But then there was Lafayette’s vanity. This was, alas, much worse than the ordinary vanity of a young man who glances in the looking-glass to make sure that his hair is brushed and his cravat knotted. It was an all-consuming self-passion. Ill-natured people said that Lafayette counted any day wasted that he had not sat on a white horse and waved graciously to a large crowd. If you caught him unawares, he could dispense practical sense. With his back to the wall he knew how to fight his way out better than any man. Nobody could deny his dauntless resourcefulness. But in the last analysis there was for him one person and one person only in the world who really mattered and that was Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert Motier de Lafayette.
He was friendly, though; that could never be denied either. He greeted old acquaintances with the same effervescence as he embraced fresh causes to fight for and new notions to spout about. And he greeted Wm now as though they were long-lost brothers who had been separated by shipwreck for twenty years, rather than, as was in fact the case, having last met briefly two weeks earlier at a Thursday at Madame d’Houdetot’s.
‘Did I tell you, my dear Short, of my most recent travels among the Indians of your country? It was a remarkable affair,’ he said, turning back to the gentlemen and a lean pock-marked lady whom he was already addressing and so not giving Wm time to say that yes, he had in fact given him a full account of those travels on his passage through Virginia the preceding year. ‘I had the honour to accompany the Commissioners of the Congress on their journey to Fort Schuyler to make peace. These gentlemen were good enough to remember that I had had some earlier intercourse with the leaders of those Indian nations and they perhaps saw in me the spirit of that France which had always been the Indians’ friend and protector. The Indians had even bestowed upon me the title of the Great Kaweyla and the Commissioners were of the opinion that my words might reinforce the effect of the brandy and the bracelets that we had brought with us as peace offerings. It was bitterly cold in that country, colder even than I remember in my first winter in America, that terrible winter of Valley Forge and Brandywine. I had brought my new mackintosh and had my valet cover it with gum to keep out the cold. Unfortunately the gum had melted on the voyage and the Courrier de Paris in which he had packed the garment was stuck to it for all to read. I was, my friends, a walking newspaper.’
There was a titter at the thought of the gallant Marquis striding through Indian country covered in old newspaper like a tramp trying to keep himself warm.
‘My teeth were chattering when I was invited to say a few words to the assembled tribes. Listen, I said, to the advice of the Great Kaweyla. Let my voice rush among the nations like that of the health-giving wind which in summer announces the rains.’
But the advice of the Great Kaweyla was interrupted by a clapping of hands from the other side of the room where Madame d’Enville was seated in her great chair. It was her son who beckoned them over and motioned the footmen to bring up more chairs.
‘We are promised a rare treat,’ he said in his quiet, serious, stammering voice. ‘My mother has prevailed on Monsieur de Condorcet to say a few words upon his new p-project, which I understand he is to present to the Académie des Sciences next Thursday.’
‘I had to implore him, I am quite weak with the effort of it.’ Madame d’Enville looked anything but weak. Her eyes, paler than her granddaughter’s but no less bright, seemed to gaze into your head, enquiring what have you to contribute, what do you think about that then? The faded pink bonnet and the froth of lace at her neck were suitable to the dignity of an old lady – she must be over seventy since her son would not see fifty again. Yet her gaiety was so abundant that her old lady’s costume seemed almost like a disguise.
Wm could not afterwards work out whether Monsieur de Condorcet had been walking on the loggia and been whistled up by the Duke, or whether he had merely been lurking behind Madame d’Enville’s chair, perhaps reading a book until he was called for.
At all events Condorcet made an entrance, there was no other word for it. Not an entrance such as Lafayette might have made, flamboyant, waving to the crowd as soon as he appeared. On the contrary, Condorcet came into view with an air of timidity and reluctance, almost as though some invisible mechanical device was propelling him towards the assembled company. His mannerisms were much as Rosalie had shown in her little mimicry by the side of the canal at Versailles: the hunched craning attitude, the arms flapping at his side, the stilted walk. Yet when Rosalie imitated him, she could not help making the whole effect vivacious. Her vulture seemed about to flap its wings and take off.
