Economic Sophisms

"Exactly; I see you understand what I mean."

"The thing seems so strange that I am not quite sure that I even heard you distinctly."

"I repeat, I balance one degrèvement by another."

"Well, I happen to have a few minutes to spare, and I should like much to hear you explain this paradox."

"Here is the whole mystery. I know a tax which costs the taxpayer 20 francs, and of which not one farthing ever reaches the Treasury. I relieve you of one-half, and I see that the other half finds its way to the Hôtel des Finances."

"Truly you are an unrivalled financier. And what tax, pray, do I pay which does not reach the Treasury?"

"How much does this coat cost you?"

"100 francs."

"And if you procured the cloth from Verviers, how much would it cost you?"

"80 francs."

"Why, then, did you not order it from Verviers?"

"Because that is forbidden."

"And why is it forbidden?"

"In order that the coat may cost 100 instead of 80 francs."

"This prohibition, then, costs you 20 francs."

"Undoubtedly."

"And where do these 20 francs go to?"

"Where should they go to, but into the pocket of the cloth-manufacturer?"

"Well, then, give me 10 francs for the Treasury, I will abrogate the prohibition, and you will still be a gainer of 10 francs."

"Oh! I begin to follow you. The account with the Treasury will then stand thus: The revenue loses 5 francs upon salt, and 5 upon postages, and gains 10 francs upon cloth. The one balances the other."

"And your own account stands thus: You gain 5 francs upon salt, 5 francs upon postages, and 10 francs upon cloth."

"Total, 20 francs. I like your plan; but what comes of the poor cloth-manufacturer?"

"Oh! I have not lost sight of him. I manage to give him compensation likewise by means of degrèvements which are profitable to the revenue; and what I have done for you as regards cloth, I do for him as regards wool, coals, machinery, etc., so that he is enabled to reduce his price without being a loser."

"But are you sure that the one will balance the other?"

"The balance will be in his favour. The 20 francs which I enable you to gain upon cloth, will be augmented by the amount I enable you to save upon corn, meat, fuel, etc. This will amount to a large sum; and a similar saving will be realized by each of your 35 millions of fellow-countrymen. In this way, you will find the means of consuming all the cloth produced at Verviers and Elbeuf. The nation will be better clothed; that is all."

"I shall think over it; for all this, I confess, confuses my head somewhat."

"After all, as regards clothing, the main consideration is to be clothed. Your limbs are your own, and not the property of the manufacturer. To protect them from the cold is your business and not his! If the law takes his part against you, the law is unjust; and we have been reasoning hitherto on the hypothesis that what is unjust is injurious."

"Perhaps I make too free with you; but I beg you to complete the explanation of your financial plan."

"I shall have a new law of Customs."

"In two volumes folio?"

"No, in two articles."

"For once, then, we may dispense with repeating the famous axiom, 'No one is supposed to be ignorant of the law' —Nul n'est cerne ignorer la loi; which is a fiction. Let us see, then, your proposed tariff."

"Here it is:

"'Art. 1st. – All imported merchandise shall pay a duty of 5 per cent. ad valorem.'"

"Even raw materials?"

"Except those which are destitute of value."

"But they are all possessed of value, less or more."

"In that case they must pay duty, less or more."

"How do you suppose that our manufacturers can compete with foreign manufacturers who have their raw materials free?"

"The expenditure of the State being given, if we shut up this source of revenue, we must open another. That will not do away with the relative inferiority of our manufactures, and we shall have an additional staff of officials to create and to pay for."

"True. I reason as if the problem were to do away with taxation, and not to substitute one tax for another. I shall think over it. What is your second article?"

"'Art. 2d. – All merchandise exported shall pay a duty of 5 per cent, ad valorem.'"

"Good gracious! Monsieur l'Utopiste. You are going to get yourself pelted, and, if necessary, I myself will cast the first stone."

"We have taken for granted that the majority are enlightened."

"Enlightened! Can you maintain that export duties will not be onerous?"

"All taxes are onerous; but this will be less so than others."

