_Paul._ This is a fine idea, and it suggests an equally good one to me.

_Jean._ Well, what is it?

_Paul._ How do you find this Normandy b.u.t.ter?

_Jean._ Excellent.

_Paul_. Well, it seemed pa.s.sable a moment ago. But do you not think it is a little strong? I want to make a better article at Paris. I will have four or five hundred cows, and I will distribute milk, b.u.t.ter and cheese to the poor people.

_Pierre and Jean._ What! as a charity?

_Paul._ Bah, let us always put charity in the foreground. It is such a fine thing that its counterfeit even is an excellent card. I will give my b.u.t.ter to the people and they will give me their money. Is that called selling?

_Jean._ No, according to the _Bourgeois Gentilhomme_; but call it what you please, you ruin yourself. Can Paris compete with Normandy in raising cows?

_Paul._ I shall save the cost of transportation.

_Jean._ Very well; but the Normans are able to _beat_ the Parisians, even if they do have to pay for transportation.

_Paul._ Do you call it _beating_ any one to furnish him things at a low price?

_Jean._ It is the time-honored word. You will always be beaten.

_Paul._ Yes; like Don Quixote. The blows will fall on Sancho. Jean, my friend, you forgot the _octroi_.

_Jean._ The _octroi_! What has that to do with your b.u.t.ter?

_Paul._ To-morrow I will demand _protection_, and I will induce the Council to prohibit the b.u.t.ter of Normandy and Brittany. The people must do without b.u.t.ter, or buy mine, and that at my price, too.

_Jean._ Gentlemen, your philanthropy carries me along with it. "In time one learns to howl with the wolves." It shall not be said that I am an unworthy Alderman. Pierre, this sparkling fire has illumined your soul; Paul, this b.u.t.ter has given an impulse to your understanding, and I perceive that this piece of salt pork stimulates my intelligence.

To-morrow I will vote myself, and make others vote, for the exclusion of hogs, dead or alive; this done, I will build superb stock-yards in the middle of Paris "for the unclean animal forbidden to the Hebrews." I will become swineherd and pork-seller, and we shall see how the good people of Lutetia can help getting their food at my shop.

_Pierre._ Gently, my friends; if you thus run up the price of b.u.t.ter and salt meat, you diminish the profit which I expected from my wood.

_Paul._ Nor is my speculation so wonderful, if you ruin me with your fuel and your hams.

_Jean._ What shall I gain by making you pay an extra price for my sausages, if you overcharge me for pastry and f.a.gots?

_Pierre._ Do you not see that we are getting into a quarrel? Let us rather unite. Let us make _reciprocal concessions_. Besides, it is not well to listen only to miserable self-interest. _Humanity_ is concerned, and must not the warming of the people be secured?

_Paul._ That it is true, and people must have b.u.t.ter to spread on their bread.

_Jean._ Certainly. And they must have a bit of pork for their soup.

_All Together._ Forward, charity! Long live philanthropy! To-morrow, to-morrow, we will take the octroi by a.s.sault.

_Pierre._ Ah, I forgot. One word more which is important. My friends, in this selfish age people are suspicious, and the purest intentions are often misconstrued. Paul, you plead for _wood_; Jean, defend _b.u.t.ter_; and I will devote myself to domestic _swine_. It is best to head off invidious suspicions. _Paul and Jean_ (leaving). Upon my word, what a clever fellow!

SECOND TABLEAU.

_The Common Council._

_Paul._ My dear colleagues, every day great quant.i.ties of wood come into Paris, and draw out of it large sums of money. If this goes on, we shall all be ruined in three years, and what will become of the poor people?

[Bravo.] Let us prohibit foreign wood. I am not speaking for myself, for you could not make a tooth-pick out of all the wood I own. I am, therefore, perfectly disinterested. [Good, good.] But here is Pierre, who has a park, and he will keep our fellow-citizens from freezing. They will no longer be in a state of _dependence_ on the charcoal dealers of the Yonne. Have you ever thought of the risk we run of dying of cold, if the proprietors of these foreign forests should take it into their heads not to bring any more wood to Paris? Let us, therefore, prohibit wood.

By this means we shall stop the drain of specie, we shall start the wood-chopping business, and open to our workmen a new source of labor and wages. [Applause.]

