Chapter II. - VOLTAIRE AND HIS ROYAL FRIEND.

The king had withdrawn to his library earlier than usual; he had attended a cabinet council, worked for an hour with his minister of state, and, after fulfilling these public duties, withdrawn gladly to his books, hoping to consume the time which crept along with leaden feet.

The king expected Voltaire; he knew he had arrived at Potsdam, where he would rest and refresh himself for a few hours, and then proceed at once to Sans-Souci.

Frederick regarded this first meeting with Voltaire, after long years of separation, with more of anxiety than of joyful impatience. Voltaire's arrival and residence at Sans-Souci had been the warm desire of Frederick's heart for many years, and yet, as the time for its fulfilment drew near, the king almost trembled. What did this mean? How was it that this friendship, which for sixteen years had been so publicly avowed, and so zealously confirmed by private oaths and protestations, seemed now wavering and uncertain?

About now to reach the goal so ardently striven for, the king felt that he was not pleased. A cold blast seemed to sweep over him, and fill him with sad presentiments.

Frederick was filled with wonder and admiration for the genius of the great French writer, but he knew that, as a man, Voltaire was unworthy of his friendship. He justly feared that the realities of life and daily intercourse would fall like a cold dew upon this rare blossom of friendship between a king and a poet; this tender plant which, during so many years of separation, they had nourished and kept warm by glowing assurances and fiery declarations, must now be removed from the hot-house of imagination, where it had been excited to false growth by the eloquence of letters, and transplanted into a world of truth and soberness.

This friendship had no real foundation; it floated like a variegated phantom in the air, a fata morgana, whose glittering temple halls and pillars would soon melt away like the early cloud and the morning dew. In these „cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces,“ the two great freethinkers and genial philosophers of their century intended to cultivate and enjoy their friendship. In these temples of air they wished to embrace each other, but the two-edged sword of mistrust and suspicion already flashed between them, and both felt inclined to draw back.

Both doubted the sincerity of this friendship, and the less they believed in it the more eloquently they declaimed as to its ardor and eternity. Each one thought to himself, „I will enjoy and profit by the fruit of this friendship, I will yield up the blossoms only.“ The blossoms, alas! were artificial, without odor and already fading, though at the first glance they looked fresh and promising.

Once, in the youthful ardor of his enthusiasm for genius, Frederick had forgotten himself so far as to kiss the hand of Voltaire. [Footnote: Thiebault.] The proud and ambitious poet had boasted loudly of this act of devotion; for this Frederick had never forgiven him; he should have guarded it as a holy and dangerous secret in the innermost shrine of his heart. Voltaire was angry with the king because he had lately addressed some verses to the young poet D'Arnaud, in which he was represented as the rising and Voltaire as the setting sun. [Footnote: Oeuvres posthumes.] And yet they believed they loved each other, and were about to put their love to the severe test of uninterrupted intercourse.

The king awaited Voltaire with impatience, and now he heard the rolling of carriage-wheels, then the opening of doors, then the sound of voices. In the first impulse of joy he sprang from his seat and advanced eagerly to meet Voltaire, but reaching the threshold of the door ho stood still and considered. „No,“ said he, „I will not go to meet him--he would mock at me, perhaps boast of it.“ He turned back to Iris chair, and took up the book he had been reading. And now some one tapped gently upon the door, a servant appeared and announced „Monsieur Voltaire,“ and now a figure stood upon the door- sill.

This man, with a small, contracted chest, with a back bowed down by old age or infirmities; this man, with the wonderous countenance, of which no one could decide if it was the face of a satyr or a demi- god; whose eyes flashed with heavenly inspiration at one moment, and in the next glowed with demoniac fire; whose lips were distorted by the most frightful grimaces or relaxed into the most enchanting smiles--this man is Voltaire.

