“Sire, I had not quite finished my breakfast when the door was violently opened, and a servant rushed in and announced that the good Van Swiet had had a stroke of apoplexy in the cathedral.  The foolish man declared that rage and indignation over my conduct had produced this fearful result; I am, myself, however, convinced that it was the consequence of a good rich breakfast and a bottle of Madeira wine; this disturbed the circulation of the blood, and he was chilled by standing upon the cold stone floor of the church.  Be that as it may, poor Swiet was carried unconscious from the church to his dwelling, and in a few hours he was dead!  Esther, his daughter and heir, was unfilial enough to leave the wish of her father unfulfilled.  She would not acknowledge our contract to be binding, declared herself the bride of the little Mieritz, and married him in a few months.  I had, indeed, a legal claim upon her, but Swiet was right when he assured me that so soon as he withdrew his protection from me, the whole pack of fanatical priests and weak-minded scholars would fall upon and tear me to pieces, unless I saved myself by flight.  So I obeyed your majesty’s summons, took my pilgrim-staff, and wandered on, like Ahasuerus.”

“What! without taking vengeance on the crafty Mieritz, who, it is evident, had carried out successfuly a well-considered strategy with his pie?” said the king.  “You must know that was all arranged:  he caught you with his pie, as men catch mice with cheese.”

“Even if I knew that to be so, your majesty, I should not quarrel with him on that account.  I should have only said to my pie, as Holofernes said to Judith:  ’Thy sin was a great enjoyment, I forgive you for slaying me!’ For such a pie I would again sacrifice another bride and another fortune!”

“And is there no possible means to obtain it?” said the king.  “Can you not obtain the receipt for this wonderful dish, which possesses the magic power to liberate young women from intolerable men, and change a miser into a spendthrift who thrusts his whole fortune down his throat?”

“There is a prospect, sire, of securing it, but you cannot be the first to profit by it.  Lord Tyrconnel, who knows my history, opened a diplomatic correspondence with Holland, some weeks ago, on this subject, and the success of an important loan which France wishes to effect with the house of Mieritz and Swiet, through the mediation of Lord Tyrconnel, hangs upon the obtaining of this receipt.  If Mieritz refuses it, France will not make the loan.  In that case the war, which now seems probable with England, will not take place.”

“And yet it is said that great events can only arise from great causes,” cried the king.  “The peace of the world now hangs upon the receipt of a truffle-pie, which La Mettrie wishes to obtain.”

“What is the peace of the world in comparison with the peace of our souls?” cried Voltaire.  “La Mettrie may say what he will, and the worthy Abbe Bastiani may be wholly silent, but I believe I have a soul, which does not lie in my stomach, and this soul of mine will never be satisfied till your majesty keeps your promise, and relates one of those intellectual, piquant histories, glowing with wisdom and poesy, which so often flows from the lips of our Solomon!”