text_original: In Paris superstition was, as always, rife. The days were not yet so remote when Philip EgaJit6 had gone to question the devil in the quarries of Montrouge ; and men were barely more than middle aged who in their first youth had looked on the brazen brow of Cagliostro, and felt their blood agreeably frozen by the Comte de St. Germain's casual mention of personal experiences three hundred years old.
text_transcription: IN PARIS SUPERSTITION WAS AS ALWAYS RIFE THE DAYS WERE NOT YET SO REMOTE WHEN PHILIP A GALLITE HAD GONE TO QUESTION THE DEVIL IN THE QUARRIES OF MONT ROUGE AND MEN WERE BARELY MORE THAN MIDDLE AGED WHO IN THEIR FIRST YOUTH HAD LOOKED ON THE BRASS AND BROW OF CAGLIOSTRO AND FELT THEIR BLOOD AGREEABLY FROZEN BY THE COMTE DE SAINT GERMAIN'S CASUAL MENTION OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES THREE HUNDRED YEARS OLD
phonemes: ɪn pˈæɹɪs sˈuːpɚstˈɪʃən wʌz, æz ˈɔːlweɪz, ɹˈaɪf. ðə dˈeɪz wɜː nˌɑːt jˈɛt sˌoʊ ɹᵻmˈoʊt wɛn fˈɪlɪp ˈɛɡə dʒˈɪt sˈɪks hæd ɡɔn tə kwˈɛstʃən ðə dˈɛvəl ɪnðə kwˈɔːɹiz ʌv mˈɔntɹuːʒ ; ænd mˈɛn wɜː bˈɛɹli mˈɔːɹ ðɐn mˈɪdəl ˈeɪdʒd hˌuː ɪn ðɛɹ fˈɜːst jˈuːθ hæd lˈʊkt ɔnðə bɹˈeɪzən bɹˈaʊ ʌv kˌæɡlɪˈɑːstɹoʊ, ænd fˈɛlt ðɛɹ blˈʌd ɐɡɹˈiːəbli fɹˈoʊzən baɪ ðə kˈɑːnt də sənt. dʒˈɜːmeɪnz kˈæʒuːəl mˈɛnʃən ʌv pˈɜːsənəl ɛkspˈiəɹɪənsᵻz θɹˈiː hˈʌndɹɪd jˈɪɹz ˈoʊld.