As the reader perceives, slang in its entirety, slang of four hundred years ago, like the slang of to-day, is permeated with that sombre, symbolical spirit which gives to all words a mien which is now mournful, now menacing. One feels in it the wild and ancient sadness of those vagrants of the Court of Miracles who played at cards with packs of their own, some of which have come down to us. The eight of clubs, for instance, represented a huge tree bearing eight enormous trefoil leaves, a sort of fantastic personification of the forest. At the foot of this tree a fire was burning, over which three hares were roasting a huntsman on a spit, and behind him, on another fire, hung a steaming pot, whence emerged the head of a dog. Nothing can be more melancholy than these reprisals in painting, by a pack of cards, in the presence of stakes for the roasting of smugglers and of the cauldron for the boiling of counterfeiters. The diverse forms assumed by thought in the realm of slang, even song, even raillery, even menace, all partook of this powerless and dejected character. All the songs, the melodies of some of which have been collected, were humble and lamentable to the point of evoking tears. The pegre is always the poor pegre, and he is always the hare in hiding, the fugitive mouse, the flying bird. He hardly complains, he contents himself with sighing; one of his moans has come down to us: "I do not understand how God, the father of men, can torture his children and his grandchildren and hear them cry, without himself suffering torture."[43] The wretch, whenever he has time to think, makes himself small before the low, and frail in the presence of society; he lies down flat on his face, he entreats, he appeals to the side of compassion; we feel that he is conscious of his guilt.
[43] Je n'entrave que le dail comment meck, le daron des orgues, peut atiger ses momes et ses momignards et les locher criblant sans etre agite lui-meme.
Towards the middle of the last century a change took place, * songs and thieves' ritournelles assumed, so to speak, an insolent and jovial mien. The plaintive malure was replaced by the larifla. We find in the eighteenth century, in nearly all the songs of the galleys and *s, a diabolical and enigmatical gayety. We hear this strident and lilting refrain which we should say had been lighted up by a phosphorescent gleam, and which seems to have been flung into the forest by a will-o'-the-wisp playing the fife:--
Miralabi suslababo Mirliton ribonribette Surlababi mirlababo Mirliton ribonribo.
This was sung in a cellar or in a nook of the forest while cutting a man's throat.
A serious symptom. In the eighteenth century, the ancient melancholy of the dejected classes vanishes. They began to laugh. They rally the grand meg and the grand dab. Given Louis XV. they call the King of France "le Marquis de Pantin." And behold, they are almost gay. A sort of gleam proceeds from these miserable wretches, as though their consciences were not heavy within them any more. These lamentable tribes of darkness have no longer merely the desperate audacity of actions, they possess the heedless audacity of mind. A sign that they are losing the sense of their criminality, and that they feel, even among thinkers and dreamers, some indefinable support which the latter themselves know not of. A sign that theft and pillage are beginning to filter into doctrines and sophisms, in such a way as to lose somewhat of their ugliness, while communicating much of it to sophisms and doctrines. A sign, in short, of some outbreak which is prodigious and near unless some diversion shall arise.
Let us pause a moment. Whom are we accusing here? Is it the eighteenth century? Is it philosophy? Certainly not. The work of the eighteenth century is healthy and good and wholesome. The encyclopedists, Diderot at their head; the physiocrates, Turgot at their head; the philosophers, Voltaire at their head; the Utopians, Rousseau at their head,--these are four sacred legions. Humanity's immense advance towards the light is due to them. They are the four vanguards of the human race, marching towards the four cardinal points of progress. Diderot towards the beautiful, Turgot towards the useful, Voltaire towards the true, Rousseau towards the just. But by the side of and above the philosophers, there were the sophists, a venomous vegetation mingled with a healthy growth, hemlock in the virgin forest. While the executioner was burning the great books of the liberators of the century on the grand staircase of the court-house, writers now forgotten were publishing, with the King's sanction, no one knows what strangely disorganizing writings, which were eagerly read by the unfortunate. Some of these publications, odd to say, which were patronized by a prince, are to be found in the Secret Library. These facts, significant but unknown, were imperceptible on the surface. Sometimes, in the very obscurity of a fact lurks its danger. It is obscure because it is underhand. Of all these writers, the one who probably then excavated in the masses the most unhealthy gallery was Restif de La Bretonne.
