2026-09-28
1 小时 11 分钟It is now 16 or 17 years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphines at Versailles,
and surely never lighted on this orb which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision.
I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere
she just began to move in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and splendor and joy.
Oh.
What a revolution.
And what a heart must I have to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall.
Little did I dream when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant,
respectful love that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom.
Little did I dream.
That I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men,
in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers.
I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards
to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.
But the age of chivalry is gone.
That of sophisters, economists and calculators has succeeded and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever.
So...
That's one of the most celebrated pieces of prose ever written about the French Revolution.
It was written by the Anglo-Irish politician and philosopher Edmund Burke,
often seen as one of the godfathers of conservatism.