Meanwhile, the little ball spins on the cylinder, and I reflect upon all
that is destroyed by the formidable power conferred on it through a
monstrous compact. Each time that it thus starts in search of the
mysterious answer, it annihilates all around it the last essential
remnants of our social morality: I mean, the value of money. To abolish
the value of money and substitute for it a higher ideal would be an
admirable achievement; but to abolish it and leave in its place simply
nothing is, I conceive, one of the gravest crimes that can be committed
against our scheme of evolution. If we look at it from a certain point
of view and purify it of its incidental vices, money is essentially a
very worthy symbol: it represents human effort and labour; it is, for
the most part, the fruit of laudable sacrifice and noble toil. Whereas
here, this symbol, one of the last that was left to us, is daily
subjected to public mockery. Suddenly, at the caprice of a little thing
as insignificant as a child's toy, ten years of striving, of
conscientious thought, of tasks patiently endured lose all importance.
If this hideous phenomenon were not isolated on this one rock, no social
organization but would have fallen victim to the injury spreading from
it. Even now, in its leprous isolation, this devastating influence makes
itself felt at a distance that never could have been estimated. We feel
that this influence, so inevitable, so malevolent and so profound, is
such that, when we leave this cursed palace where gold clinks
incessantly against the human conscience, we wonder how it is that the
everyday life goes on, that patient gardeners consent to keep up the
flower-beds in front of the fatal building, that wretched guardians can
be found to watch over its precincts for a contemptible wage and that a
poor little old woman, at the bottom of its marble stairs, amid the
coming and going of lucky or ruined gamblers, for years persists in
earning a laborious livelihood by selling pennyworths of oranges,
almonds, nuts and matches to the passers-by.
V
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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