“Madame—­M. de Voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of Tancred to you; this ought to be an offering of respect and gratitude; but it is, in fact, an insult, and you will form the same opinion of it as the public has done if you read it with attention.  You will see that this distinguished writer appears to betray a consciousness that the subject of his encomiums is not worthy of them, and to endeavour to excuse himself for them to the public.  These are his words:  ’I have seen your graces and talents unfold themselves from your infancy.  At all periods of your life I have received proofs of your uniform and unchanging kindness.  If any critic be found to censure the homage I pay you, he must have a heart formed for ingratitude.  I am under great obligations to you, Madame, and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.’

“What do these words really signify, unless that Voltaire feels it may be thought extraordinary that he should dedicate his work to a woman who possesses but a small share of the public esteem, and that the sentiment of gratitude must plead his excuse?  Why should he suppose that the homage he pays you will be censured, whilst we daily see dedications addressed to silly gossips who have neither rank nor celebrity, or to women of exceptional conduct, without any censure being attracted by it?”

M. de Marigny, and Colin, Madame de Pompadour’s steward, were of the same opinion as Quesnay, that the author of this letter was extremely malicious; that he insulted Madame, and tried to injure Voltaire; but that he was, in fact, right.  Voltaire, from that moment, was entirely out of favour with Madame, and with the King, and he certainly never discovered the cause.

The King, who admired everything of the age of Louis XIV., and recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by that monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre of his reign, was flattered at having such a man as Voltaire among his subjects.  But still he feared him, and had but little esteem for him.  He could not help saying, “Moreover, I have treated him as well as Louis XIV. treated Racine and Boileau.  I have given him, as Louis XIV. gave to Racine, some pensions, and a place of gentleman in ordinary.  It is not my fault if he has committed absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a chamberlain, to wear an order, and sup with a King.  It is not the fashion in France; and, as there are here a few more men of wit and noblemen than in Prussia, it would require that I should have a very large table to assemble them all at it.”  And then he reckoned upon his fingers, Maupertuis, Fontenelle, La Mothe, Voltaire, Piron, Destouches, Montesquieu, the Cardinal Polignac.  “Your Majesty forgets,” said some one, “D’Alembert and Clairaut.”—­“And Crebillon,” said he.  “And la Chaussee, and the younger Crebillon,” said some one.  “He ought to be more agreeable than his father.”—­“And there are also the Abbes Prevot and d’Olivet.”—­“Pretty well,” said the King; “and for the last twenty years all that (tout cela) would have dined and supped at my table.”