"The carnival justifies many eccentricities. Please to render plausible, if that be possible, this new paradox."

"How much do you pay for this wine?"

"One franc the litre."

"How much would you have paid for it outside the barrier?"

"Half a franc."

"What is the reason of this difference?"

"Ask the octroi, which has imposed a tax of half a franc upon it."

"And who established the octroi?"

"The Commune of Paris, to enable them to pave and light the streets."

"It resolves itself, then, into an import duty. But if the neighbouring communes had erected the octroi for their profit, what would have been the consequence?"

"I should not the less have paid one franc for wine worth half a franc, and the other half franc would have gone to pave and light Montmartre and the Batignoles."

"So that, in effect, it is the consumer who pays the tax."

"That is beyond all doubt."

"Then, in imposing an export duty, you make the foreigner contribute to your expenditure."

"Pardon me, that is unjust."

"Why? Before any commodity can be produced in a country, we must presuppose as existing in that country education, security, roads, which are all things that cost money. Why then should not the foreigner bear the charges necessary to the production of the commodity of which ultimately he is the consumer?"

"That is contrary to received ideas."

"Not in the least. The last buyer must bear the whole cost of production, direct and indirect."

"It is in vain that you argue on this subject. It is self-evident that such a measure would paralyze trade, and shut all markets against us."

"This is a mistake. If you paid this tax over and above all others, you might be right. But if the 100 millions levied by this means relieved the taxpayer to a corresponding extent of other burdens, you would reappear in the foreign market with all your advantages, and even with greater advantages, if this tax shall have given rise to less complication and expense."

"I shall think over it. And now that we have put salt, postages, and customs duties on a new footing, does this end your projected reform?"

"On the contrary, we are only beginning."

"Pray give me some account of your other utopian schemes."

"We have already given up 60 millions of francs on salt and postages. The Customhouse affords compensation, but it gives also something far more precious."

"And what is that, if you please?"

"International relations founded on justice, and a probability of peace nearly equal to a certainty. I disband the army."

"The whole army?"

"Excepting the special arms, which will be recruited voluntarily like all other professions. You thus see the conscription abolished."

"Be pleased, Sir, to use the word recruitment."

"Ah! I had forgotten; how easy it is in some countries to perpetuate and hand down the most unpopular things by changing their names!"

"Thus, droits reunis have become contributions indirectes."

"And gendarmes have taken the name of gardes municipaux."

"In short, you would disarm the country on the faith of a utopian theory."

"I said that I should disband the army – not that I would disarm the country. On the contrary, I intend to give it invincible force."

"And how can you give consistency to this mass of contradictions?"

"I should call upon all citizens to take part in the service."

"It would be well worth while to dispense with the services of some of them, in order to enrol all."

"You surely have not made me a minister in order to leave things as they are. On my accession to power, I should say, like Richelieu, 'State maxims are changed.' And my first maxim, the one I should employ as the basis of my administration, would be this: Every citizen must prepare for two things – to provide for his own subsistence, and to defend his country."

"It appears to me, at first sight, that there is some show of common sense in what you say."

"Consequently, I should base the law of national defence on these two enactments:

"'Art. 1st. – Every able-bodied citizen shall remain sous les drapeaux for four years – namely, from 21 to 25 – for the purpose of receiving military instruction.'"

"A fine economy, truly! You disband four hundred thousand soldiers to create ten millions."

"Listen to my second article:

"'Art. 2d. – Unless it is proved that at 21 years of age he knows perfectly the platoon drill.'"

"Nor do I stop here. It is certain that in order to get quit of four years' service, there would be a terrible emulation among our youth to learn the par le flanc droit and the charge en douze temps. The idea is whimsical."

"It is better than that. For without bringing families to grief, without encroaching on equality, would it not secure to the country, in a simple and inexpensive manner, 10 millions of defenders capable of setting at defiance all the standing armies of the world?"

"Really, if I were not on my guard, I should end with taking a serious interest in your conceits."

