“I acknowledge that it is a good story.  It will be difficult for you, D’Argens, to relate so good a one,” said the king.

“I dare not make the attempt, sire.  Voltaire was ever the child of good fortune, and his life and adventures have been extraordinary, while I was near sharing the common fate of younger sons.  I was destined for the priesthood.”

“That’s a droll idea, indeed!” said Frederick.  “D’Argens, who believes in nothing, intended for a priest!  How did you escape this danger?”

“Through the example of my dear brother, who was of a passionate piety, and became in the school of the Jesuits so complete a fanatic and bigot that he thundered out his fierce tirades against all earthly joys and pastimes, no matter how innocent they were.  To resemble the holy Xavier and the sanctified and childlike Alois Gonzago, was his highest ideal.  In the extremity of his piety and prudery he slipped into the art-gallery of our eldest brother and destroyed Titian’s most splendid paintings and the glorious statues of the olden time.  He gloried in this act, and called it a holy offering to virtue.  He could not understand that it was vandalism.  Our family had serious fears for the intellect of this poor young saint, maddened by the fanaticism of the Jesuits.  They sought counsel of the oldest and wisest of our house, the Bishop of Bannes.  After thinking awhile, the bishop said:  ’I will soon cure the young man of this folly; I will make him a priest.’”

“Truly, your uncle, the bishop, was a wise man; he drove out folly with folly.  He knew well that no one had less reverence for the churches than those who have built them, and are their priests.”

“That was the opinion of my very worthy uncle.  He said, with a sly laugh:  ’When he has heard a few confessions, he will understand the ways of the world better!’ The bishop was right.  My brother was consecrated.  In a short time he became very tolerant and considerate, as a man and as a father confessor.”

“But you have not told us, marquis, how the fanaticism of your brother liberated you from the tonsure?” said the king.

“My father found I would commence my priestly life with as much intolerance as my brother had done.  He therefore proposed to me to consecrate myself to the world, and, instead of praying in the church, to fight for the cross.  The thought pleased me, and I became a Knight of Malta.”

“Your first deed of arms was, without doubt, to seat yourself and write your ‘Lettres Juives,’” said the king; “those inspiring letters in which the knight of the cross mocks at Christianity and casts his glove as a challenge to revealed religion.”

“No, sire, I began my knightly course by entering the land of heathen and idolaters, to see if a man could be truly happy and contented in a land where there was neither Messiah nor crucifix—­I went to Turkey.”

“But you carried your talisman with you?” said the Abbe Bastiani—­ “you wore the cross upon your mantle?”