In the mean time from the height of his old steamline, beneath the crowded stars of night, Bidault-Coquille gazed sadly at the sleeping city.  Maniflore had left him.  Consumed with a desire for fresh devotions and fresh sacrifices, she had gone in company with a young Bulgarian to bear justice and vengeance to Sofia.  He did not regret her, having perceived after the Affair, that she was less beautiful in form and in thought than he had at first imagined.  His impressions had been modified in the same direction concerning many other forms and many other thoughts.  And what was cruelest of all to him, he regarded himself as not so great, not so splendid, as he had believed.

And he reflected: 

“You considered yourself sublime when you had but candour and good-will.  Of what were you proud, Bidault-Coquille?  Of having been one of the first to know that Pyrot was innocent and Greatauk a scoundrel.  But three-fourths of those who defended Greatauk against the attacks of the seven hundred Pyrotists knew that better than you.  Of what then did you show yourself so proud?  Of having dared to say what you thought?  That is civic courage, and, like military courage, it is a mere result of imprudence.  You have been imprudent.  So far so good, but that is no reason for praising yourself beyond measure.  Your imprudence was trifling; it exposed you to trifling perils; you did not risk your head by it.  The Penguins have lost that cruel and sanguinary pride which formerly gave a tragic grandeur to their revolutions; it is the fatal result of the weakening of beliefs and character.  Ought one to look upon oneself as a superior spirit for having shown a little more clear-sightedness than the vulgar?  I am very much afraid, on the contrary, Bidault-Coquille, that you have given proof of a gross misunderstanding of the conditions of the moral and intellectual development of a people.  You imagined that social injustices were threaded together like pearls and that it would be enough to pull off one in order to unfasten the whole necklace.  That is a very ingenuous conception.  You flattered yourself that at one stroke you were establishing justice in your own country and in the universe.  You were a brave man, an honest idealist, though without much experimental philosophy.  But go home to your own heart and you will recognise that you had in you a spice of malice and that our ingenuousness was not without cunning.  You believed you were performing a fine moral action.  You said to yourself:  ’Here am I, just and courageous once for all.  I can henceforth repose in the public esteem and the praise of historians.’  And now that you have lost your illusions, now that you know how hard it is to redress wrongs, and that the task must ever be begun afresh, you are going back to your asteroids.  You are right; but go back to them with modesty, Bidault-Coquille!”

BOOK VII.  MODERN TIMES