Utopian free-trader getting excited. "Thank Heaven! here is my Budget relieved of 200 millions. I suppress the octroi. I remodel indirect contributions. I…"

"Oh! Monsieur l'Utopiste!"

Utopian free-trader getting more and more excited. "I should proclaim freedom of worship, freedom of teaching, and new resources. I would buy up the railways, pay off the public debtr and starve out stockjobbers."

"Monsieur l'Utopiste!"

"Set free from a multiplicity of cares, I should concentrate all the powers of government in the repression of fraud, and in the administration of prompt and cheap justice; I…

"Monsieur l'Utopiste, you undertake too many things; the nation will not support you!"

"You have granted me a majority."

"I withdraw it."

"Be it so. Then I am no longer a minister, and my projects will continue to be what they were —Utopias."

XII. THE SALT-TAX, RATES OF POSTAGE, AND CUSTOMHOUSE DUTIES

We expected some time ago to see our representative machinery produce an article quite new, the manufacture of which had not as yet been attempted – namely, the relief of the taxpayer.

All was expectation. The experiment was interesting, as well as new. The motion of the machine disturbed nobody. In this respect, its performance was admirable, no matter at what time, in what place, or under what circumstances it was set agoing.

But as regarded those reforms which were to simplify, equalize, and lighten the public burdens, no one has yet been able to find out what has been accomplished.

It was said: You shall soon see; wait a little; this popular result involves the labours of four sessions. The year 1842 gave us railways; 1846 is to give us the reduction of the salt-tax and of the rates of postage; in 1850 we are to have a reformation of the tariff and of indirect taxation. The fourth session is to be the jubilee of the taxpayer.

Men were full of hope, for everything seemed to favour the experiment. The Moniteur had announced that the revenue would go on increasing every quarter, and what better use could be made of these unlooked-for returns than to give the villager a little more salt to his eau tiede, and an additional letter now and then from the battle-field, where his son was risking his life?

But what has happened? Like the two preparations of sugar which are said to hinder each other from crystallizing, or the Kilkenny cats, which fought so desperately that nothing remained of them but their tails, the two promised reforms have swallowed up each other. Nothing remains of them but the tails; that is to say, we have projets de lois, exposes des motifs, reports, statistical returns, and schedules, in which we have the comfort of seeing our sufferings philanthropically appreciated and homeopathically reckoned up. But as to the reforms themselves, they have not crystallized. Nothing has come out of the crucible, and the experiment has been a failure.

The chemists will by-and-by come before the jury and explain the causes of the breakdown.

One will say, "I proposed a postal reform; but the Chamber wished first of all to rid us of the salt-tax, and I gave it up."

Another will say, "I voted for doing away with the salt-tax, but the Minister had proposed a postal reform, and my vote went for nothing."

And the jury, finding these reasons satisfactory, will begin the experiment of new on the same data, and remit the work to the same chemists.

This proves that it would be well for us, notwithstanding the sources from which it is derived, to adopt the practice introduced half a century ago on the other side of the Channel, of prosecuting only one reform at a time. It is slow, it is wearisome; but it leads to some result.

Here we have a dozen reforms on the anvil at the same time. They hustle one another, like the ghosts at the Gate of Oblivion, where no one enters.

"Ohimè! che lasso Î

Una a la volta, per carità."

Here is what Jacques Bonhomme said, in a dialogue with John Bull, and it is worth being reported: —

Jacques Bonhomme, John Bull.

Jacques Bonhomme: Oh! who will deliver me from this hurricane of reforms? My head is in a whirl. A new one seems to be invented every day: university reform, financial reform, sanitary reform, parliamentary reform, electoral reform, commercial reform, social reform, and, last of all, comes postal reform!

John Bull: As regards the last, it is so easy and so useful, as we have found by experience, that I venture to give you some advice upon the subject.

Jacques: We are told that postal reform has turned out ill in England, and that the Exchequer has lost half a million.

John: And has benefited the public by ten times that sum.

Jacques: No doubt of that.

