Once, workers were not servants.

They worked.

They cultivated an honor, absolute,

as befits an honor. The leg of a chair

had to be well made.

It was natural, it was understood. It was a first principle.

It did not need to be well made for the wages,

nor in proportion to the wages.

Not for the master, not for the connoisseurs,

nor for the master's clients.

It had to be well made for its own sake,

in itself, in its very nature. A tradition come down,

risen from the depth of the race, a history,

an absolute, an honor demanded

that this chair leg be well made.

And every part of the chair be well made.

And every part of the chair that could not be seen was wrought with

the same perfection as the parts that could be seen.

On the very same principle as the cathedrals.

And it is only I — I, now so corrupted —

who go on at such length about it.

For them, in them, there was not even the shadow of a reflection.

The work was there. One worked well.

It was not a matter of being seen or not being seen.

It was the work that had to be well done.

C. Péguy, L'Argent