Anamaria
Pascal,
Your
Highness,
There are still god in heavens and
holy messengers on earth, since I could find a way to have this letter sent to
you, together with the accompanying package. My name is Jules Ferry and I am
nothing but a servant. Were it not for the unmeasurable importance of this
message, and for the fact that I was conjured to deliver it with utmost
discretion, I would have never taken the liberty of addressing a letter to Your
Highness – nor a single word, for that matter. But, for reasons which I do not
even begin to understand, God gave me access not only to secrets of the state,
but of the soul, too. As servant of Your uncle –
Charles the 1st – I came to see the British political scene with more
than just bodily yes. But since from surfaces to depth is just a one-way
street, I could not go on living in London after Your uncle’s death, so I went
to Sweden, being accepted at the Royal Court as a librarian.
That library was, for me, the hall between polis and psyche, for I
met Mr. Decartes, who used to spend a lot of time there. He seemed quit eager
to talk to me – apparently because I had been recommended to him as a serious,
yet discrete, scholar; the real reason of his interest only became clear later
on – namely, a few weeks ago, when he rushed into the library on day, saying
that he had just made a final breakthrough. I thought that he was referring to
his scientific research; but the electrical spark from his eyes made me suspect
that it was nothing like that – and from the bits and pieces of his discourse I
understood that he had found the philosophical stone: it was a feeling – or better say, a spiritual
touch with sensorial effects, in which Descartes saw (well, felt) the genuine
crossing-point between faith, reason, and senses. Just as I was beginning to
think that the fever which had been troubling him lately was now affecting his
sanity, he showed me a parcel and said it was a manuscript containing his new
idea. He described it as neither scientific nor philosophical in character;
actually, it rather seemed to be of personal value for Descartes (than have
public significance): he insisted that the manuscript should be seen by only
one person – Your Highness – and only after his death. He made me promise that
I would deliver it (together with the accompanying abstract and motto) in
utmost secrecy. Here You have Mr. Descartes’ words:
Après et malgré toute ma métaphysique et ma science, j
uis arrivé à quelque chose de très différente, qu’on pourrait appeler, pour le
moment, une éthique. C’est une démarche qui tente de prouver: qu’on n’est pas, si n’on sente pas ses pensées, après avoir pensé à ses passions ; que
toute la vérité relève de quelque chose de plus évidente que le cogito ;
que l’entendement, l’imagination et les sens ne suffisent pas pour recouvrir le
sen du monde ; qu’on n’est pas seul.
The motto that he chose for the manuscript – too straight and bold to
bear the signiture of Descartes himself – was : Il faut parier. Mr. Descartes made me
sware to convey this message to Your Highness as the key of life itself ; which I do now, only four days after his
death, hoping that it will help You open doors that would have otherwise
remained unnoticed.
Humbly, yet truly Yours,
Jules Ferry.