John: We have every sign by which the public satisfaction can be testified. The nation, following the lead of Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell, have given Rowland Hill, in true British fashion, substantial marks of the public gratitude. Even the poorer classes testify their satisfaction by sealing their letters with wafers bearing this inscription: "Public gratitude for postal reform." The leaders of the Anti-Corn-Law League have proclaimed aloud in their place in Parliament that without cheap postage thirty years would have been required to accomplish their great undertaking, which had for object the removal of duties on the food of the poor. The officers of the Board of Trade have declared it unfortunate that the English coin does not admit of a still greater reduction! What more proofs would you have?

Jacques: But the Treasury?

John: Do not the Treasury and the public sail in the same boat?

Jacques: Not quite. And then, is it quite clear that our postal system has need to be reformed?

John: That is the question. Let us see how matters now stand. What is done with the letters that are put into the post-office?

Jacques: The routine is very simple. The postmaster opens the letter-box at a certain hour, and takes out of it, say, a hundred letters.

John: And then?

Jacques: Then he inspects them one by one. With a geographical table before him, and a letter-weigher in his hand, he assigns each letter to its proper category, according to weight and distance. There are only eleven postal zones or districts, and as many degrees of weight.

John: That constitutes simply 121 combinations for each letter.

Jacques: Yes; and we must double that number, because the letter may, or may not, belong to the service rural.

John: There are, then, 24,200 things to be inquired into with reference to every hundred letters. And how does the postmaster then proceed?

Jacques: He marks the weight on one corner of the letter, and the postage in the middle of the address, by a hieroglyphic agreed upon at headquarters.

John: And then?

Jacques: He stamps the letters, and arranges them in ten parcels corresponding with the other post-offices with which he is in communication. He adds up the total postages of the ten parcels.

John: And then?

Jacques: Then he enters the ten sums in a register, with counterfoils.

John: And then?

Jacques: Then he writes a letter to each of his ten correspondent postmasters, telling them with what sums he debits them.

John: And if the letters are prepaid?

Jacques: Then, I grant you, the service becomes somewhat complicated. He must in that case receive the letter, weigh it, and consign it to its proper category as before, receive payment and give change, select the appropriate stamp among thirty others, mark on the letter its number, weight, and postage; transcribe the full address, first in one register, then in a second, then in a third, then on a detached slip; wrap up the letter in the slip; send the whole, well secured by a string, to the correspondent postmaster; and enter each of these details in a dozen columns, selected from fifty other columns, which indicate the letter-bag in which prepaid letters are put.

John: And all this for forty centimes (4d.)!

Jacques: Yes, on an average.

John: I see now that the despatch of letters is simple enough. Let us see now what takes place on their arrival.

Jacques: The postmaster opens the post-bag.

John: And then?

Jacques: He reads the ten invoices of his correspondents.

John: And after that?

Jacques: He compares the totals of the invoices with the totals brought out by each of the ten parcels of letters.

John: And after that?

Jacques: He brings the whole to a grand total to find out with what sum, en bloc, he is to debit each letter-carrier.

John: And after that?

Jacques: After that, with a table of distances and letter-weigher in hand, he verifies or rectifies the postage of each letter.

John: And after that?

Jacques: He enters in register after register, and in column after column, the greater or less results he has found.

John: And after that?

Jacques: He puts himself in communication with the ten postmasters, his correspondents, to advise them of errors of 10 or 20 centimes (a penny or twopence).

John: And then?

Jacques: He collects and arranges all the letters he has received, to hand them to the postman.

John: And after that?

Jacques: He states the total postages that each postman is charged with.

John: And after that?

Jacques: The postman verifies, or discusses, the signification of the hieroglyphics. The postman finally advances the amount, and sets out.

John: Go on.

Jacques: The postman goes to the party to whom a letter is addressed, and knocks at the door. A servant opens. There are six letters for that address. The postages are added up, separately at first, then altogether. They amount to 2 francs 70 centimes (2s. 3d.).

John: Go on.