As Frederick's glance met those burning eyes, he forgot all else, his royalty, his dignity, even Voltaire's baseness and vanity; he was to him the spirit of the age, the genius of the world, and he hastened to meet him, opened his arms wide, and pressed him tenderly to his heart. „Welcome, welcome, my lord and master,“ said the king; „I receive you, as becomes a pupil, in my school-room, surrounded by my books, whose mysterious lessons of wisdom, you, my teacher, will make clear.“

„On the contrary, sire,“ said Voltaire, with a soft voice and a most enchanting smile--“on the contrary, you receive me with all the pomp of royalty seated upon a throne, which is not yours by inheritance, but which you have conquered; upon the throne of knowledge and learning, crowned with the laurels which the gods consecrate to heroes and poets. Alas! my eyes are dazzled by the lustre which surrounds me. I bow in humility before this lordly head adorned by two royal crowns and reigning over two mighty kingdoms. Receive me, sire, as an ambassador from the realm of poets, whose crown you wear with so much grace and dignity.“

Frederick smiled kindly. „Let me be only a burgher and your comrade in arms in the republic of letters,“ said he. „I hold republics generally as impossibilities, but I believe in a republic of letters, and I have a right republican heart, striving after liberty, equality, and brotherly love. Remember this, friend, and let us forget at Sans-Souci that your comrade is sometimes the first servant of a kingdom. And now, tell me how you have borne the fatigues of the journey, and if you have been received at every station with the marked attention I had commanded.“

„Yes, sire, everywhere in Prussia I have felt myself almost oppressed, humbled, by your greatness. How great, how mighty, how powerful, must your majesty be, when I am so distinguished, so honored, simply because I enjoy your favor! This honor and this pleasure alone have given me strength for my journey. My friends in Paris thought it absurd and ridiculous for me, in my miserable condition, to attempt so fatiguing a journey. But, sire, I was not willing to die before I had once more sat at the feet of this great and yet simple man, this exalted yet genial philosopher. I wished to revive and quicken my sick heart at this fountain of wit and wisdom. I come, therefore, not as Voltaire, but as the tragic Scarron of your century, and throughout my whole journey I have called myself the 'Invalid of the King of Prussia.'„ [Footnote: Oeuvres Completes de Voltaire. Oeuvres Posthumes.]

Frederick laughed heartily. „The Marshal of Saxony and yourself are in the same condition with your maladies; in the extremity of illness you have more energy and power than all other men in the most robust health. Voltaire, if you had not come now I should have considered you a bad penny: in place of the true metal of friendship I should have suspected you of palming off plated lead upon me. It is well for you that you are here. You are like the white elephant for whom the Shah of Persia and the Great Mogul are continually at war. The one who is so fortunate as to possess the white elephant makes it always the occasion of an added title. I will follow their example, and from this time my title shall run thus: 'Frederick, by the grace of God, King of Prussia, Prince-Elector of Brandenburg, Possessor of Voltaire, etc. etc.'„

„Your majesty may say, 'of inalienable Voltaire.' I am wiser than the white elephant; no war shall be necessary to conquer or to hold me. I declare myself your majesty's most willing subject joyfully. Let me then be your white elephant, sire, and if the Great Mogul covets and demands me, I pray you to conceal me.“

While Voltaire was speaking, he cast a sly glance upon the countenance of the king, his smile disappeared, and his face lost its kindly expression.

Frederick did not, or would not see it. „Not so,“ said he, gayly; „I will not conceal you, but boldly declare that you are mine.“

„I am, nevertheless, the subject of the King of France,“ said Voltaire, shrugging his shoulders. „When I resolved to leave Paris, they did not deprive me of my title of 'Historian of the King of France,' they only took from me my pension. They knew I must travel by post, and that a title was less weighty for the horses than a pension of six thousand livres; so they lightened me of that, and I come unpensioned to your majesty.“

This little comedy was too clear to escape the king, but he seemed not to understand it. A shadow fell upon his brow, and the expression of his face was troubled. He wished to worship Voltaire as a noble, exalted genius, and he was pained to find him a pitiful, calculating, common man.

