FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF...
On "popularity

My little girl is sometimes annoying. She pushes me "sticky" questions. Sometimes, it's about Irony; sometimes about Truth. Today, it's Popularity that is in question.
— My darling, I said, it's difficult, very difficult to define. There is, on this subject, an alexandrine by a certain Auguste Barbier that I can't quote to you because of a somewhat risky word. Know, however, that nothing is vain, nothing is unstable, nothing is transitory and sublunary like Popularity. Popularity, in the final analysis, is the art of being popular, that is to say, sympathetic to the majority of people who follow you, read you, listen to you. It is the art of being applauded, acclaimed, even carried in triumph...
My little girl thought for a moment.
— So, it's like at the Montrouge theatre, when the singers are applauded?...
— Uh!... there is a bit of that... Only, the singers do their job, well or badly. They almost always sing the same romances. While the politician, if he wants to keep his popularity, must change his song. So, listen... For years and years of his existence, we have devoted ourselves to the defense of a cause because it seemed beautiful and just. We have consented to hard sacrifices... We have assumed embarrassment, even misery, and prison. As at that time, the wind was blowing in the right direction, we were very popular. But then one fine morning, the wind changes. Naturally, we persist in the direction that seems the only good one. And, immediately, "popularity" collapses. Yesterday greeted with transports of enthusiasm, today we are no longer good for anything but throwing to the dogs. They boo you, they threaten you, they talk about breaking your g... You're nothing more than a traitor, a sellout, a wretch... These are the twists and turns of popularity.
— But what if the wind changes again?
— Ah! if the wind starts blowing in the right direction again, then it's a triumph, if there's still time, if one is not irremediably disgusted with all action and cured of all illusion.
A silence. The little girl plunges into meditation. I continue:
— To be popular, one must not bother with scruples or sincerity. One must follow the wind wherever it comes from and wherever it leads. Hey, I know an amazing guy who knows how to navigate like no one else, through thick and thin. His name is Marcel Cachin. Don't look, you won't find him in your history textbook. Well! This fellow, during the war, when the wind was blowing towards the diehard, was steering his boat in patriotic waters. When he saw that a squall was forming on the horizon and that a squall in the opposite direction was announced, he quickly gave a turn of the helm to the other side. And there he was off again, wind in his sails. Thus, he navigates, very skillfully, on tumultuous waters. Such is the secret of popularity.
Another silence. I am not very sure that my little girl understood. I continue:
— Besides, one must not remain popular for too long. It tires people out. There was, in Athens, a certain Aristide who experienced it. There was, in France, a certain Robespierre whose popularity cost him his head. Human crowds are like women, very fickle.
The little girl interrupts me.
— Dad, I have to give examples.
Examples... Hum!... There was Raymond Poincaré... there was Marshal Joffre... there was Landru... But no!... Don't mention these names... Your mistress would get angry. Here, just write: God or the Devil.
—So they are popular?
—Yes. Because they never existed.

SIRIUS.