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.]

CHAPTER III.

The confidence-table.

“And now, friends, let us be joyful, and forget all the cares and sorrows of the world,” cried the king, with a ringing laugh; “raise your glasses and strike them merrily.  Long life to mirth, to jest, to joy!”

The glasses were raised, and as they met they rang out cheerily; they were pressed to the lips and emptied at a draught; the guests then seated themselves silently at the table.  Frederick glanced at the circle of his friends who sat with him at the round table; his eyes dwelt searchingly upon every laughing face, then turned to the garden of Sans-Souci, which sent its perfumed breath, its song of birds, its evening breeze, through the open doors and windows, while the moon, rising in cloudless majesty, shone down upon them and rivalled with her silver rays the myriads of wax-lights which glittered in the crystal chandeliers.

“This is a glorious evening,” said the king, “and we will enjoy it gloriously.”

He ordered the servants to close the doors, place the dessert and champagne upon the table, and leave the room.  Noiselessly and silently this command was fulfilled.  Frederick then greeted each one of his guests with a kindly nod.

“Welcome, thrice welcome are you all!” said he.  “I have longed to have you all together, and now, at last, you are here.  There sits Voltaire, whose divine Emile was delivered first of a book, then of a child, and then released from life before he was free to come to Berlin.  There is Algarotti, the swan of Italy, who spreads his wings and would gladly fly to the land of oranges and myrtles.  There is La Mettrie, who only remains here because he is convinced that my Cape wine is pure, and my pates de foie gras truly from Strasbourg.  There is D’Argens, who sought safety in Prussia because in every other land in Europe there are sweethearts waiting and sighing for him, to whom he has sworn a thousand oaths of constancy.  There is Bastiani, who only remains with us while the Silesian dames, who have frankly confessed their sins to him and been absolved, find time and opportunity to commit other peccadilloes, which they will do zealously, in order to confess them once more to the handsome Abbe Bastiani.  And lastly, there is my Lord Marshal, the noblest and best of all, whose presence we owe to the firmness of his political principles and the misfortunes of the house of Stuart.”