Sundays of a Bourgeois Page #10

"Sundays of a Bourgeois" by Guy de Maupassant is a short story that explores the life of a wealthy bourgeois family in 19th-century France. The narrative delves into the monotony and superficiality of their Sunday routine, reflecting on themes of social class, materialism, and the emptiness of bourgeois life. Through vivid characterizations and keen observations, Maupassant critiques the moral and emotional vacuity that often accompanies affluence, offering a poignant commentary on the human condition and the nature of happiness.

								


“In order to be fair I admit that logically universal suffrage seems to me the only admissible principle, but it is impracticable. Here are the reasons why:

“To make all the living forces of the country cooperate in the government, to represent all the interests, to take into account all the rights, is an ideal dream, but hardly practicable, because the only force which can be measured is that very one which should be neglected, the stupid strength of numbers, According to your method, unintelligent numbers equal genius, knowledge, learning, wealth and industry. When you are able to give to a member of the Institute ten thousand votes to a ragman's one, one hundred votes for a great land-owner as against his farmer's ten, then you will have approached an equilibrium of forces and obtained a national representation which will really represent the strength of the nation. But I challenge you to do it.

“Here are my conclusions:

“Formerly, when a man was a failure at every other profession he turned photographer; now he has himself elected a deputy. A government thus composed will always be sadly lacking, incapable of evil as well as of good. On the other hand, a despot, if he be stupid, can do a lot of harm, and, if he be intelligent (a thing which is very scarce), he may do good.

“I cannot decide between these two forms of government; I declare myself to be an anarchist, that is to say, a partisan of that power which is the most unassuming, the least felt, the most liberal, in the broadest sense of the word, and revolutionary at the same time; by that I mean the everlasting enemy of this same power, which can in no way be anything but defective. That's all!”

Cries of indignation rose about the table, and all, whether Legitimist, Orleanist or Republican through force of circumstances, grew red with anger. M. Patissot especially was choking with rage, and, turning toward M. Rade, he cried:

“Then, monsieur, you believe in nothing?”

The other answered quietly:

“You're absolutely correct, monsieur.”

The anger felt by all the guests prevented M. Rade from continuing, and M. Perdrix, as chief, closed the discussion.

“Enough, gentlemen! We each have our opinion, and we have no intention of changing it.”

All agreed with the wise words. But M. Rade, never satisfied, wished to have the last word.

“I have, however, one moral,” said he. “It is simple and always applicable. One sentence embraces the whole thought; here it is: 'Never do unto another that which you would not have him do unto you.' I defy you to pick any flaw in it, while I will undertake to demolish your most sacred principles with three arguments.”

This time there was no answer. But as they were going home at night, by couples, each one was saying to his companion: “Really, M. Rade goes much too far. His mind must surely be unbalanced. He ought to be appointed assistant chief at the Charenton Asylum.”
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