“Truly, such a king is the wonder of the world,” said Voltaire.  “A king, who being a king, is still a man, and being a man is still a noble king.  I believe the history of the world gives few such examples.  If we search the records of all people, we will find that all their kings have committed many crimes and follies, and but few great, magnanimous deeds.  No, no! let us never hope to civilize kings.  In vain have men sought to soften them by the help of art; in vain taught them to love it and to cultivate it.  They are always lions, who seemed to be tamed when perpetually nattered.  They remain, in truth, always wild, bloodthirsty, and fantastic.  In the moment when you least expect it, the instinct awakens, and we fall a sacrifice to their claws or their teeth.” [Footnote:  Thiebault.]

The king, who, up to this time, had listened, with a smiling face, to the passionate and bitter speech of Voltaire, now rose from his seat, and pointing his finger threateningly at him, said, good-humoredly:  “Still, still, monsieur!  Beware!  I believe the king comes!  Lower your voice, Voltaire, that he may not hear you.  If he heard you, he might consider it his duty to be even worse than yourself. [Footnote:  The king’s own words.] Besides, it is late.  Let us not await the coming of the king, but withdraw very quietly.  Good-night, messieurs.”

With a gracious but proud nod of his head, he greeted the company and withdrew.

CHAPTER V.

Rome Sauvee.

The whole court was in a state of wild excitement, A rare spectacle was preparing for them—­something unheard of in the annals of the Berliners.  Voltaire’s new drama of “Catiline,” to which he had now given the name of “Rome Saved,” was to be given in the royal palace, in a private theatre gotten up for the occasion, and the actors and actresses were to be no common artistes, but selected from the highest court circles.  Princess Amelia had the role of Aurelia, Prince Henry of Julius Caesar, and Voltaire of Cicero.

The last rehearsal was to take place that morning.  Voltaire had shown himself in his former unbridled license, his biting irony, his cutting sarcasm.  Not an actor or actress escaped his censure or his scorn.  The poor poet D’Arnaud had been the special subject of his mocking wit.  D’Arnaud had once been Voltaire’s favorite scholar, and he had commended him highly to the king.  He had the misfortune to please Frederick, who had addressed to him a flattering poem.  For this reason Voltaire hated him, and sought continually to deprive him of Frederick’s favor and get him banished from court.

This morning, for the first time, there was open strife between them, and the part which D’Arnaud had to play in “Rome Sauvee” gave occasion for the difficulty.  D’Arnaud, it is true, had but two words to say, but his enunciation did not please Voltaire.  He declared that D’Arnaud uttered them intentionally and maliciously with coldness and indifference.