here we enter upon the new theory and formula of humanity. Attention, if you please.”
“Attention!” said the fool, falling into position.
“Man’s spoliation of man—by which I mean bodies of men living upon the labor of other men—ought to have ceased with the coming of Christ, I say CHRIST, who was sent to proclaim the equality of man in the sight of God. But what is the fact? Equality up to our day has been an ‘ignus fatuus,’ a chimera. Saint-Simon has arisen as the complement of Christ; as the modern exponent of the doctrine of equality, or rather of its practice, for theory has served its time—”
“Is he liberated?” asked the lunatic.
“Like liberalism, it has had its day. There is a nobler future before us: a new faith, free labor, free growth, free production, individual progress, a social co-ordination in which each man shall receive the full worth of his individual labor, in which no man shall be preyed upon by other men who, without capacity of their own, compel ALL to work for the profit of ONE. From this comes the doctrine of—”
“How about servants?” demanded the lunatic.
“They will remain servants if they have no capacity beyond it.”
“Then what’s the good of your doctrine?”
“To judge of this doctrine, Monsieur, you must consider it from a higher point of view: you must take a general survey of humanity. Here we come to the theories of Ballance: do you know his Palingenesis?”
“I am fond of them,” said the fool, who thought he said “ices.”
“Good!” returned Gaudissart. “Well, then, if the palingenistic aspects of the successive transformations of the spiritualized globe have struck, stirred, roused you, then, my dear sir, the ‘Globe’ newspaper—noble name which proclaims its mission—the ‘Globe’ is an organ, a guide, who will explain to you with the coming of each day the conditions under which this vast political and moral change will be effected. The gentlemen who—”
“Do they drink wine?”
“Yes, Monsieur; their houses are kept up in the highest style; I may say, in prophetic style. Superb salons, large receptions, the apex of social life—”
“Well,” remarked the lunatic, “the workmen who pull things down want wine as much as those who put things up.”
“True,” said the illustrious Gaudissart, “and all the more, Monsieur, when they pull down with one hand and build up with the other, like the apostles of the ‘Globe.’ ”
“They want good wine; Head of Vouvray, two puncheons, three hundred bottles, only one hundred francs—a trifle.”
“How much is that a bottle?” said Gaudissart, calculating. “Let me see; there’s the freight and the duty—it will come to about seven sous. Why, it wouldn’t be a bad thing: they give more for worse wines—(Good! I’ve got him!” thought Gaudissart, “he wants to sell me wine which I want; I’ll master him)—Well, Monsieur,” he continued, “those who argue usually come to an agreement. Let us be frank with each other. You have great influence in this district—”
“I should think so!” said the madman; “I am the Head of Vouvray!”
“Well, I see that you thoroughly comprehend the insurance of intellectual capital—”
“Thoroughly.”
“—and that you have measured the full importance of the ‘Globe’—”
“Twice; on foot.”
Gaudissart was listening to himself and not to the replies of his hearer.
“Therefore, in view of your circumstances and of your age, I quite understand that you have no need of insurance for yourself; but, Monsieur, you might induce others to insure, either because of their inherent qualities which need development, or for the protection of their families against a precarious future. Now, if you will subscribe to the ‘Globe,’ and give me your personal assistance in this district on behalf of insurance, especially life-annuity—for the provinces are much attached to annuities—Well, if you will do this, then we can come to an understanding about the wine. Will you take the ‘Globe’?”
“I stand on the globe.”
“Will you advance its interests in this district?”
“I advance.”
“And?”
“And—”
“And I—but you do subscribe, don’t you, to the ‘Globe’?”
“The globe, good thing, for life,” said the lunatic.
“For life, Monsieur?—ah, I see! yes, you are right: it is full of life, vigor, intellect, science—absolutely crammed with science—well printed, clear type, well set up; what I call ‘good nap.’ None of your botched stuff, cotton and wool, trumpery; flimsy rubbish that rips if you look at it. It is deep; it states questions on which you can meditate at your leisure; it is the very thing to make time pass agreeably in the country.”
“That suits me,” said the lunatic.
“It only costs a trifle—eighty francs.”
“That won’t suit me,” said the lunatic.
“Monsieur!” cried Gaudissart, “of course you have got grandchildren? There’s the ‘Children’s Journal’; that only costs seven francs a year.”
“Very good; take my wine, and I will subscribe to the children. That suits me very well: a fine idea! intellectual product, child. That’s man living upon man, hein?”
“You’ve hit it, Monsieur,” said Gaudissart.
“I’ve hit it!”
“You consent to push me in the district?”
“In the district.”
“I have your approbation?”
“You have it.”
“Well, then, Monsieur, I take your wine at a hundred francs—”
“No, no! hundred and ten—”
“Monsieur! A hundred and ten for the company, but a hundred to me. I enable you to make a sale; you owe me a commission.”
“Charge ’em a hundred and twenty,”—“cent vingt” (“sans vin,” without wine).
“Capital pun that!”
“No, puncheons. About that wine—”
“Better and better! why, you are a wit.”
“Yes, I’m that,” said the fool. “Come out and see my vineyards.”
“Willingly,