„You have, then, fallen under the displeasure of my brother Louis, of France?“ said he.

„On the contrary, I am assured that I stand in the highest favor. I am, indeed, honored with a most agreeable and nattering commission; and if your majesty allows, I will immediately discharge it.“

„Do so,“ said Frederick, smiling. „Lay aside every weight, that your wings may waft you into the heaven of heavens while at Sans-Souci. You have been relieved of your pension, cast all your ballast into the scale also.“

„Sire, the Marquise de Pompadour directed me to present your majesty with her most obedient and submissive greetings, and to assure you of her reverence and heart-felt devotion.“

Frederick quietly drew his tabatiere from his vest-pocket, and slowly taking a pinch of snuff, he fixed his burning eyes upon Voltaire's smiling and expectant face; then said, with the most complete indifference, „The Marquise de Pompadour. Who is she? I do not know her!“

Voltaire looked at the king astonished and questioning.

Frederick did not remark this, but went on quietly: „Have you no other greetings for me? Have none of the great spirits, in which Paris is so rich, remembered me?“

„I shall be careful not to mention any other greetings. All the so- called great spirits appear so small in the presence of your exalted majesty, I fear you will not acknowledge them.“

„Not so,“ said Frederick; „I gladly recognize all that is really great and worthy of renown. Voltaire will never find a more enthusiastic admirer than I am.“

„Ah, sire, these words are a balsam which I will lay upon my breast, lacerated by the wild outcries of my critics.“

„So the critics have been giving you trouble?“ said Frederick.

„Yes, sire,“ said Voltaire, with the passionate scorn so peculiar to him; „they have bored their insatiable and poisonous teeth into my flesh. They are so miserable and so pitiful, that I seem to myself miserable and pitiful as their victim, and in all humility I will ask your majesty, if such hounds are allowed to howl unpunished, would it not be better for Voltaire to creep into some den, and acknowledge the wild beasts of the forests as his brothers--perhaps they might regard his verses as melodious barkings and howlings?“

„Still the same boisterous hot-head, the Orlando Furioso,“ cried the king, laughing heartily. „Is your skin so tender still that the needles of the little critics disturb you, and to gratify their malice will you become a mule? If you are driven to abandon the Muses, friend, who will have the hardihood to stand by them? No, no! do not follow in the footsteps of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; do not 'visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation;' do not make the public of our day, and of the next century, suffer for the crimes of a few pitiful critics. The persecutions and slanders of the envious are the tribute great merit must always pay to the world at large. Let them rail on, but do not believe that the nations and the future will be duped by them. Utterly disregarding the criticisms of the so-called masters of art, we of this century admire and wonder at the chefs- d'oeuvre of Greece and Rome. The mad cry of Aeschines docs not obscure the fame of Demosthenes; and in spite of Lucian, Caesar is, and will ever remain, the greatest man the world has ever produced. I guarantee that after your death you will be canonized, worshipped. I humbly entreat you not to hasten the time, but be content to have the apotheosis in your pocket, and to be honored by all those who are too exalted to be envious or prejudiced. I, Frederick, stand foremost in the ranks.“ [Footnote: The king's own words.--Oeuvres Posthumes.]