Jacques: The servant goes in search of his master. The latter proceeds to verify the hieroglyphics. He mistakes the threes for twos and the nines for fours. He has doubts about the weights and distances. In short, he has to ask the postman to walk upstairs, and on the way he tries to find out the signatures of the letters, thinking it may be prudent to refuse some of them.

John: Go on.

Jacques: The postman when he has got upstairs pleads the cause of the post-office. They argue, they examine, they weigh, they calculate distances – at length the party agrees to receive five of the letters, and refuses one.

John: Go on.

Jacques: What remains is to pay the postage. The servant is sent to the grocer for change. After a delay of twenty minutes he returns, and the postman is at length set free, and rushes from door to door, to go through the same ceremony at each.

John: Go on.

Jacques: He returns to the post-office. He counts and recounts with the postmaster. He returns the letters refused, and gets repayment of his advances for these. He reports the objections of the parties with reference to weight and distance.

John: Go on.

Jacques: The postmaster has to refer to the registers, letter-bags, and special slips, in order to make up an account of the letters which have been refused.

John: Go on, if you please.

Jacques: I am thankful I am not a postmaster. We now come to accounts in dozens and scores at the end of the month; to contrivances invented not only to establish, but to check and control a minute responsibility, involving a total of 50 millions of francs, made up of postages amounting on an average to 43 centimes each (less than 4d.), and of 116 millions of letters, each of which may belong to one or other of 242 categories.

John: A very complicated simplicity truly! The man who has resolved this problem must have a hundred times more genius than your Mons. Piron or our Rowland Hill.

Jacques: Well, you seem to laugh at our system. Would you explain yours to me?

John: In England, the government causes to be sold all over the country, wherever it is judged useful, stamps, envelopes, and covers at a penny apiece.

Jacques: And after that?

John: You write your letter, fold it, put it in the envelope, and throw it into the post-office.

Jacques: And after that?

John: "After that" – why, that is the whole affair. We have nothing to do with distances, bulletins, registers, control, or accounting; we have no money to give or to receive, and no concern with hieroglyphics, discussions, interpretations, etc., etc.

Jacques: Truly this is very simple. But is it not too much so? An infant might understand it. But such reforms as you describe stifle the genius of great administrators. For my own part, I stick to the French mode of going to work. And then your uniform rate has the greatest of all faults. It is unjust.

John: How so?

Jacques: Because it is unjust to charge as much for a letter addressed to the immediate neighbourhood, as for one which you carry three hundred miles.

John: At all events you will allow that the injustice goes no further than to the extent of a penny.

Jacques: No matter – it is still injustice.

John: Besides, the injustice, which at the outside cannot extend beyond a penny in any particular case, disappears when you take into account the entire correspondence of any individual citizen who sends his letters sometimes to a great distance and sometimes to places in the immediate vicinity.

Jacques: I adhere to my opinion. The injustice is lessened – infinitely lessened, if you will; it is inappreciable, infinitesimal, homoeopathic; but it exists.

John: Does your government make you pay dearer for an ounce of tobacco which you buy in the Rue de Clichy than for the same quantity retailed on the Quai d'Orsay?

Jacques: What connexion is there between the two subjects of comparison?

John: In the one case as in the other, the cost of transport must be taken into account. Mathematically, it would be just that each pinch of snuff should be dearer in the Rue de Clichy than on the Quai d'Orsay by the millionth part of a farthing.

Jacques: True; I don't dispute that it may be so.

John: Let me add, that your postal system is just only in appearance. Two houses stand side by side, but one of them happens to be within, and the other just outside, the zone or postal district. The one pays a penny more than the other, just equal to the entire postage in England. You see, then, that with you injustice is committed on a much greater scale than with us.

Jacques: That is so. My objection does not amount to much; but the loss of revenue still remains to be taken into account.

Here I ceased to listen to the two interlocutors. It turned out, however, that Jacques Bonhomme was entirely converted; for some days afterwards, the Report of M. Vuitry having made its appearance, Jacques wrote the following letter to that honourable legislator: —