“That is a very widespread opinion,” said M. Bergeret, “and its general acceptance renders it suspect in my eyes. Popular opinions hold good as a matter of course, without analysis, and if they were inquired into, generally speaking they would not pass muster. They are like the theatre-lover who for thirty years was able to attend the plays at the Comédie-Française by simply muttering ‘feu Scribe’ as he went in, to the man at the ticket-office. If investigated, his right of entry would never have been allowed to pass, but it never was investigated. How can one really believe religion to have a moralizing effect when one reads the history of the Christian nations, and realizes it to be a succession of wars, massacres and tortures. You cannot expect people to be more pious than cloistered monks, and yet monks of every order, black, white, brown, and pied, have been guilty of the most abominable crimes. The agents of the Inquisition and the priests of the League were pious, yet they were cruel. I do not mention the popes who drowned the world in blood, for it is by no means certain that they really believed in a future life. The truth of the matter is that men are evil animals, and remain evil, even when they expect to go from this world into another, which is somewhat unreasonable, when one comes to think of it. All the same, I do not want you to imagine, doctor, that I deny Madame Péchin the right to believe herself immortal. I will even go so far as to say that she will not be disappointed when she departs this life, for a lasting illusion has some of the attributes of truth, and a person who is never disabused is never deceived.” By this time the head of the cortège had entered the cemetery, and the three gossips slackened their pace. “If you were in my position, M. Bergeret,” said the doctor, “and visited each morning a dozen or so of sick folk, you would realize, as I do, the power of the clergy. Come now, do you never find yourself desiring, if not believing in, immortality?” “Doctor,” replied M. Bergeret, “my thoughts on this subject are the same as those of Madame Dupont-Delagneau. Madame Dupont-Delagneau was very old when my father was very young. She was fond of him, and used to enjoy a chat with him; she was a link with the eighteenth century. I have heard him quote her again and again, and this, amongst others, is an anecdote I have heard him relate. Once, when she was ill in the country, her parish priest went to visit her, and began to talk of a future life. With a little disdainful grimace, she retorted that she had her misgivings about the next world. ‘You tell me,’ she said, ‘that the Creator of this world made the next too. All I can say is that I am already too well acquainted with His handiwork!’ Thus, doctor, I am at least as mistrustful of the next world as was Madame Dupont-Delagneau.” “But,” asked the doctor, “have you never dreamed of immortality achieved by science, or life on another star?”