The real Condor, though, appeared a more listless creature, drained of the physical vitality that Rosalie radiated, partly because he was deathly pale. He must have been forty at most, but it was inconceivable that he should ever have been young.
There was a pause, which Monsieur de Condorcet seemed in no hurry to bring to an end.
Eventually the Duke felt obliged to make good the promise he had given. ‘You were, I think, going to tell us something about the application to politics of the science of p-probability.’
‘I should much prefer to talk about oysters,’ Condorcet said. His voice was reedy and might have had a sardonic edge had it not been so feeble and hesitant.
‘Oysters,’ the pock-marked lady almost shrieked, carried away by the sage’s wit.
‘I had some excellent oysters in Brittany, in the neighbourhood of Quimper. They were small but the flavour was more refined than that of the larger specimens to be found further along the coast, at Brest for example.’
‘I trust there was an “r” in the month, monsieur.’
‘That, madame, is a common fallacy based upon the coincidence that the summer months in our calendar happen to lack that letter. In reality one may eat oysters at almost any season provided that the temperature of the sea does not surpass a certain degree.’
‘But probability, sir—’
‘The lobsters of that region too—’ Monsieur de Condorcet persisted.
He was interrupted by a sharp rapping noise, the noise of Madame d’Enville’s folded tortoiseshell fan on the wooden arm of her chair. ‘My dear friend,’ she said, ‘if you persist in discussing crustaceans – a subject on which I fancy I know very nearly as much as you do – I shall myself begin to discourse upon probability and that would be a fate worse than a bad oyster.’
Condorcet looked at her with an expression that might have passed for affection and then without apology or hesitation he embarked on the subject he had been ordered to embark on. This lack of any caesura or change of tone gave to his discourse a curious uniform flow, as though probability were but another species of shellfish.
‘It has for a long time occupied my attention, as it did that of my friend d’Alembert, that the truths of the moral and political sciences must be capable of the same detached scrutiny, the same methods of proof, as the truths of nature.’
He paused, either to catch his breath or to signal that this was the end of his preamble. The pause allowed a middle-aged gentleman in a green coat to remark in a negligent way, as though talking to the ceiling, ‘I say, that was a funny business, the way old d’Alembert popped off.’
‘There was nothing humorous about it, sir. Monsieur d’Alembert was an ornament to the human mind. He was also my oldest and dearest friend. And in his death he was as noble as in life.’
‘No, I mean the way they kept out the curé for fear the old boy might cave in at the last moment.’
‘You are mistaken, sir. Monsieur d’Alembert had no wish to see a priest, not the slightest. The curé of St Germain was politely received on the first occasion he called, but the fifth or sixth time he knocked at the door the servants had to be instructed to send him away.’
‘But who instructed them, that’s what I’d like to know.’
‘I was party to the decision, sir, if that is your insinuation. Just as I was happy to accompany his body to the cemetery where at the insistence of your preci
ous priests it was tossed in the common ditch without tombstone or memorial.’
‘Not my priests,’ the gentleman in the green coat muttered, but Monsieur de Condorcet had moved on, or rather moved back to his original topic.
‘It is no disservice to my old friend if I venture to observe that in one crucial respect he was mistaken. He sought for truths in society that might be proved with the certainty that we expect from a proof in mathematics. But in the human sciences – that is, those sciences whose goal is to teach us how we should act – man must be content, as he must be in the conduct of daily life, with probabilities.’
‘Probabilities.’ The pock-marked lady sighed as though it were the most sensual word in the dictionary.
‘The correct method in this sphere is not to seek out truths that may be rigorously proved, for no such truths exist or none but the trivial, but rather to choose between probable propositions and above all to estimate their relative degrees of probability.’
