The Dinner of the Elect.
"It appears as but yesterday, and yet, nevertheless, it was at the beginning of the year 1788. We were dining with one of the brethren at the Academy—a man of considerable wealth and genius. The conversation became serious; much admiration was expressed on the revolution of thought which Voltaire had effected, and it was agreed that it was his first claim to the reputation he enjoyed. We concluded that the revolution must soon be consummated; that it was indispensable that superstition and fanaticism should give way to philosophy, and we began to calculate the probability of the period when this should be, and which of the present company should live to see it. The oldest complained that they could hardly flatter themselves with the hope; the younger rejoiced that they might entertain this very probable expectation; and they congratulated the Academy especially for having prepared this great work, and for having been the rallying point, the centre, and the prime mover of the liberty of thought.
The Illuminatus.
"One only of the guests had not taken part in all the joyousness of this conversation, and had even gently and cheerfully checked our splendid enthusiasm. This was Cazotte, an amiable and original man, but unhappily infatuated with the reveries of the Illuminati. He spoke, and with the most serious tone, saying: 'Gentlemen, be satisfied; you will all see this great and sublime revolution, which you so much desire. You know that I am a little inclined to prophecy; I repeat, you will see it.' He was answered by the common rejoinder: 'One need not be a conjurer to see that.' He answered: 'Be it so; but perhaps one must be a little more than conjurer for what remains for me to tell you. Do you know what will be the consequences of this revolution—what will be the consequences to all of you, and what will be the immediate result—the well-established effect—the thoroughly recognized consequences to all of you who are here present?'
The Beginning of the Prophecy.
"'Ah,' said Condorcet, with his insolent and half-suppressed smile, 'let us hear—a philosopher is not sorry to encounter a prophet—let us hear?' Cazotte replied: 'You, Monsieur de Condorcet—you will yield up your last breath on the floor of a dungeon; you will die from poison, which you will have taken in order to escape from execution—from poison which the happiness of that time will oblige you to carry around your person. You, Monsieur de Chamfort, you will open your veins with twenty-two cuts of a razor, and yet will not die till some months afterward.' These personages looked at each other, and laughed again. Cazotte continued: 'You, Monsieur Vicq d'Azir, you will not open your own veins, but you will cause yourself to be bled six times in one day, during the paroxysm of the gout, in order to make more sure of your end, and you will die in the night.'
The Shadow of the Guillotine.
"Cazotte went on: 'You, Monsieur de Nicolai, you will die on the scaffold; you, Monsieur Bailly, on the scaffold; you, Monsieur de Malesherbes, on the scaffold.' 'Ah, God be thanked,' exclaimed Roucherm, 'and what of I?' Cazotte replied: 'You! you also will die on the scaffold.' 'Yes,' replied Chamfort, 'but when will all this happen?' Cazotte answered: 'Six years will not pass over, before all that I have said to you shall be accomplished.' Here I (La Harpe) spoke, saying: 'Here are some astonishing miracles, but you have not included me in your list.' Cazotte answered me, saying: 'But you will be there, as an equally extraordinary miracle; you will then be a Christian!' Vehement exclamations on all sides followed this startling assertion. 'Ah!' said Chamfort, 'I am comforted; for if we perish only when La Harpe shall be a Christian, we are immortal!'
The Fall of the Great.
"'Then,' observed Madame la Duchesse de Grammont, 'as for that, we women, we are happy to be counted for nothing in this revolution; when I say for nothing, it is not that we do not always mix ourselves up with them a little; but it is a received maxim that they take no notice of us, and of our sex.' 'Your sex, ladies,' said Cazotte, 'your sex will not protect you this time; and you had far better meddle with nothing, for you will be treated entirely as men, without any difference whatever.' 'But what, then, are you really telling us of, Monsieur Cazotte? You are preaching to us the end of the world.' 'I know nothing on that subject; but what I do know is, that you, Madame la Duchesse, will be conducted to the scaffold, you and many other ladies with you, in the cart of the executioner, and with your hands tied behind your backs.' 'All! I hope that in that case I shall at least have a carriage hung in black.' 'No, Madame; higher ladies than yourself will go, like you, in the common car, with their hands tied behind them.' 'Higher ladies! what! the princesses of the blood?' 'Yea, and still more exalted personages!' replied Cazotte.