This work, peculiar to the whole of Europe, effected more ravages in Germany than anywhere else. In Germany, during a given period, summed up by Schiller in his famous drama The Robbers, theft and pillage rose up in protest against property and labor, assimilated certain specious and false elementary ideas, which, though just in appearance, were absurd in reality, enveloped themselves in these ideas, disappeared within them, after a fashion, assumed an abstract name, passed into the state of theory, and in that shape circulated among the laborious, suffering, and honest masses, unknown even to the imprudent chemists who had prepared the mixture, unknown even to the masses who accepted it. Whenever a fact of this sort presents itself, the case is grave. Suffering engenders wrath; and while the prosperous classes blind themselves or fall asleep, which is the same thing as shutting one's eyes, the hatred of the unfortunate classes lights its torch at some aggrieved or ill-made spirit which dreams in a corner, and sets itself to the scrutiny of society. The scrutiny of hatred is a terrible thing.
Hence, if the ill-fortune of the times so wills it, those fearful commotions which were formerly called jacqueries, beside which purely political agitations are the merest child's play, which are no longer the conflict of the oppressed and the oppressor, but the revolt of discomfort against comfort. Then everything crumbles.
Jacqueries are earthquakes of the people.
It is this peril, possibly imminent towards the close of the eighteenth century, which the French Revolution, that immense act of probity, cut short.
The French Revolution, which is nothing else than the idea armed with the sword, rose erect, and, with the same abrupt movement, closed the door of ill and opened the door of good.
It put a stop to torture, promulgated the truth, expelled miasma, rendered the century healthy, crowned the populace.
It may be said of it that it created man a second time, by giving him a second soul, the right.
The nineteenth century has inherited and profited by its work, and to-day, the social catastrophe to which we lately alluded is simply impossible. Blind is he who announces it! Foolish is he who fears it! Revolution is the vaccine of Jacquerie.
Thanks to the Revolution, social conditions have changed. Feudal and monarchical maladies no longer run in our blood. There is no more of the Middle Ages in our constitution. We no longer live in the days when terrible swarms within made irruptions, when one heard beneath his feet the obscure course of a dull rumble, when indescribable elevations from mole-like tunnels appeared on the surface of civilization, where the soil cracked open, where the roofs of caverns yawned, and where one suddenly beheld monstrous heads emerging from the earth.
The revolutionary sense is a moral sense. The sentiment of right, once developed, develops the sentiment of duty. The law of all is liberty, which ends where the liberty of others begins, according to Robespierre's admirable definition. Since '89, the whole people has been dilating into a sublime individual; there is not a poor man, who, possessing his right, has not his ray of sun; the die-of-hunger feels within him the honesty of France; the dignity of the citizen is an internal armor; he who is free is scrupulous; he who votes reigns. Hence incorruptibility; hence the miscarriage of unhealthy lusts; hence eyes heroically lowered before temptations. The revolutionary wholesomeness is such, that on a day of deliverance, a 14th of July, a 10th of August, there is no longer any populace. The first cry of the enlightened and increasing throngs is: death to thieves! Progress is an honest man; the ideal and the absolute do not filch pocket-handkerchiefs. By whom were the wagons containing the wealth of the Tuileries escorted in 1848? By the rag-pickers of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.Rags mounted guard over the treasure. Virtue rendered these tatterdemalions resplendent. In those wagons in chests, hardly closed, and some, even, half-open, amid a hundred dazzling caskets, was that ancient crown of France, studded with diamonds, surmounted by the carbuncle of royalty, by the Regent diamond, which was worth thirty millions. Barefooted, they guarded that crown.
Hence, no more Jacquerie. I regret it for the sake of the skilful. The old fear has produced its last effects in that quarter; and henceforth it can no longer be employed in politics. The principal spring of the red spectre is broken. Every one knows it now. The scare-crow scares no longer. The birds take liberties with the mannikin, foul creatures alight upon it, the bourgeois laugh at it.
