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318 pages, Paperback
First published May 8, 1968
Eppur si muove鈥�
La peste, venue d鈥橭rient, entra en Allemagne par la Boh猫me. Elle voyageait sans se presser, au bruit des cloches, comme une imp茅ratrice. Pench茅e sur le verre du buveur, soufflant la chandelle du savant assis parmi ses livres, servant la messe du pr锚tre, cach茅e comme une puce dans la chemise des fille de joies, la peste apportait 脿 la vie de tous un 茅l茅ment d鈥檌nsolente 茅galit茅, un 芒cre et dangereux ferment d鈥檃venture. Le glas r茅pandait dans l鈥檃ir une insistante rumeur de f锚te noire鈥�
S鈥檈n suivait-il que les phases subs茅quentes de l鈥檃venture alchimique fussent autre chose que des songes, et qu鈥檜n jour il conna卯trait aussi la puret茅 asc茅tique de l鈥櫯抲vre au Blanc, puis le triomphe conjugu茅 de l鈥檈sprit et des sens qui caract茅rise l鈥櫯抲vre au Rouge ?
L鈥檋omme est une entreprise qui a contre elle le temps, la n茅cessit茅, la fortune et l鈥檌mb茅cile et toujours croissante primaut茅 du nombre, dit plus pos茅ment le philosophe. Les hommes tueront l鈥檋omme.
Qui serait assez insens茅 pour mourir sans avoir fait au moins le tour de sa prison ?
Il fit ou crut faire un effort pour se lever, sans bien savoir s鈥檌l 茅tait secouru ou si au contraire il portait secours. Les grincement des cl茅s tourn茅es et des verrous repouss茅s ne fut plus pour lui qu鈥檜n bruit suraigu de porte qui s鈥檕uvre. Et c鈥檈st aussi loin qu鈥檕n peut aller dans la fin de Z茅non.
"Tako se re拧etaju na拧i 膷itaoci: glupi nam veruju, oni jo拧 gluplji nas napu拧taju smatraju膰i da smo gluplji od njih, a oni 拧to ostanu snalaze se u tom lavirintu, nau膷e da presko膷e ili obi膽u prepreku la啪i. Ba拧 bih se iznenadio kad se 膷ak i u najsvetijim tekstovima ne bi na拧lo takvih lukavstava. Kad se tako 膷ita, svaka knjiga postaje tajanstvena poruka."
(Zenonovo ratno lukavstvo, str. 85-86)
鈥�...filozof se zabavljao iscrtavanjem karte ljudskih mi拧ljenja leta Gospodnjeg 1569. bar u pogledu onih neobi膷nih oblasti u kojima je njegov duh boravio. Kopernikov sistem crkva nije osudila 鈥� ali tvrdnja koja se sastoji u postavlju Sunca umesto Zemlje u sredi拧te sveta 鈥� ipak vre膽a i Aristotela, i Bibliju 鈥� Zenon je po sebi znao u kojoj meri Zemlja u pokretu kr拧i navike koje je svako od nas izgradio da bi mogao da 啪ivi. 鈥� Gora od smelosti zamenjivanja Zemlje Suncem bila je Demokritova gre拧ka: verovanje u beskrajnost svetova, koje 膷ak i Suncu oduzima povla拧膰eno mesto i pori膷e postojanje jednog sredi拧ta 鈥� Averoesova gre拧ka, pretpostavka o bo啪anstvu rasprostrtom svuda unutar ve膷nog sveta, kao da je vernika li拧avala utehe boga stvorenog prema ljudskom obli膷ju, 膷ija su milost ili gnev isklju膷ivo 膷oveku namenjeni. Ve膷nost du拧e, Origenova gre拧ka, izazvala je gnu拧anje, jer je skoro ni na 拧ta svodila neposrednu sada拧njost: 膷ovek je pristajao da se pred njim otvori sre膰na ili nesre膰na besmrtnost za koju je odgovoran, ali ne i da se na sve strane prostire neka hladna ve膷nost u kojoj on biti拧e ne postoje膰i鈥︹€� (227-228)
An object brought from Italy was hanging on the wall of the small antechamber, a Florentine mirror in a tortoise-shell frame, formed from a combination of some twenty little convex mirrors hexagonal in shape, like the cells of a beehive, and each mirror enclosed, in its turn, by a narrow border which had once been the shell of a living creature. Zeno looked at himself there in the gray light of a Parisian dawn. What he saw was twenty figures compressed and reduced by the laws of optics, twenty images of a man in a fur bonnet, of haggard and sallow complexion, with gleaming eyes which were themselves mirrors. This man in flight, enclosed within a world of his own, separated from others like himself who were also in flight in worlds parallel to his, recalled to him the hypothesis of the Greek Democritus, about an infinite series of identical universes in each of which lives and dies imprisoned a series of philosophers.
The fantasy evoked a bitter smile. The twenty little figures of the mirror smiled, too, each alone in his frame. He then saw them turn their heads half away and direct themselves toward the door.
The small citadel of the Just, encircled by the Catholic troops, lived in a very fever of God. The spur to their courage was the open-air preaching held each evening. Bockhold, the favourite Saint, pleased them all with his sermons, for he knew how to season the gory images drawn from the Apocalypse with jokes from the actor's trade. Mingled with the shrill voices of the women, imploring air from their Father in Heaven, rose the groans of the sick and of those first wounded in the siege, who lay on these warm summer nights under the arcades of the square. Hilzonda was one of the most ardent among the worshippers: standing tall, elongated like a flame, the mother of Zeno would denounce the ignominies of Rome. Her eyes, filled with frightful visions, would cloud with tears; suddenly collapsing like a too slender taper and sinking to the ground, she would week in tender contrition, and in the desire to die.