„Why cannot the whole world be present to hear the words of a king whom I am proud, from this day onward, to call MY king?“ cried Voltaire, passionately. „Sire, I love you ardently! I believe the gods made us for each other. I have long loved you tenderly! I have been angry with you, but I have forgiven you all, and I love you to madness! There was never a weaker, frailer body than mine, but my soul is strong! I dare to say I love you as much as I admire you! [Footnote: Voltaire's own words.] Verily, I hold this to be as great a conquest as the five other victories your majesty has achieved, and for which the world worships you. From this day I will be like your faithful hound; I will lie at your feet, even though you should spurn me, and declare that you will not be my master and lord. I will still return. Your threshold shall be my home, and I will be content with the crumbs which fall from your table. My fortune and my happiness shall consist in loving you!“

„I will not put your love to so hard a proof,“ said the king, smiling. „I dare hope to provide you with a more durable dwelling. I promise you shall not be like Lazarus, feeding upon crumbs. You shall be the rich man dispensing them.“

Here was a sort of promise and assurance which banished in some degree the nervous anxiety and distrust of Voltaire, and his countenance once more beamed with joy. He suppressed his satisfaction, however, instantly. He did not wish to betray to the observant eye of Frederick his selfish and miserly nature, and assumed at once a melancholy look.

„Sire,“ said he, „I do not resemble Lazarus; and if your majesty does not possess the miraculous power of the young rabbi, Jesus Christus, I fear you will soon have to bury me. But I am as true a believer as any Jew. I trust fully to the magic power of your hand. Was not your marvellous touch sufficient to place beautiful Silesia, a gem of the first water, in the crown of Prussia?--to awaken spirits, sleeping almost the sleep of death, and to call into life on these barbarous northern steppes the blossoms of education and refinement? I believe in the miracles of the Solomon of the North, and I am willing to give my testimony to the whole world.“

„Nevertheless, if the French cock crows, you will betray me three times,“ said the king. „I know you, Voltaire, and I know when you are enraged, nothing is sacred. I fear that here, as elsewhere, you will find provocations. But now, before all other things, what have you brought me? What gift has your muse produced for the poor philosopher of Sans-Souci? I will not believe that you come with empty hands, and that the Homer of France has broken his lyre.“

„No, sire, I am not empty-handed! I have brought you a present. I believe it to be the best and most beautiful production of my muse. For twenty years I have swelled with indignation at the tragedy which my good friend, Master Crebillon, made of the most exalted subject of antiquity. With the adroit hands of a tailor he stitched up a monkey-jacket out of the purple toga, and adorned it with the miserable tawdry trifles of a pitiful lore and pompous Gothic verse! Crebillon has written a French Catiline. I, sire, have written a Roman Catiline! You shall see, sire, and you shall admire! In one of my most wretched, sleepless nights, the devil overcame me, and said: 'Revenge Cicero and France! Crebillon has disgraced both. Wash out this stain from France.' This was a good devil; and even you, sire, could not have driven me to work more eagerly than he did. Day and night he chained me to my writing-desk! I feared I should die of excitement, but the devil held on to me, and the spirits of the great Romans stood by my table and tore off the absurd and ridiculous masks which Crebillon had laid upon them. They showed me their true, exalted, glowing faces, and commanded me to portray them, 'that the world at last might feel their majestic beauty, and be no longer deceived by the caricatures of Crebillon!' I was obliged to obey, sire! I worked unceasingly, and in eight days I had finished! Catiline was born, and I was as much exhausted as ever a woman was at the birth of her first-born!“ [Footnote: This whole speech is from Voltaire.]

„You do not mean that in eight days you completed the tragedy?“ said the king. „You mean only that you have arranged the plot, and will finish the work here.“

„No, sire, I bring you the tragedy complete, and I wrote it in eight days. Ah, sire, this is a tragedy you will enjoy! You will see no lovelorn Tullia, no infirm and toothless Cicero; you will see a fearful picture of Rome, a picture at which I myself shuddered. But, sire, when you read it, you must swear to me to read it in the same spirit in which it is written. I have left to my collegian Crebillon all his dramatic plunder; his Catiline is a pure fiction. I have written mine, remembering my province as an historian. Rome is my heroine; she is the mistress for whom I would interest all Europe. I have no other intrigue than Rome's danger; no other material than the mad craft of Catiline, the vehemence and heroic virtue of Cicero, the jealousy of the Roman Senate, the development of the character of Caesar; no other women than that unfortunate who was seduced by Catiline because of her gentleness and amiability. I know not, sire, if you will shudder at the fourth act, but I, the writer, trembled and shuddered. My tragedy is not formed upon any model, it is new in nova fert animus. Truly I know the world will rail at me for this, and the small souls gnash their teeth and howl, but my work is written with a great soul, and kindred spirits will comprehend me. The envious and the pitiful I will at last trample under my feet. Jupiter strove with the Titans and overcame them. I am no Jupiter, neither are my adversaries Titans.“

