Precepteurs ignorans de ce faible univers.
Voltaire.
(Ignorant teachers of this weak world.)
Nous etions a table chez un de nos confreres a l’Academie,
Grand Seigneur et homme d’esprit.
La Harpe.
(We supped with one of our confreres of the Academy,— a great nobleman and wit.)
One evening, at Paris, several months after the date of our last chapter, there was a reunion of some of the most eminent1 wits of the time, at the house of a personage distinguished2 alike by noble birth and liberal accomplishments3. Nearly all present were of the views that were then the mode. For, as came afterwards a time when nothing was so unpopular as the people, so that was the time when nothing was so vulgar as aristocracy. The airiest fine gentleman and the haughtiest4 noble prated5 of equality, and lisped enlightenment.
Among the more remarkable6 guests were Condorcet, then in the prime of his reputation, the correspondent of the king of Prussia, the intimate of Voltaire, the member of half the academies of Europe,— noble by birth, polished in manners, republican in opinions. There, too, was the venerable Malesherbes, “l’amour et les delices de la Nation.” (The idol7 and delight of the nation (so-called by his historian, Gaillard).) There Jean Silvain Bailly, the accomplished8 scholar,— the aspiring9 politician. It was one of those petits soupers for which the capital of all social pleasures was so renowned10. The conversation, as might be expected, was literary and intellectual, enlivened by graceful11 pleasantry. Many of the ladies of that ancient and proud noblesse — for the noblesse yet existed, though its hours were already numbered — added to the charm of the society; and theirs were the boldest criticisms, and often the most liberal sentiments.
Vain labour for me — vain labour almost for the grave English language — to do justice to the sparkling paradoxes12 that flew from lip to lip. The favourite theme was the superiority of the moderns to the ancients. Condorcet on this head was eloquent13, and to some, at least, of his audience, most convincing. That Voltaire was greater than Homer few there were disposed to deny. Keen was the ridicule14 lavished15 on the dull pedantry16 which finds everything ancient necessarily sublime17.
“Yet,” said the graceful Marquis de —, as the champagne18 danced to his glass, “more ridiculous still is the superstition19 that finds everything incomprehensible holy! But intelligence circulates, Condorcet; like water, it finds its level. My hairdresser said to me this morning, ‘Though I am but a poor fellow, I believe as little as the finest gentleman!’” “Unquestionably, the great Revolution draws near to its final completion,— a pas de geant, as Montesquieu said of his own immortal20 work.”
Then there rushed from all — wit and noble, courtier and republican — a confused chorus, harmonious21 only in its anticipation22 of the brilliant things to which “the great Revolution” was to give birth. Here Condrocet is more eloquent than before.
“Il faut absolument que la Superstition et le Fanatisme fassent place a la Philosophie. (It must necessarily happen that superstition and fanaticism23 give place to philosophy.) Kings persecute24 persons, priests opinion. Without kings, men must be safe; and without priests, minds must be free.”
“Ah,” murmured the marquis, “and as ce cher Diderot has so well sung,—
‘Et des boyaux du dernier pretre
Serrez le cou du dernier roi.’”
(And throttle25 the neck of the last king with the string from the bowels26 of the last priest.)
“And then,” resumed Condorcet,—“then commences the Age of Reason!— equality in instruction, equality in institutions, equality in wealth! The great impediments to knowledge are, first, the want of a common language; and next, the short duration of existence. But as to the first, when all men are brothers, why not a universal language? As to the second, the organic perfectibility of the vegetable world is undisputed, is Nature less powerful in the nobler existence of thinking man? The very destruction of the two most active causes of physical deterioration27 — here, luxurious28 wealth; there, abject29 penury,— must necessarily prolong the general term of life. (See Condorcet’s posthumous30 work on the Progress of the Human Mind.— Ed.) The art of medicine will then be honoured in the place of war, which is the art of murder: the noblest study of the acutest minds will be devoted31 to the discovery and arrest of the causes of disease. Life, I grant, cannot be made eternal; but it may be prolonged almost indefinitely. And as the meaner animal bequeaths its vigour32 to its offspring, so man shall transmit his improved organisation33, mental and physical, to his sons. Oh, yes, to such a consummation does our age approach!”
