“Sucked it at every pore,” said Margaritis.—“But take a glass of wine; you have certainly earned it. You must lay some velvet on your stomach if you want to keep your jaw in working order. And the wine of Vouvray, monsieur, is, when old enough, pure velvet.”
“And what do you think of it all?” said Gaudissart, emptying his glass.
“It is all very fine, very new, very advantageous; but I think better of the system of loans on land that was in use in my bank in the Rue des Fossés-Montmartre.”
“There you are right, monsieur,” said Gaudissart, “that has been worked and worked out, done and done again. We now have the Mortgage Society which lends on real estate, and works that system on a large scale. But is not that a mere trifle in comparison with our idea of consolidating possibilities. Consolidating hopes, coagulating—financially—each man’s desires for wealth, and securing their realization. It remained for our age, sir, an age of transition—of transition and progress combined!”
“Ay, of progress,” said the lunatic. “I like progress, especially such as brings good times for the wine trade—”
“The Times—le Temps—!” exclaimed Gaudissart, not heeding the madman’s meaning. “A poor paper, sir; if you take it in, I pity you.”
“The newspaper?” cried Margaritis. “To be sure, I am devoted to the newspaper.—Wife, wife! where is the newspaper?” he went on, turning towards the door.
“Very good, monsieur; if you take an interest in the papers, we shall certainly agree.”
“Yes, yes; but before you hear the paper, confess that this wine is—”
“Delicious,” said Gaudissart.
“Come on, then, we will finish the bottle between us.” The madman a quarter filled his own glass, and poured out a bumper for Gaudissart.
“As I say, sir, I have two casks of that very wine. If you think it is good, and are disposed to deal—”
“The fathers of the Saint-Simonian doctrine have, in fact, commissioned me to forward them such products as—But let me tell you of their splendid newspaper. You, who understand the insurance business, and are ready to help me to extend it in this district—”
“Certainly,” said Margaritis, “if—”
“Of course, if I take your wine. And your wine is very good, monsieur; it goes to the spot.”
“Champagne is made of it. There is a gentleman here, from Paris, who has come to make champagne at Tours.”
“I quite believe it.—The Globe, which you must have heard mentioned—”
“I know it well,” said Margaritis.
“I was sure of it” said Gaudissart. “Monsieur, you have a powerful head—a bump which is known as the equine head. There is something of the horse in the head of every great man. Now a man can be a genius and live unknown. It is a trick that has happened often enough to men who, in spite of their talents, live in obscurity, and which nearly befell the great Saint-Simon and Monsieur Vico, a man of mark who is making his way. He is coming on well is Vico, and I am glad. Here we enter on the new theory and formula of the human race. Attention, monsieur—”
“Attention!” echoed Margaritis.
“The oppression of man by man ought to have ended, monsieur, on the day when Christ—I do not say Jesus Christ, I say Christ—came to proclaim the equality of men before God. But has not this equality been hitherto the most illusory chimera?—Now, Saint-Simon supplements Christ. Christ has served His time—”
“Then, is He released?” asked Margaritis.
“He has served His time from the point of view of Liberalism. There is something stronger to guide us now—the new creed, free and individual creativeness, social coordination by which each one shall receive his social reward equitably, in accordance with his work, and no longer be the hireling of individuals who, incapable themselves, make all labor for the benefit of one alone. Hence the doctrine—”
“And what becomes of the servants?” asked Margaritis.
“They remain servants, monsieur, if they are only capable of being servants.”
“Then of what use is the doctrine?”
“Oh, to judge of that, monsieur, you must take your stand on the highest point of view whence you can clearly command a general prospect of humanity. This brings us to Ballanche! Do you know Monsieur Ballanche?”
“It is my principal business,” said the madman, who misunderstood the name for la planche (boards or staves).
“Very good,” said Gaudissart. “Then, sir, if the palingenesis and successive developments of the spiritualized Globe touch you, delight you, appeal to you—then, my dear sir, the newspaper called the Globe, a fine name, accurately expressing its mission—the Globe is the cicerone who will explain to you every morning the fresh conditions under which, in quite a short time, the world will undergo a political and moral change.”
“Quésaco?” said Margaritis.
“I will explain the argument by a simile,” said Gaudissart. “If, as children, our nurses took us to Séraphin, do not we older men need a presentment of the future?—These gentlemen—”
“Do they drink wine?”
“Yes, monsieur. Their house is established, I may say, on an admirable footing—a prophetic footing; handsome receptions, all the bigwigs, splendid parties.”
“To be sure,” said the madman, “the laborers who pull down must be fed as well as those who build.”
“All the more so, monsieur, when they pull down with one hand and build up with the other, as the apostles of the Globe do.”
“Then they must have wine, the wine of Vouvray; the two casks I have left—three hundred bottles for a hundred francs—a mere song!”
“How much a bottle does that come to?” said Gaudissart. “Let us see; there is the carriage, and the town dues—not seven sous—a very good bargain.” (“I have caught my man,” thought Gaudissart. “You want to sell me the wine which I want, and I can get the whip