While these words, in an irrepressible and powerful stream of eloquence, burst from his lips, Voltaire became another man. His countenance was imposing in its beauty, his eyes glowed with the fire of inspiration, an enchanting smile played upon his lips, and his bowed and contracted form was proudly erect and commanding. The king gazed upon him with admiration. At length, Voltaire, panting for breath, was silent. Frederick laid his two hands upon his shoulders, and looked into the glowing face with an indescribable expression of love and tenderness.

„Now,“ said he, „I have again and at last found my Voltaire, my proud, inspired king of poets, my Homer, crowned with immortality! The might of genius has torn away the mantle of the courtier, and in place of pitiful, pliant, humble words, I hear again the melodious, flashing, eloquent speech of my royal poet! Welcome, Voltaire, welcome to Sans-Souci, whose poor philosopher is but king of men, while the spirits are subject unto you! Ah, my all-powerful king and master, be gracious! You possess a wondrous realm, give me at least a small province in your kingdom.“

„Sire, you mock at me,“ cried Voltaire. „I have written Caesar and Cicero for the theatre. You, however, exhibit on the stage of the world the two greatest men of the greatest century, combined in your own person. I have come to gaze upon this wonder; it is a far loftier drama than mine, and will be surely more nobly represented. [Footnote: Voltaire's own words.] Your majesty represents what you truly are, but where shall I find actors to fill the role of Caesar, Cicero, and Catiline; how shall I change the pitiful souls of the coulisse into great men; make noble Romans out of these small pasteboard heroes of the mode? I could find no actors for my tragedy in Paris, and it shall never be unworthily represented!“

„We will bring it upon the stage here,“ said Frederick. „Yes, truly, this new and great work shall announce, like a flaming comet, Voltaire's arrival in Berlin. At the same moment in which the Berlinese see that you are at last amongst them, shall they acknowledge that you are worthy to be honored and worshipped. In four weeks, Voltaire, shall your new tragedy be given in my palace.“

„Has your majesty, then, a French company, and such a one as may dare to represent my Catiline?“

„For the love of Voltaire will all my courtiers, and even my sister, become actors; and though a Cicero failed you in Paris, in Berlin we will surely find you one. Have we not Voltaire who can take that role. If no reliable director could be found in Paris, I give you permission to select from my court circle those you consider most talented and most capable as actors, and you can study their parts with them--I myself alone excepted. Ten years ago I wished to have your 'Death of Caesar' given at Rheinsberg, and I had selected a role; just then the Emperor of Germany died, and fate called me out upon the great theatre of the world, where I have since then tried to play my part worthily, and I must consecrate to this all my strength and ability. I can play no other part! The two roles might make a rare confusion, and strange results might follow should the King of Prussia of this morning be changed to the Cicero of the evening, utter a fulminating speech against tyrants, and call upon the noble Romans to defend their rights; while this same King of Prussia is a small tyrant, and his subjects are more like pitiful slaves than heroic Romans. I must, therefore, confine myself to the narrow boundaries of a spectator, and applaud you as heartily in your character of Cicero as I applaud you in that of the great Voltaire.“

„And is this indeed your intention, sire? My poor tragedy lies in my writing-desk, seemingly dead; will you awaken it to life and light?“

„It shall be given in two months, and you shall conduct it.“

Voltaire's countenance darkened; his gay smile disappeared, and lines of selfishness and covetousness clouded the brow of the great poet.