The venerable Malesherbes sighed. Perhaps he feared the consummation might not come in time for him. The handsome Marquis de — and the ladies, yet handsomer than he, looked conviction and delight.
But two men there were, seated next to each other, who joined not in the general talk: the one a stranger newly arrived in Paris, where his wealth, his person, and his accomplishments, had already made him remarked and courted; the other, an old man, somewhere about seventy,— the witty34 and virtuous35, brave, and still light-hearted Cazotte, the author of “Le Diable Amoureux.”
These two conversed36 familiarly, and apart from the rest, and only by an occasional smile testified their attention to the general conversation.
“Yes,” said the stranger,—“yes, we have met before.”
“I thought I could not forget your countenance37; yet I task in vain my recollections of the past.”
“I will assist you. Recall the time when, led by curiosity, or perhaps the nobler desire of knowledge, you sought initiation38 into the mysterious order of Martines de Pasqualis.”
(It is so recorded of Cazotte. Of Martines de Pasqualis little is known; even the country to which he belonged is matter of conjecture39. Equally so the rites40, ceremonies, and nature of the cabalistic order he established. St. Martin was a disciple41 of the school, and that, at least, is in its favour; for in spite of his mysticism, no man more beneficent, generous, pure, and virtuous than St. Martin adorned42 the last century. Above all, no man more distinguished himself from the herd43 of sceptical philosophers by the gallantry and fervour with which he combated materialism44, and vindicated45 the necessity of faith amidst a chaos46 of unbelief. It may also be observed, that Cazotte, whatever else he learned of the brotherhood47 of Martines, learned nothing that diminished the excellence48 of his life and the sincerity49 of his religion. At once gentle and brave, he never ceased to oppose the excesses of the Revolution. To the last, unlike the Liberals of his time, he was a devout50 and sincere Christian51. Before his execution, he demanded a pen and paper to write these words: “Ma femme, mes enfans, ne me pleurez pas; ne m’oubliez pas, mais souvenez-vous surtout de ne jamais offenser Dieu.” (“My wife, my children, weep not for me; forget me not, but remember above everything never to offend God.)— Ed.)
“Ah, is it possible! You are one of that theurgic brotherhood?”
“Nay, I attended their ceremonies but to see how vainly they sought to revive the ancient marvels52 of the cabala.”
“Such studies please you? I have shaken off the influence they once had on my own imagination.”
“You have not shaken it off,” returned the stranger, bravely; “it is on you still,— on you at this hour; it beats in your heart; it kindles53 in your reason; it will speak in your tongue!”
And then, with a yet lower voice, the stranger continued to address him, to remind him of certain ceremonies and doctrines,— to explain and enforce them by references to the actual experience and history of his listener, which Cazotte thrilled to find so familiar to a stranger.
Gradually the old man’s pleasing and benevolent54 countenance grew overcast55, and he turned, from time to time, searching, curious, uneasy glances towards his companion.
The charming Duchesse de G— archly pointed56 out to the lively guests the abstracted air and clouded brow of the poet; and Condorcet, who liked no one else to be remarked, when he himself was present, said to Cazotte, “Well, and what do YOU predict of the Revolution,— how, at least, will it affect us?”
At that question Cazotte started; his cheeks grew pale, large drops stood on his forehead; his lips writhed57; his gay companions gazed on him in surprise.
“Speak!” whispered the stranger, laying his hand gently upon the arm of the old wit.
At that word Cazotte’s face grew locked and rigid58, his eyes dwelt vacantly on space, and in a low, hollow voice, he thus answered
(The following prophecy (not unfamiliar59, perhaps, to some of my readers), with some slight variations, and at greater length, in the text of the authority I am about to cite, is to be found in La Harpe’s posthumous works. The MS. is said to exist still in La Harpe’s handwriting, and the story is given on M. Petitot’s authority, volume i. page 62. It is not for me to enquire60 if there be doubts of its foundation on fact.— Ed.),—
“You ask how it will affect yourselves,— you, its most learned, and its least selfish agents. I will answer: you, Marquis de Condorcet, will die in prison, but not by the hand of the executioner. In the peaceful happiness of that day, the philosopher will carry about with him not the elixir61 but the poison.”
“My poor Cazotte,” said Condorcet, with his gentle smile, “what have prisons, executioners, and poison to do with an age of liberty and brotherhood?”