正如我们所见，整个黑话，无论是四百年前的黑话或今天的黑话，都渗透了那种时而把抑郁姿态，时而把威吓神情赋予一切词的象征性的阴暗气质。我们能在这里感受到当年在圣迹区玩纸牌的那些流浪汉的郁怒情绪，那些人有他们自己独创的纸牌，我们还保存了几副。例如那张梅花八便是一株有八片大花瓣的大树，一种表现森林的怪诞手法。树底下画了一堆燃烧着的火，三只野兔抬着一个穿在烤叉上的猎人在火上烘烤，树后面，另一堆火上挂一口热气腾腾的锅，锅里露出一个狗头。这上面所画的是对那种烧死走私犯和煮死铸私钱犯的火刑的反击情绪，而竟描绘在一张纸牌上，可以说再没有什么比这更阴森的了。在黑话的王国里，思想所采取的各种不同形式，即使是歌曲、嘲笑或恐吓，也全有那种无可奈何和压抑的特征。所有的歌曲棗某些旋律已经收集棗全是低声下气悲切到使人流泪的。鬼蜮社会自称为“可怜的鬼蜮社会”，它总是象一只随时隐藏的野兔、逃窜的老鼠、飞走的小鸟。它稍微表示了一点意见，便又抑制自己，以一叹了之。我们的耳朵刮到过这么一句诉苦的话：“我不懂，上帝，人的父亲，怎么可以虐待他的子孙后代，听凭他们呼号而无动于衷。”穷苦人每到想问题时，总自以为在法律面前是渺小的，在社会面前是软弱无力的，他五体投地地乞求怜悯，人们感到他认识了自己的错误。
但在上一世纪的中叶，却起了变化。*里的歌，歹徒们经常唱的曲调，可以说，有了种傲慢和欢快的姿态。怨叹的maluré已被larifla所替代。及至十九世纪，几乎所有的大桡船、苦役牢、囚犯队里的任何歌曲都有了一种疯狂费解的轻快趣味。人们在其中常听到这几句尖戾跳动的叠歌，它们好象被微弱的磷光照亮着，随着笛声被一团鬼火引进森林里似的：
看啊在那里，就在那里嘛，
高声歌唱啊，大打牙祭吧！
就在那里啊，你去看看嘛！
歌声要响亮，狂饮要痛快！
在地窖里或在林中一角掐死人时，人们便唱着这首歌。
严重的症状。那些阴沉阶级的古老伤感情绪到十八世纪已经消失了。他们开始笑起来了。他们嘲笑上帝和国王。在谈到路易十五时，他们把法兰西国王叫做“庞坦侯爷”。他们几乎是轻松愉快的。有一种轻微的光从这些穷苦的人群中透出来了，仿佛他们心中的压抑已不存在。这些活在黑暗中的悲惨人群已不仅是只有行动上那种不顾一切的胆量，也还有精神上那种无所顾忌的胆量。这说明他们已失去了那种自惭多罪的感受，并感到自己已在某些思想家和空想者中间受到一种说不上是什么的不自觉的支持。这说明偷盗和劫掠行为已被列为某些学说和诡辩的论题，得以稍稍减掉一点它们的丑恶，却也大大增加了这些学说和诡辩的丑恶。总之，这说明，假使没有变化，在不久的将来，便将出现巨大的暴动。
且慢。我们在此地控诉谁呢？十八世纪吗？它的哲学吗？当然不是。十八世纪的成就是健康的，好的。以狄德罗为首的百科全书派，以杜尔哥①为首的重农学派，以伏尔泰为首的哲学家，以卢梭为首的乌托邦主义者，这是四支神圣的大军。人类走向光明的巨大进展应当归功于他们。这是人类向进步的四个方面进军的四个先锋，狄德罗驰向美，杜尔哥驰向功利，伏尔泰驰向真理，卢梭驰向正义。但是，在哲学家的身旁和底下，有那些诡辩派，这是杂在香花中的毒草，是处女林中的霸王鞭。正当刽子手在最高法院的正厅楼梯上焚烧那个世纪一些伟大而志在解放的书籍时，许多现已被遗忘的作家却在国王的特许下发表了不知多少破坏性极强的文章，专供穷苦人尽情阅读。这些著作中的好几种，说也奇怪，还受到一个亲王的保护，收藏在“秘密图书馆”里。这些意味深长但不让人知的小事，表面上是未被觉察的。而有时，一件事的危险性正在于它的不公开。它不公开，因为它是在地下进行的。在所有这些作家的著作中，把人民群众引向最不健康的邪路上去的一部，也许要数上勒蒂夫·德·拉布雷东②的。
①杜尔哥（Turgot），路易十六的财政大臣，曾废除国内关卡，实行粮食*买卖，减轻赋税，因触犯了贵族和僧侣的特权，被解职。
