Part 61 (1/2)
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 gla.s.ses and strike them merrily. Long life to mirth, to jest, to joy!”
The gla.s.ses 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 n.o.blest and best of all, whose presence we owe to the firmness of his political principles and the misfortunes of the house of Stuart.”
”And there is the Solomon of the North,” cried Voltaire--”there is Frederick, the youngest of us all, and the wisest--the philosopher of Sans-Souci. There sits Apollo, son of the G.o.ds, who has descended from Olympus to be our king.”
”Let us not speak of kings,” said Frederick. ”When the sun goes down there is no king at Sans-Souci; he leaves the house and retires into another castle, G.o.d only knows where. We are all equal and wholly sans gene. At this table, there are no distinctions; we are seven friends, who laugh and chat freely with each other; or, if you prefer it, seven wise men.”
”This is then the Confidence-Table,” said Voltaire, ”of which D'Argens has so often spoken to me, and which has seemed to me like the Round-Table of King Arthur. Long live the Confidence-Table!”
”It shall live,” cried the king, ”and we will each one honor this, our first sitting, by showing our confidence in each other. Every one shall relate something piquant and strange of his past life, some lively anecdote, or some sweet little mystery which we dare trust to our friends, but not to our wives. The oldest begins first.”
”I am afraid I am that,” said Voltaire, ”but your majesty must confess that my heart has neither white hair nor wrinkles. Old age is a terrible old woman who slides quietly, grinning and threatening, behind every man, and watches the moment when she dares lay upon him the mask of weary years through which he has lived and suffered. She has, alas! fastened her wrinkled mask upon my face, but my heart is young and green, and if the women were not so short- sighted as to look only upon my outward visage, if they would condescend to look within, they would no longer call me the old Voltaire, but would love and adore me, even as they did in my youth.”
”Listen well, friends, he will no doubt tell us of some d.u.c.h.ess who placed him upon an altar and bowed down and wors.h.i.+pped him.”
”No, sire, I will tell you of an injury, the bitterest I ever experienced, and which I can never forget.”
”As if he had ever forgotten an injury, unless he had revenged it threefold!” cried D'Argens.
”And chopped up his enemy for pastry and eaten him,” said La Mettrie.
”Truly, if I should eat all my enemies, I should suffer from an everlasting indigestion, and, in my despair, I might fly to La Mettrie for help. It is well known that when you suffer from incurable diseases, you seek, at last, counsel of the quack.”
”You forget that La Mettrie is a regular physician,” said the king, with seeming earnestness.
”On the contrary, he remembered it well,” said La Mettrie, smiling.
”The best physician is the greatest quack, or the most active grave- digger, if you prefer it.”
”Silence!” said the king. ”Voltaire has the floor; he will tell us of the greatest offence he ever received. Give attention.”
”Alas! my heart is sad, sire; of all other pain, the pain of looking back into the past is the most bitter. I see myself again a young man, the Arouet to whom Ninon de l'Enclos gave her library and a pension, and who was confined for twenty years to the Bastile because he loved G.o.d and the king too little, and the charming Marquise de Villiers and some other ladies of the court too much.
Besides these exalted ladies, there was a beautiful young maiden whom I loved--perhaps because she had one quality which I had never remarked in the possession of my more n.o.ble mistresses--she was innocent! Ah, friends, you should have seen Phillis, and you would have confessed that no rose-bud was lovelier, no lily purer, than she. Phillis was the daughter of a gypsy and a mouse-catcher, and danced on the tight-rope in the city-gardens.”
”Ah, it appears to me the G.o.ddess of innocence dances always upon the tight-rope in this world,” said the king. ”I should not be surprised to hear that even your little Phillis had a fall.”
”Sire, she fell, but in my arms; and we swore eternal love and constancy. You all know from experience the quality and fate of such oaths; they are the kindling-wood upon which the fire of love is sustained; but, alas, kindling and fire soon burnt out! Who is responsible? Our fire burned long; but, think you my Phillis, whom I had removed from the tight-rope, and exalted to a dancer upon the stage, was so innocent and naive, as to believe that our love must at last be crowned with marriage! I, however, was a republican, and feared all crowns. I declared that Ninon de l'Enclos had made me swear never to marry, lest my grandchildren should fall in love with me, as hers had done with her.”
”Precaution is praiseworthy,” said La Mettrie. ”The devil's grandmother had also a husband, and her grandsons might have fallen in love with her.”
”Phillis did not take me for the devil's grandfather, but for the devil himself. She cried, and shrieked, and cast my oaths of constancy in my teeth. I did not die of remorse, nor she of love, and to prove her constancy, she married a rich Duke de Ventadour.”