“It is in the names of Liberty and Brotherhood that the prisons will reek62, and the headsman be glutted63.”
“You are thinking of priestcraft, not philosophy, Cazotte,” said Champfort.
(Champfort, one of those men of letters who, though misled by the first fair show of the Revolution, refused to follow the baser men of action into its horrible excesses, lived to express the murderous philanthropy of its agents by the best bon mot of the time. Seeing written on the walls, “Fraternite ou la Mort,” he observed that the sentiment should be translated thus, “Sois mon frere, ou je te tue.” (“Be my brother, or I kill thee.”)) “And what of me?”
“You will open your own veins64 to escape the fraternity of Cain. Be comforted; the last drops will not follow the razor. For you, venerable Malesherbes; for you, Aimar Nicolai; for you, learned Bailly,— I see them dress the scaffold! And all the while, O great philosophers, your murderers will have no word but philosophy on their lips!”
The hush65 was complete and universal when the pupil of Voltaire — the prince of the academic sceptics, hot La Harpe — cried with a sarcastic66 laugh, “Do not flatter me, O prophet, by exemption67 from the fate of my companions. Shall I have no part to play in this drama of your fantasies.”
At this question, Cazotte’s countenance lost its unnatural68 expression of awe69 and sternness; the sardonic70 humour most common to it came back and played in his brightening eyes.
“Yes, La Harpe, the most wonderful part of all! YOU will become — a Christian!”
This was too much for the audience that a moment before seemed grave and thoughtful, and they burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, while Cazotte, as if exhausted71 by his predictions, sank back in his chair, and breathed hard and heavily.
“Nay,” said Madame de G—, “you who have predicted such grave things concerning us, must prophesy72 something also about yourself.”
A convulsive tremor73 shook the involuntary prophet,— it passed, and left his countenance elevated by an expression of resignation and calm. “Madame,” said he, after a long pause, “during the siege of Jerusalem, we are told by its historian that a man, for seven successive days, went round the ramparts, exclaiming, ‘Woe74 to thee, Jerusalem,— woe to myself!’”
“Well, Cazotte, well?”
“And on the seventh day, while he thus spoke75, a stone from the machines of the Romans dashed him into atoms!”
With these words, Cazotte rose; and the guests, awed76 in spite of themselves, shortly afterwards broke up and retired77.
1 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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2 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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3 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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4 haughtiest | |
haughty(傲慢的,骄傲的)的最高级形式 | |
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5 prated | |
v.(古时用语)唠叨,啰唆( prate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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7 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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8 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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9 aspiring | |
adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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10 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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11 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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12 paradoxes | |
n.似非而是的隽语,看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 );用于语言文学中的上述隽语;有矛盾特点的人[事物,情况] | |
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13 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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14 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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15 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 pedantry | |
n.迂腐,卖弄学问 | |
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17 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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18 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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19 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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20 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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21 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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22 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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23 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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24 persecute | |
vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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25 throttle | |
n.节流阀,节气阀,喉咙;v.扼喉咙,使窒息,压 | |
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26 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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27 deterioration | |
n.退化;恶化;变坏 | |
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28 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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29 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
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30 posthumous | |
adj.遗腹的;父亡后出生的;死后的,身后的 | |
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31 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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32 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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33 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
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34 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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35 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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36 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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37 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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38 initiation | |
n.开始 | |
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39 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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40 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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41 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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42 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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43 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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44 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
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45 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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46 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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47 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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48 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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49 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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50 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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51 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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52 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53 kindles | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的第三人称单数 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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54 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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55 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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56 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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57 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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59 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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60 enquire | |
v.打听,询问;调查,查问 | |
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61 elixir | |
n.长生不老药,万能药 | |
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62 reek | |
v.发出臭气;n.恶臭 | |
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63 glutted | |
v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 );(对胃口、欲望等)纵情满足;使厌腻;塞满 | |
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64 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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65 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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66 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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67 exemption | |
n.豁免,免税额,免除 | |
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68 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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69 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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70 sardonic | |
adj.嘲笑的,冷笑的,讥讽的 | |
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71 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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72 prophesy | |
v.预言;预示 | |
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73 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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74 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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75 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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76 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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