„In two months, sire!“ said he, shaking his head. „I fear I shall not be here. I have only come to sun myself for a few happy days in your presence.“

„And then?“ said Frederick, interrupting him.

„Then I must fulfil one of the darling dreams of my whole life. I must go to Italy, to the holy city of Rome, and kneel upon the graves of Cicero and Caesar. I must see St. Peter's, the Venus de Medici, and the pope.“

„You will never go to Rome,“ said Frederick. „The Holy Father will not have the happiness of converting the blasphemous Saul into the pious and believing Paul. You will remain in Berlin; if you do not yield willingly, I must compel you to yield. I will make you my subject; I will bind you with orders and titles; I will compel you to accept a salary from me; and then, should they seek to ravish you from me, I will have a right to withhold you from all the potentates of the world.“

Voltaire's face was again radiant. „Ah! sire, no power or chains will be necessary to bind me here; your majesty's command alone would suffice.“

„And your duty! My gentleman of the bedchamber dare not withdraw himself for a single day without my permission. I make you gentleman of the bedchamber. I lay the ribbon of my order, 'pour le merite,' around your neck, and that I may always have a rope around you, and make you completely my prisoner, I give you an apartment in my palace at Potsdam; and that you may not feel yourself a hermit, you will have every day six covers laid for your friends; and to mock you with the appearance of liberty, you shall have your own equipage and servants, who will obey you in all things with one exception--if you order your valet to pack up your effects, and your coachman to take the road to Paris, they will disobey.“

Voltaire heard the words of the king with breathless attention. Sullen suspicion and discontent were written on his face. This did not, escape the king; he understood the cause, but he said nothing. Voltaire exhausted himself in words of joy and gratitude, but they had not the ring of truth, and the joy which his lips expressed found no echo in his face.

„I have but one other thing to add,“ said Frederick, at last. „Can your greatness pardon a poor earthworm, if he dare speak in your presence of so common and villanous a thing as money?“

Voltaire's eyes sparkled; the subject of conversation did not seem disagreeable to him.

„You have relinquished a pension of six thousand livres in France, It is but just that you receive full compensation. Your great spirit is certainly above all earthly considerations, but our fleshy existence has its rights. So long as you are with me, you shall not be troubled by even a shadow of privation. You will therefore receive a salary of five thousand thalers from me. Your lodging and your table cost you nothing, and I think you can be very comfortable.“

Voltaire's heart bounded for joy, but he forced himself to seem calm and indifferent.

„Your majesty has forgotten an important matter,“ said he. „You have named lodging and food, but you say nothing of light and fire. I am an old man, and cannot produce them myself.“

„Truly said--I find it quite in order that the great free-thinker and poet of this century is troubled for the light which should illuminate him. You shall have twelve pounds of wax-lights every month; I think this will be sufficient for your purposes. As for the other little necessities of life, have the goodness to apply to the castellan of the castle. On the first day of every month he will supply them regularly. The contract is made; you will remain with me?“

„I remain, sire!--not for the title, or the pension, or the order--I remain with you, because I love you. My heart offers up to you the dream of my life, my journey to Italy. Oh, I wish I could make greater, more dangerous sacrifices! I wish I could find a means to prove my love, my adoration, my worship!“

The king laid his hand softly on Voltaire's shoulder, and looked earnestly in his eyes.

