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But in the spring of 1790 he was back in Paris, and at the crisis of the midsummer he published a violent pamphlet, C'en est fait de nous, "it's all up with us," in which he hysterically demanded the massacre of all traitors and conspirators as the only means of preserving Paris from the vengeance of the King and the operations of his army.
You remember I advised you against this madness I told you in the beginning it might not all be like Watteau's masterpiece the divine embarkation!" "Bah!" he returned, as resenting her attitude. "You were ready enough for your part." She shrugged. "Eh bien? Our little Moscow theatrical company had come to grief. New York cruel monster! did not want us. C'en est fait de nous!
But lo! at the climax of the piece, the principal performer came forward, before the newly married couple, the Royalties, and all the great personages forming the audience, and burst forth with a gag couplet, which nobody expected. Oui, c'en est fait, je me marie, Je veux vivre comme un Caton.
A few moments later the canoe in front plunged down a furious rush of the current, lurched up on a white wave, rolled over, and vanished. Agatha trembled, and felt cold, and the Metis shouted: "V'la! C'en est fait " A black object that looked like a head rose from the racing foam and Agatha turned to Thirlwell imperiously "Go and help him." He hesitated and she knew it was on her account.
Returning, the thing happened as he had predicted, and, with a little quick cry, Mademoiselle Le Blanc was hanging by her hands among the ropes. Reaching her with a spring, "Viens, petite!" he said, and with an effort placed her on her feet again before an alarm could have been given. "Ah! mais je crus c'en était fait de moi!" she exclaimed, drawing in her breath like a sob.
"C'en est fini," Livingstone said to De Rosny, who stood by shuddering in horror, not at the death, but at the treachery which had preceded it. None but a Frenchman could have given such an accent to the low, hissing reply, "Je l'espére." Then they looked to Mohun's wound; it was nothing serious: there were a dozen deeper on the warworn body and limbs.
"I am not seeking to penetrate what is to me, indeed, no secret; neither do I form the unavailing wish that our expired intercourse should revive. C'en est fait. A knot which has been loosened or untied may be formed again, but this knot has been cut. Accordingly, I neither address you by your name nor subscribe my own.
A modern ballad, quoted by E. Buret, sings the solitude of monopoly: Le rouet est silencieux dans la vallee: C'en est fait des sentiments de famille. Sur un peu de fumee le vieil aieul Etend ses mains pales; et le foyer vide Est aussi desole que son coeur. The spinning-wheel is silent in the valley: family feelings are at an end.
Writing his memoirs at the age of fifty-two, Beyle looked back with pride on the joy that he had felt, as a child of ten, amid his royalist family at Grenoble, when the news came of the execution of Louis XVI. His father announced it: C'en est fait, dit-il avec un gros soupir, ils l'ont assassiné.
There are the same pompous phrases, the same inversions, the same stereotyped list of similes, the same poor bedraggled company of words. It is amusing to note the exclamations which rise to the lips of Voltaire's characters in moments of extreme excitement Qu'entends-je? Que vois-je? Où suis-je? Grands Dieux! Ah, c'en est trop, Seigneur! Juste Ciel! Sauve-toi de ces lieux!
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