“So,” he said, “there’s to be no more religion?”
“No more religion of the State,” replied the pedicure, emphasizing the last words; “every man will have his own. It is very fortunate that the government is just now endowing convents; they’ll provide our funds. Everything, you see, conspires in our favour. Those who pity the peoples, who clamor on behalf of proletaries, who write works against the Jesuits, who busy themselves about the amelioration of no matter what,—the communists, the humanitarians, the philanthropists, you understand,—all these people are our advanced guard. While we are storing gunpowder, they are making the tinder which the spark of a single circumstance will ignite.”
“But what do you expect will make the happiness of France?” cried Gazonal.
“Equality of citizens and cheapness of provisions. We mean that there will be no persons lacking anything, no millionaires, no suckers of blood and victims.”
“That’s it!—maximum and minimum,” said Gazonal.
“You’ve said it,” replied the corn-cutter, decisively.
“No more manufacturers?” asked Gazonal.
“The state will manufacture. We shall all be the usufructuaries of France; each will have his ration as on board ship; and all the world will work according to their capacity.”
“Ah!” said Gazonal, “and while awaiting the time when you can cut off the heads of aristocrats—”
“I cut their nails,” said the radical republican, putting up his tools and finishing the jest himself.