„Be as good a man as you are a great poet. That is the most beautiful offering you can bring me.“

„Ah! I see,“ said Voltaire, enraged; „some one has slandered me. Your majesty has opened your cars to my enemies, and already their hellish poison has reached your heart. As they cannot destroy Voltaire the poet, they seize upon Voltaire the man, and slander his character because they cannot obscure his fame. I will advance to meet them with an open visor and without a shield. From their place of ambush, with their poisoned arrows, let them slay me. It is better to die than to be suspected and contemned by my great and worshipped king.“

„See, now, what curious creatures you poets are!“ said Frederick; „always in wild tumult and agitation; either storming heaven or hell; contending with demons, or revelling with angels! You have no daily quiet, patience, and perseverance. If you see a man who tells you he is planting potatoes, you do not believe him--you convince yourself he is sowing dragons' teeth to raise an army to contend against you. If you meet one of your fellows with a particularly quiet aspect, you are sure you can read curses against you upon his lip. When one begs you to be good, you look upon it as an accusation. No, no, my poet! no one has poured the poison of slander into my ears--no one has accused you to me. I am, moreover, accustomed to form my own conclusions, and the opinions of others have but little weight with me.“

„But your majesty is pleased to lend your ears to my enemies,“ said Voltaire, sullenly; „exactly those who attack me most virulently receive the highest honors at the hands of your majesty. You are as cruel with me as a beautiful and ravishing coquette. So soon as by a love-glance you have made me the happiest of men, you turn away with cold contempt, and smile alluringly upon my rivals. I have yet two dagger-strokes in my heart, which cause me death-agony. If your majesty would make me truly happy, you must cure the wounds with your own hands.“

„I will, if it is possible,“ said the king, gravely. „Let us hear of what you complain.“

„Sire, your majesty has made Freron your correspondent in Paris-- Freron, my most bitter enemy, my irreconcilable adversary. But it is not because he is my foe that I entreat you to dismiss him; you will not think so pitifully of me as to suppose that this is the reason I entreat you to dismiss him from your service. My personal dislike will not make me blind to the worth of Freron as a writer. No, sire, Freron is not worthy of your favor; he is an openly dishonored scoundrel, who has committed more than one common fraud. You may imagine what an excitement it produced in Paris when it was known that you had honored this scamp with a position which should be filled by a man of wisdom and integrity. Freron is only my enemy because, in spite of all entreaties, I have closed my house upon him. I took this step for reasons which should have closed the doors of every respectable house against him. [Footnote: Voltaire's own words.] Sire, I implore you, do not let the world believe for a single day longer that Freron is your correspondent. Dismiss him at once from your service.“

The king did not reply for a few moments; he walked backward and forward several times, then stood quietly before Voltaire. The expression of his eye was stern.

„I sacrifice Freron to you,“ said he, „because I will deny you nothing on this, the day of your arrival; but I repeat to you what I said before, 'be not only a great poet, be also a good man.'„

Voltaire shook his head, sadly. „Sire,“ said he, „in your eyes I am not a great poet, only un soleil couchant. Remember Arnaud, my pupil, whom I sent to you!“

„Aha!“ cried the king, laughing, „you have, then, read my little poem to Arnaud?“

„Sire, I have read it, and that was the second dagger-stroke which I received on this journey, to which my loving heart forced my weak and shrinking body; I felt that I must see you once more before I died. Yes, I have read this terrible poem, and the lines have burned into my heart these cruel words:“

'Deja sans etre temeraire, Prenant votre vol jusqu'aux cieux, Vous pouvez egaler Voltaire, Et pres de Virgile et d'Homere. Jouir de vos succes heureux, Deja l'Apollon de la France, S'achemine a sa decadence, Venez briller a votre tour, Elevez vous s'il brille encore; Ainsi le couchant d'un beau jour, Promet une plus belle aurore.' [Footnote: Supplement des Oeuvres Posthumes.]

„Yes,“ said the king, as Voltaire ceased declaiming, and stood in rather a tragic attitude before him--“yes, I confess that a sensitive nature like yours might find a thorn in these innocent rhymes. My only intention was to give to the little Arnaud a few roses which he might weave into a wreath of fame. It seems I fulfilled my purpose poorly; it was high time that Voltaire should come to teach me to make better verses. See, I confess my injustice, and I allow you to punish me by writing a poem against me, which shall be published as extensively as my little verse to Arnaud.“

„Does your majesty promise me this little revenge in earnest?“

„I promise it; give me your poem as soon as it is ready; it shall be published in 'Formey's Journal.'„

„Sire, it is ready: hear it now. [Footnote: Oeuvres Completes de Voltaire.]

