"The miser's disinterestedness? You must be jesting, Florestan!"
"Yes, I repeat it, he is truly sublime in his disinterestedness! The miser is perfectly aware that he is despised and execrated during life, and that his death will be greeted with delight by his heirs; yet, you cannot name a single one who has tried to make his treasure disappear with him, with a view of avenging his wrongs. Two millions in bank notes may be turned to ashes in five minutes, and leave no trace; but no, these good-natured misers, full of magnanimity and forgiveness, forget their injuries and enrich their heirs. I know of nothing comparable to the martyrdom of a miser; and it is not the torture of an hour, but of a lifetime. He knows that the treasure, amassed so painfully and with so many privations, will never be enjoyed by himself; that the fatal hour will come when this gold, which he loves more than life, shall be dissipated in riotous living, in foolish orgies, in the midst of which his name and memory shall, perhaps, be scoffed and insulted—and by his own son, alas! And yet he has no thought of punishing such insolent cupidity by destroying his treasure! Ah! believe me, Louis, avarice is a strong, mighty passion; and nothing that is strong and great can be useless. God, in His infinite wisdom, did not create passions without an aim—that is, a power without its use. If he endowed misers with incredible concentration of will, it is because they have some mysterious purpose to achieve. I repeat it, all forces have and must have their expansion, all well-directed passions their fruitful issues. Let us suppose, for instance, that a minister of finance should bring to the management and economy of public affairs that inflexibility which characterizes the miser; would not many wonders result from such avarice? Though Fouquet ruined the finances of France, never was the country more flourishing than under Colbert; without this avaricious minister, the prodigalities of Louis XIV would have been impossible; and all those marvels of magnificence, of art and poetry, would have remained unknown. As you see, all is linked, enchained together; each cause produces its effect; the prodigality of Louis XIV is the consequence of the avarice of Colbert."
"Remember, Florestan," said Louis, sadly, "that while this great king, whose memory I have always abhorred, was ruining the country by his insolent prodigalities, the heavily-taxed people were living in atrocious servitude to provide for the bold ostentations of Louis XIV, his mistresses and their children. And what misery still exists in our days! Ah! if you knew what a life of wretchedness Mariette has endured! Although the poor child is strong and courageous, the sight of such frightful destitution would fill your heart with bitter resentment."
"What will you, I am a philanthropist in my own way; I take things as they come, and, as I cannot do better, I spend to my last farthing. None can accuse me of encouraging the idleness of luxurious industries."
"I do not accuse your generous heart, my friend; the man who spends his money liberally or foolishly, provides work for the poor, and work is bread—yet, you laud avarice."
"My dear fellow, who would appreciate the excellence of arms, if not the warrior? The excellence of a horse, if not the cavalier? The excellence of a lute, if not the player? Paganini, as pope, would have canonized Stradivarius, the maker of those wonderful violins, which the great artist plays so admirably. Therefore, as I have the presumption of playing admirably with millions, I would canonize my uncle, that heroic martyr of avarice, if distributive justice would only place in my hands the wonderful instruments of prodigality he is manufacturing by hoarding his money."
"Ah! heavens!" cried Louis, suddenly gazing at his friend with a horrified expression.
"What is it?" asked Saint-Herem, quietly.
"Don't you know?"
"Know what?"