation in fact," said Pecuchet.

And he remained silent, driven into a corner by premises which he had
himself laid down. It was a surprise--a crushing bit of logic.

Bouvard no longer even believed in matter.

The certainty that nothing exists (deplorable though it may be) is none
the less a certainty. Few persons are capable of possessing it. This
transcendency on their part inspired them with pride, and they would
have liked to make a display of it. An opportunity presented itself.

One morning, while they were going to buy tobacco, they saw a crowd in
front of Langlois' door. The public conveyance from Falaise was
surrounded, and there was much excitement about a convict named Touache,
who was wandering about the country. The conductor had met him at
Croix-Verte between two gendarmes, and the people of Chavignolles
breathed a sigh of relief.

Girbal and the captain remained on the green; then the justice of the
peace made his appearance, curious to obtain information, and after him
came M. Marescot in a velvet cap and sheepskin slippers.

Langlois invited them to honour his shop with their presence; they would
be more at th