_Jean._ I second the motion of the Honorable member--a proposition so philanthropic and so disinterested, as he remarked. It is time that we should stop this intolerable _freedom of entry_, which has brought a ruinous compet.i.tion upon our market, so that there is not a province tolerably well situated for producing some one article which does not inundate us with it, sell it to us at a low price, and depress Parisian labor. It is the business of the State to _equalize the conditions of production_ by wisely graduated duties; to allow the entrance from without of whatever is dearer there than at Paris, and thus relieve us from an unequal _contest_. How, for instance, can they expect us to make milk and b.u.t.ter in Paris as against Brittany and Normandy? Think, gentlemen; the Bretons have land cheaper, feed more convenient, and labor more abundant. Does not common sense say that the conditions must be equalized by a protecting duty? I ask that the duty on milk and b.u.t.ter be raised to a thousand per cent., and more, if necessary. The breakfasts of the people will cost a little more, but wages will rise!

We shall see the building of stables and dairies, a good trade in churns, and the foundation of new industries laid. I, myself, have not the least interest in this plan. I am not a cowherd, nor do I desire to become one. I am moved by the single desire to be useful to the laboring cla.s.ses. [Expressions of approbation.]

_Pierre._ I am happy to see in this a.s.sembly statesmen so pure, enlightened, and devoted to the interests of the people. [Cheers.] I admire their self-denial, and cannot do better than follow such n.o.ble examples. I support their motion, and I also make one to exclude Poitou hogs. It is not that I want to become a swineherd or pork dealer, in which case my conscience would forbid my making this motion; but is it not shameful, gentlemen, that we should be paying tribute to these poor Poitevin peasants who have the audacity to come into our own market, take possession of a business that we could have carried on ourselves, and, after having inundated us with sausages and hams, take from us, perhaps, nothing in return? Anyhow, who says that the balance of trade is not in their favor, and that we are not compelled to pay them a tribute in money? Is it not plain that if this Poitevin industry were planted in Paris, it would open new fields to Parisian labor? Moreover, gentlemen, is it not very likely, as Mr. Lestiboudois said, that we buy these Poitevin salted meats, not with our income, but our capital? Where will this land us? Let us not allow greedy, avaricious and perfidious rivals to come here and sell things cheaply, thus making it impossible for us to produce them ourselves. Aldermen, Paris has given us its confidence, and we must show ourselves worthy of it. The people are without labor, and we must create it, and if salted meat costs them a little more, we shall, at least, have the consciousness that we have sacrificed our interests to those of the ma.s.ses, as every good Alderman ought to do. [Thunders of applause.]

_A Voice._ I hear much said of the poor people; but, under the pretext of giving them labor, you begin by taking away from them that which is worth more than labor itself--wood, b.u.t.ter, and soup.

_Pierre, Paul and Jean._ Vote, vote. Away with your theorists and generalizers! Let us vote. [The three motions are carried.]

THIRD TABLEAU.

_Twenty Years After._

_Son._ Father, decide; we must leave Paris. Work is slack, and everything is dear.

_Father._ My son, you do not know how hard it is to leave the place where we were born.

_Son._ The worst of all things is to die there of misery.

_Father._ Go, my son, and seek a more hospitable country. For myself, I will not leave the grave where your mother, sisters and brothers lie. I am eager to find, at last, near them, the rest which is denied me in this city of desolation.

_Son._ Courage, dear father, we will find work elsewhere--in Poitou, Normandy or Brittany. They say that the industry of Paris is gradually transferring itself to those distant countries.

_Father._ It is very natural. Unable to sell us wood and food, they stopped producing more than they needed for themselves, and they devoted their spare time and capital to making those things which we formerly furnished them.

_Son._ Just as at Paris, they quit making handsome furniture and fine clothes, in order to plant trees, and raise hogs and cows. Though quite young, I have seen vast storehouses, sumptuous buildings, and quays thronged with life on those banks of the Seine which are now given up to meadows and forests.

_Father._ While the provinces are filling up with cities, Paris becomes country. What a frightful revolution! Three mistaken Aldermen, aided by public ignorance, have brought down on us this terrible calamity.

_Son._ Tell me this story, my father.

_Father._ It is very simple. Under the pretext of establishing three new trades at Paris, and of thus supplying labor to the workmen, these men secured the prohibition of wood, b.u.t.ter, and meats. They a.s.sumed the right of supplying their fellow-citizens with them. These articles rose immediately to an exorbitant price. n.o.body made enough to buy them, and the few who could procure them by using up all they made were unable to buy anything else; consequently all branches of industry stopped at once--all the more so because the provinces no longer offered a market.

Misery, death, and emigration began to depopulate Paris.

_Son._ When will this stop?

_Father._ When Paris has become a meadow and a forest.

_Son._ The three Aldermen must have made a great fortune.