is the protest of matter. Man there becomes a dragon.
To be hungry, to be thirsty--that is the point of departure; to be Satan--that is the point reached. From that vault Lacenaire emerges.
We have just seen, in Book Fourth, one of the compartments of the upper mine, of the great political, revolutionary, and philosophical excavation.
There, as we have just said, all is pure, noble, dignified, honest.
There, assuredly, one might be misled; but error is worthy of veneration there, so thoroughly does it imply heroism.
The work there effected, taken as a whole has a name:
Progress.
The moment has now come when we must take a look at other depths, hideous depths.
There exists beneath society, we insist upon this point, and there will exist, until that day when ignorance shall be dissipated, the great cavern of evil.
This cavern is below all, and is the foe of all.
It is hatred, without exception.
This cavern knows no philosophers; its dagger has never cut a pen.
Its blackness has no connection with the sublime blackness of the inkstand.
Never have the fingers of night which contract beneath this stifling ceiling, turned the leaves of a book nor unfolded a newspaper.
Babeuf is a speculator to Cartouche; Marat is an aristocrat to Schinderhannes.
This cavern has for its object the destruction of everything.