„'Quel diable de Marc Antoine! Et quelle malice est le votre, Vous egratinez d'une main Lorsque vous caressez de l'autre.'„

„Ah,“ said Frederick, „what a beautiful quatrain Monsieur Arouet has made.“

„Arouet!“ said Voltaire, astonished,

„Well, now, you would not surely wish me to believe that this little stinging, pitiful rhyme, was written by the great Voltaire. No, no! this is the work of the young Arouet, and we will have it published with his signature.“

Voltaire fixed his great eyes for a moment angrily upon the handsome face of the king, then bowed his head and looked down thoughtfully. There was a pause, and his face assumed a noble expression--he was again the great poet.

„Sire,“ said he, softly, „I will not have this poem published. You are right, Voltaire does not acknowledge it. This poor verse was written by Arouet, or the 'old Adam,' who often strikes the poet Voltaire slyly in the back. But you, sire, who have already won five battles, and who find a few morning hours sufficient to govern a great kingdom with wisdom, consideration, and love; you, by one kindly glance of your eye, will be able to banish the old Adam, and call heavenly hymns of love and praise from the lips of Voltaire.“

„I shall be content with hymns of love. I will spare you all eulogy,“ cried Frederick, giving his hand warmly to Voltaire.

At the close of the first day at Sans-Souci, the new gentleman of the bedchamber returned to Potsdam, adorned with the order „Pour le merite,“ and a written assurance from the king of a pension of five thousand thalers in his pocket.

Two richly-liveried servants received him at the gate of the palace; one of them held a silver candelabrum, in which five wax-lights were burning. Voltaire leaned, exhausted and groaning, upon the arm of the other, who almost carried him into his apartment. Voltaire ordered the servant to place the lights on the table, and to wait in the anteroom for further orders.

Scarcely had the servant left the room when Voltaire, who had thrown himself, as if perfectly exhausted, in the arm-chair, sprang up actively and hastened to the table upon which the candelabrum stood; raising himself on tiptoe, he blew out three of the lights.

„Two are enough,“ said he, with a grimace. „I am to receive twelve pounds of wax-lights a month. I will be very economical, and out of the proceeds of this self-denial I can realize a little pin-money for my niece, Denis.“ He took the candelabrum and entered his study.

It was curious to look upon this lonely, wrinkled, decrepit old man, in the richly-furnished but half-obscure room; the dull light illuminated his malicious but smiling face; here and there as he advanced it flashed upon the gilding, or was reflected in a mirror, while behind him the gloom of night seemed to have thrown an impenetrable veil.

Voltaire seated himself at his desk and wrote to his niece, Madame Denis: „I have bound myself with all legal form to the King of Prussia. My marriage with him is determined upon. Will it be happy? I do not know. I could no longer postpone the decisive yes. After coquetting for so many years, a wedding was the necessary consequence. How my heart beat at the altar! How could I have supposed, seven months ago, when we arranged our little house in Paris, that I should be to-day three hundred leagues from home in another man's house, and this other a ruler!“ [Footnote: Oeuvres Completes, 301.]

At the same moment wrote Frederick, King of Prussia, to Algarotti: „Voltaire is here; he has of late, as you know, been guilty of an act unworthy of him. He deserves to be branded upon Parnassus. It is a shame that so base a soul should be united to so exalted a genius. Of all this, however, I shall take no notice; he is necessary to me in my study of the French language. One can learn beautiful things from an evil-doer. I must learn his French. I have nothing to do with his morals. He unites in himself the strangest opposites. The world worships his genius and despises his character.“ [Footnote: Oeuvres de Frederic le Grand.]