‘Ah yes,’ murmured the pock-marked lady in Wm’s ear, as though she too had wished for nothing more than to estimate probabilities in just this fashion.
‘You all know how in agriculture we experiment with seeds to see which will give the heaviest crop on a chalky soil such as we have here at La Roche. And we learn from trial and error at what density the seeds are to be sown and which on average is likely to be the best week of the year in which to sow them, so in politics we must use the tools of science to improve the results.’
‘That is all very well, monsieur, but seeds don’t have votes. In elections we’re at the mercy of the popular will. One chap promises the moon and all the local halfwits vote for him, nothing scientific about it at all.’ The gentleman in the green coat looked about him with an ill-suppressed air of triumph.
‘Then at the very least we ought to ascertain the popular will in a more scientific manner, if only to confirm how imbecilic it is.’
‘Well, there’s no mystery about that. The fellow who gets the most votes is the winner.’
‘Can you be sure of that, monsieur? Let us take a simple practical example. Suppose there to be sixty voters and three candidates: Monsieur A, Monsieur B and we must not forget Madame C, for in any serious inquiry it would be unscientific to omit one half of the human race. And let us further suppose that twenty-three of the voters give their voices to A, nineteen to B and only eighteen to Madame C. Under our present laws A would be elected the legal representative of his fellow citizens and poor Madame C would retire to her knitting. But suppose that we have asked our voters not merely to vote for one candidate but to range all three in order of preference. It might emerge from this deeper inquisition that A’s twenty-three voters preferred Madame C to Monsieur B and that B’s nineteen voters preferred her to Monsieur A. Thus we would find that it is Madame C who has forty-two votes and who enjoys the real majority of the voters and who ought therefore to be elected.’
There was quite a hubbub, compounded of bafflement and outrage. How could the candidate who had finished third be accounted the true winner?
Condorcet looked around him with a thin smile. Yes, Wm thought, now he does look like a bird of prey and one that has just spotted a juicy field mouse.
‘It is a p-paradox, sir, a wonderful p-paradox.’ The Duke was lit up by the thought of it, struggling with the noun but recklessly returning to it in his enthusiasm. ‘I am sure that posterity will come to call it Condorcet’s Paradox.’
‘No I say, though,’ remonstrated the man in the green coat. ‘Old A won’t stand for it, bet you he won’t. He won fair and square and now this lady is put up in his place. He probably doesn’t agree with women in politics anyway. I’m not sure I do, there’s separate spheres, I always say. There’s going to be one hell of a row, it’ll come to blows I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Science has always had her trials, monsieur. Remember Galileo. In the end the truth will prevail over men’s minds.’
Condorcet looked about him for any further challenge, but for the moment nobody seemed eager to take him on.
‘I say, Condorcet, can you tell me what the scientific probability is of my bay beating Chartres’s roan?’ The gentleman in the green coat had bobbed up again, undeterred by previous rebuffs. Rosalie told Wm later that he was Monsieur de Vernon, a local landowner who had heard about Madame d’Enville’s celebrated intellectual parties and had begged to be included. The Duke had given in to this request from a childhood friend and was now wishing he hadn’t.
But Monsieur de Condorcet was delighted by the request. ‘At this moment, sir, I confess that I cannot, I have not the evidence. But suppose your horse were to gallop a mile and you were to time him on your fob watch and Monsieur de Chartres or his groom were to do the same with his horse. Then I would be able to estimate the probability of your horse winning the race and indeed to calculate the margin by which he might be expected to win. In due course the State might draw up a register of such timings so that all the horses in France might be graduated according to their speed and endurance. This would naturally assist the breeders in choosing the best stallions and mares to improve their stock.’
‘But would it not take all the sport out of it, if you knew in advance which horse was going to win?’
