Anti-CopyrightMay 21, 2012Han RynerOld Man Diogenes1920Source: Le Pre Diogne. Figuire, Paris, 1920;CopyLef: Creative Commons (Atribute & ShareAlike) marxists.org 2009.Transcribed: by Mitchell Abidor.Retrieved on 9 September 2011 from RynerOld Man Diogenes192026almost before the end of an amusing or magnicent sentence, she gavethe signal for laughter or applause.From the second time he caught a glimpse of the moving young girlin the audience the young professor spoke only to her. Like so manyprivate madrigals, his mind dedicated to her his universal epigrams ofa misanthrope who was amusing himself. It was she who his lyricaloutbursts invited on brotherly ights far from men, their lies and theirmiseries.For a few days Old man Diogenes contented himself with the vaguestof dreams. And then he felt the need to x them, make themmore precise.He gathered information. Te young girl belonged to what the provincescall an honest family. Te father was triply honored as a retired colonel,an ocer of the Legion of Honor, and as chief church warden of his parish.A fortunate encounter, and one of admirable balance, her mother wasthe daughter of an honorable deceased who, while alive, exercised thehonorable profession of republican prefect. She had given her daughter,upon leaving Saint-Denis, all the benets of what Platanopolis calls aliberal education. Lucie played the piano, drew, did watercolors and hada higher diploma. For her own pleasure and improvement, for the pasttwo years she took the other public classes of the faculty of leters. Tatyear, despite Julien Duchnes bad reputation, she had been allowed toatend, in the company of her overweight mother, the class in foreignliterature.3A few years ago the University of Plantopolis had a professor of for-eign literature who was considered unusual. Te body of a young giant,formidable and rudimentary; large, irregular, even violent traits; a pas-sionate physiognomy, at times lightened with malice or elevated bylyricism, at other times heavy with a reective seriousness. Long brownhair, shaggy and standing upright, an abundant and hairy beard thatmet it; black sparkling eyes, buried deep beneath his bushy brows; anda mouth large as a laugh or eloquence was not the thing about him thatsurprised most strongly or lastingly.Dressed in a barely decent fashion he lived, in the working classquarter, in a room that a poor student would have disdained. Not apainting the length of the walls; not an engraving, or even a postcard orphotograph. Not a single knickknack anywhere. A narrow steel bed, animmense kitchen table covered with papers which, had they been spreadout, would have allowed countless ink stains to be seen; three backlessstraw chairs. And yet the rare visitors admited to what the occupantcalled Diogenes barrel noted certain particular luxuries. Tey werentsurprised to nd at a professors house many books, some of which wererare. But there was a sign wealth that, in its very banality and bourgeoischaracter was strange: an armoire topped with a mirror spread its solidand at light. On high, a large writing desk bore, in counsel or ironically,the Socratic moto in the original: know thyself.Te young professor who recommended in Greek to know oneselftook, on the corner of a rustic table, common and meager meals. Hispots and pans and his table service, most ofen relegated and tossed intothe botom of the armoire, consisted of a ketle, a ladle, a salt box, a knife,a spoon and a fork. Nary a glass. Te young professor only drank water,and he drank this directly from the ladle. He sustained his large bodywith cheese, cheap cold cuts, and a few vegetables that he boiled withno other seasoning than salt.Tis man wasnt a miser. Tere is nothing more common than a miserin small cities, and this vice surprises no one there. At the end of everymonth our eccentric distributed almost his entire salary to the poor.Tis eccentric wasnt a saint. He never stepped foot in a church, andmeeting a priest caused a smile of contempt to cross his lips. Our bizarrepersonage didnt invest his money anywhere so that it could be returned4to him increased a hundred-fold in the other world, not even at the bankof the merciful God.Te bizarre personage was also not what is called a philanthropist.He defended himself from feeling any sentiment, and only ever spokewith disdain of pity: A low and sof passion, good for women or forother low natures who the indigence of their nature condemns to choosebetween weak gentleness and cruelty.Protestants or royalists, socialists or Freemasons, the faithful of allreligions declared him mad. Radicals or Catholics, he wasnt judged anymore favorably by party members. How many Platanopolitans escapethe various herds? Tese rare independents, of a skeptical spirit, willinglysuspend judgment. I think that they suspected the strange professor ofbeing not much less mad that those who proclaimed his madness. But hisdementia seemed more interesting, more picturesque to them and, onemight say, less stupid. Tey observed him with a wary and sympatheticcuriosity.Public opinion judges randomly. Would randomness deserve its nameif it was always wrong? Here it risked being right.Te young professor in fact manifested a few symptoms of madness.It was perhaps not they that caused him to be accused of dementia.Of the madman he had the mania for ostentation, the need to explainto all comers and to glorify all his acts. He gladly spoke of nature andthe natural life. But his natural had something grandiloquent about it.His public classes were very popular. It was impossible to deny theirabundant, vast, and deep erudition, or their personal views. Ofen eventhose most on their guard and hostile applauded loudly, thanks to theirnoble, lively, and lyrical tone. Te eloquent and wity professor washated and admired. He was all the more hated because one was forcedto admire him.His classes were hardly perfect. Sparkling and tumultuous, or fraughtwith points that tickled to laughter, they were lacking in grace andexibility, and they ofen wounded the sense of measure and balance.Tey were atacked for their long and unjustied digressions. Te olddean, who had taught successive generations ocial philosophy forforty years said with biterness, despite his customary indulgence: Teprofessor of foreign literature is encroaching on my eld. Whenever he5could, the professor of foreign literature in fact did forget his title anddedicated half of his lessons to the Greek moralists.Te strange professor who caused scandal in so many ways (madnessis not, in the university, much less scandalous than talent) was called,according to his ocial records, Julien Duchne. But he normally signedLepre-Duchne. Even on ocial documents he called himself JulienDuchne, alias Lepre-Duchne. No one knew the reason for this eccen-tricity, behind which was suspected a temerity that was as revolutionaryas it was indecent. In his diatribes against Plato, who he treated as apersonal enemy, he opposed Diogenes of Synope to the author of theLaws, the greatest man of all time and of all countries, if it can be saidof a great man that he belongs to a specic time or country. Amused byhis admiration for the Cynic and by the Cynicism of his morals, despitehis youth his students nicknamed him Old Man Diogenes.He knew of this nickname and was proud of it: May it please what-ever it is that will perhaps replace the gods that I some day deserve suchglory.As happens with obvious madmen the opinion people had of himcontributed to molding him. As soon as he became Old Man Diogenesfor the others, not only did he move ever closer to the ancient Cynics byhis conduct and diet, but he began to think of imitating them completely.If no force were to stop himon this slope, it became increasingly probablethat he would one day adopt the Cynical life style.Te school vacation, which he passed in the small village of Saint-Julien-en-Beauchne, was one long crisis for him. One more combatlike this one and my victory will be complete. Tese internal wordsmeant that he would adopt the Greek cloak, sandals, the heavy rod, thepouch, and the wandering and mendicant life.A contrary force seemed to manifest itself. At his rst public classthat year he noted a young girl whose beauty he found to be simple andnatural. A blonde, tall, slim, of a supple, almost spiritual grace. Te largeblue eyes sparkled with intelligence and enthusiasm when the oratorpronounced noble words. Te lips, of a delicate design and color, opened,honest and sonorous, if he set loose an amusing phrase. She was alwaysthe rst to understand. Did she not already understand what was goingto be said? With a spontaneous movement that showed no hesitation,