“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.”