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
aspect of our work. We insure debtors by another scheme of policies
and premiums. We offer annuities at rates graduated according to ages,
on a sliding-scale infinitely more advantageous than what are called
tontines, which are based on tables of mortality that are notoriously
false. Our company deals with large masses of men; consequently the
annuitants are secure from those distressing fears which sadden old
age,--too sad already!--fears which pursue those who receive annuities