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The Illustrious Gaudissart-Part5_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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"Ah, you are joking, Monsieur!" exclaimed the commercial traveller.

"Surely this is Madeira, true Madeira?"



"So you think," said the fool. "The trouble with our Vouvray wine is

that it is neither a common wine, nor a wine that can be drunk with



the entremets. It is too generous, too strong. It is often sold in

Paris adulterated with brandy and called Madeira. The wine-merchants



buy it up, when our vintage has not been good enough for the Dutch and

Belgian markets, to mix it with wines grown in the neighborhood of



Paris, and call it Bordeaux. But what you are drinking just now, my

good Monsieur, is a wine for kings, the pure Head of Vouvray,--that's



it's name. I have two puncheons, only two puncheons of it left. People

who like fine wines, high-class wines, who furnish their table with



qualities that can't be bought in the regular trade,--and there are

many persons in Paris who have that vanity,--well, such people send



direct to us for this wine. Do you know any one who--?"

"Let us go on with what we were saying," interposed Gaudissart.



"We are going on," said the fool. "My wine is capital; you are

capital, capitalist, intellectual capital, capital wine,--all the same



etymology, don't you see? hein? Capital, 'caput,' head, Head of

Vouvray, that's my wine,--it's all one thing."



"So that you have realized your intellectual capital through your

wines? Ah, I see!" said Gaudissart.



"I have realized," said the lunatic. "Would you like to buy my

puncheons? you shall have them on good terms."



"No, I was merely speaking," said the illustrious Gaudissart, "of the

results of insurance and the employment of intellectual capital. I



will resume my argument."

The lunatic calmed down, and fell once more into position.



"I remarked, Monsieur, that if you die the capital will be paid to

your family without discussion."



"Without discussion?"

"Yes, unless there were suicide."



"That's quibbling."

"No, Monsieur; you are aware that suicide is one of those acts which



are easy to prove--"

"In France," said the fool; "but--"



"But in other countries?" said Gaudissart. "Well, Monsieur, to cut

short discussion on this point, I will say, once for all, that death



in foreign countries or on the field of battle is outside of our--"

"Then what are you insuring? Nothing at all!" cried Margaritis. "My



bank, my Territorial Bank, rested upon--"

"Nothing at all?" exclaimed Gaudissart, interrupting the good-man.



"Nothing at all? What do you call sickness, and afflictions, and

poverty, and passions? Don't go off on exceptional points."



"No, no! no points," said the lunatic.

"Now, what's the result of all this?" cried Gaudissart. "To you, a



banker, I can sum up the profits in a few words. Listen. A man lives;

he has a future; he appears well; he lives, let us say, by his art; he



wants money; he tries to get it,--he fails. Civilization withholds

cash from this man whose thought could master civilization, and ought



to master it, and will master it some day with a brush, a chisel, with

words, ideas, theories, systems. Civilization is atrocious! It denies



bread to the men who give it luxury. It starves them on sneers and

curses, the beggarly rascal! My words may be strong, but I shall not



retract them. Well, this great but neglected man comes to us; we

recognize his greatness; we salute him with respect; we listen to him.



He says to us: 'Gentlemen, my life and talents are worth so much; on

my productions I will pay you such or such percentage.' Very good;



what do we do? Instantly, without reserve or hesitation, we admit him

to the great festivals of civilization as an honored guest--"



"You need wine for that," interposed the madman.

"--as an honored guest. He signs the insurance policy; he takes our



bits of paper,--scraps, rags, miserable rags!--which, nevertheless,

have more power in the world than his unaided genius. Then, if he



wants money, every one will lend it to him on those rags. At the

Bourse, among bankers, wherever he goes, even at the usurers, he will



find money because he can give security. Well, Monsieur, is not that a

great gulf to bridge over in our social system? But that is only one






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