‘My dear sir, the English who are far in advance of us in so many matters have already devised a solution to your anxieties. Those horses that are deemed superior must carry thin lead plates of such and such a weight in their saddle-cloths, to even up their chances. These weights are known in English as “handicaps”. Thus uncertainty of outcome is restored by strictly scientific methods.’
‘He is a walking encyclopaedia, is he not?’ breathed the pock-marked lady in ecstasy. Certainly the breadth of knowledge displayed by Condorcet was dazzling – oysters, elections, horse races. There seemed no end to it.
Wm felt a sharp nudge in his back and on turning round discovered that Lafayette was elbowing him aside in order to reach the front of their little group and had already begun speaking as he did so.
‘You know, monsieur, that there is no greater friend to probability than myself. In military questions I have sought in my poor way to apply the scientific method at every possible opportunity. Yet I beseech you also to recognise, monsieur, that there are phenomena in nature which science is as yet powerless to account for. We may only record the effects of such influences.’
‘Influences, what influences?’ Condorcet interrupted in a harsh voice that seemed reinforced by strong emotion.
‘I speak of those influences which, if rightly understood and encouraged, may prove the greatest boon to human happiness that our enlightened century has yet seen.’
‘What influences, sir? Be plain with us.’
‘I think you know what I am talking about, sir.’
‘You refer, I have no doubt, to the despicable antics of that Austrian charlatan.’
‘I refer, my dear Condorcet, to the new science of animal magnetism and its healing properties, which may revolutionise medical science if its progress is not obstructed.’
‘Monsieur Mesmer is not worthy to be called a man of science.’ Condorcet’s voice was shrill now, he was almost gabbling in his passion.
‘His medical qualifications are not, I think, inferior to your own.’
‘One may be a doctor and still be a charlatan.’
‘He is a close friend of Monsieur Mozart.’
‘He could be Rameau’s nephew and still be a charlatan.’
‘Have you not heard how he cured the paralytic fever of the Chevalier du Haussay? Or how the Comtesse de Malmaison was entirely crippled from the waist down until she visited Dr Mesmer’s establishment?’
‘The most superficial acquaintance with medicine shows many cases where apparently incurable conditions undergo spontaneous remission without any clear explanation. We must realise, my dear Lafayette, that medical science is in its infancy. That is why it is so vulnerable to quacks like your confounded Dr Mesmer.’
&nb
sp; ‘M-Mesmer – I had hoped never to hear that name in my house. And I forbid it to be uttered again. The man is a scoundrel and a m-menace.’ The Duke had been attending to some business at the other end of the salon and he broke into the middle of the group with a startling force that seemed foreign to him. Recovering his calm a little, he again begged Lafayette in the name of their friendship never to mention that name in his presence. Lafayette bowed in assent but with an ill grace and the bystanders began to move away as though to break up the atmosphere, which could scarcely have been more charged if it had been inspissated with Dr Mesmer’s magnetic fluid.
Wm felt a light touch on his arm and turned to see Rosalie who to his surprise seemed to be on the verge of giggling. ‘My husband feels so strongly about mesmerism, you know. He takes science almost as if it were a new religion – perhaps it is.’
‘And you do not?’
‘Oh, I am only an ignoramus, but I do confess I would like to see Dr Mesmer’s bath if only to see how the trick is done. Will you take me there one day, or would Mr Jefferson disapprove too?’
‘Mr Jefferson would certainly disapprove no less than your husband, but I rather think it may be my duty to investigate this phenomenon, on behalf of the American people, you know.’
‘And I on behalf of the French.’
There was a commotion behind them and Wm turned to see a dark young man, no more than a boy, with bright eyes like Rosalie’s.
‘I say, Ro-Ro, wasn’t the Condor splendid, the way he tore poor old Vernon to shreds?’
‘This is my little brother Charles who thinks Monsieur de Condorcet is the new Messiah. Charles, this is Mr Short who as you can see is an American but speaks French rather better than you do. You had better make friends with him immediately or I shall be very cross.’
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