②勒蒂夫·德·拉布雷东（Restif de la Bretonne，1734?806），法国作家。
这部著作，风行于整个欧洲，在德国比在任何地方为害更烈。在德国，经过席勒在他那名剧《强盗》中加以概括以后，偷盗和劫掠便曾在某个时期挺身而起，向财产和工作提出*，吸取了某些浅薄、似是而非、虚伪、表面正确而实际荒谬的思想，并用这些思想把自己装扮起来，隐藏在里面，取了个抽象的名词，使自己成为理论，并以这样的方式在勤劳、痛苦和诚实的人民群众中泛滥成灾，连那配制这一混合药剂的化学家也没有察觉，连那些接受了它的群众也没有察觉。每次发生这样的事，那总是严重的。痛苦生怒火，每当荣华阶级瞎了眼或睡大觉（这总是闭着眼的），苦难阶级的仇恨便在一些郁闷或怀着坏心眼待在角落里梦想的人的心中燃起它的火把，并开始对社会作研究。仇恨所作的研究，可怕得很！
因此，假使时代的灾难一定要这样，便会发生人们在过去称作“扎克雷运动”①的那种骇人听闻的震荡，纯政治性的动乱和那种运动比较起来只不过是儿戏，那已不是被压迫者对压迫者的斗争，而是窘困对宽裕的暴动。到那时候一切都得崩溃。
①扎克雷运动（jacquerie），原指十四世纪中叶席卷法国北部的农民大起义，继泛指一般暴力运动。
扎克雷运动是人民的震动。
在十八世纪末，这种危险也许已迫在眉睫，法国革命棗
这一正大光明的行动棗却一下子截住了它。
法国革命只不过是一种用利剑武装起来的理想，它挺身猛然一击，在同一动作中关上了恶门也打开了善门。它解决了问题，宣布了真理，清除了瘴气，净化了世纪，替人民加了冠冕。
我们可以说它又一次创造了人类，赋予人类以第二个灵魂，*。
十九世纪继承并享受了它的成果，到今天，我们刚才指出的那种社会灾难已干脆变成不可能的了。只有瞎子才会对它大惊小怪！只有*才会对它谈虎色变！革命是预防扎克雷运动的疫苗。
幸亏那次革命，社会的情况改变了。在我们的血液里已不再存在封建制和君主制的病害。在我们的体质里已经不再存在中世纪。我们这时代不会再发生那种引起剧变的内部纷争聚讼，不会再听到自己脚下那种隐隐可辨的暗流，不会再遇到那种来自鼹鼠的坑道、出现在文明表层的难于形容的骚动，不会再有地裂，岩洞下坼，也不会再看见妖魔鬼怪的头从地底下突然钻出来。
革命观便是道德观。*的感情，一经发展，便能发展成责任感。全民的法律，这就是*，按照罗伯斯庇尔的令人钦佩的定义，*止于他人*之始。自从一七八九年以来，全体人民都以崇高化了的个体从事自我发展，没有一个穷人不因获得了*而兴高采烈，饿到快死的人也感到对法兰西的诚实满怀信心，公民的尊严是精神的武装。谁有*，谁就自爱，谁有选举权，谁就是统治者。不可腐蚀性由此而生，不健康的贪念由此而灭，从此，人们的眼睛都在诱惑面前英勇地低垂下去了。革命的净化作用竟达到了如此程度，一朝得救，例如在七月十四日，例如在八月十日，所有的贱民全不存在了。光明伟大的群众的第一声呐喊便是：“处死盗窃犯！”进步创造正气，理想和绝对真理决不偷偷摸摸。一八四八年载运杜伊勒里宫财富的那些货车是由谁押送的？是由圣安东尼郊区的那些收破衣烂衫的人押送的。破烂儿护卫着宝库。好品德使那些衣服褴褛的人显得无比庄严。在那些货车上的一些没有关严，有些甚至还半开着的箱子里，在一百只灿烂夺目的宝石匣子里，有那顶整个镶满了钻石的古老王冠，顶上托着那颗价值三千万的代表王权和摄政权所用的红宝石。他们，赤着脚，保卫着这顶王冠。
足见不会再有扎克雷运动了。我对那些机智的人感到遗憾。旧日的畏惧心在这里起了它最后一次作用，从此不能再用在政治方面了。红鬼的大弹簧已断。现在人人都识破了这一点。稻草人已不能再吓唬人了。飞鸟已和草人混熟，鸠雀停在它的头上，资产阶级把它当作笑话。
