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.”