devil's milk, no other food could thenceforth please him. Even as Caligula loved to drink blood, and the daughter of Darius preferred the serpent's flesh, so the child would ever like the devil's food only.
Thence, what hope can the laborers have? We still must expect the worst. But if all men learn to read and write, who will nourish them? That is an important problem that no one is willing to solve.
XXXIII.
I pray you, readers, not to forget that I speak to you humbly,[1] standing with bowed head and sad aspect at the threshold of your door. But you are occupying the place of honor at the table where they serve the products of our labor. You will not reply. Is it because you feel that you are in every way culpable in the sight of God and man, and even before your own conscience? If you try to justify yourself, you will fall still more deeply into sin; if you try to contradict me, your infatuation will be an outrage, not against me, but against God, against bread, and against your conscience.
XXXIV.
You see now, you of the upper classes, that the laborer is your second father; we may even say, without fear of sinning, that he is your first father. Remember that all the dishes of which you eat at your table are the pro-
- ↑ I mean that I speak in the name of all our class, men, women, children, and old persons. I do not speak personally, but in the name of my companions.
