Part 64 (1/2)

”By which, happily, no soldiers and only a few wigs were left behind. But see how grave and mute our very worthy abbe appears--I believe he is envious of the miracle I performed! And now it is your turn, Bastiani: give us your story--a history of some of the lovely Magdalens you have encountered.”

”Ah, sire! will not your majesty excuse me?” said the abbe, bowing low. ”My life has been the still, quiet, lonely, unostentatious life of a priest, and only the ever-blessed King Frederick William introduced storm and tempest into its even course. That was, without doubt, G.o.d's will; otherwise this robust and giant form which He gave me would have been in vain. My height and strength so enraptured the emissaries of the king, that in the middle of the service before the altar, as I was reading ma.s.s, they tore me away without regarding the prayers and outcries of my flock. I was violently borne off, and immediately enrolled as a soldier.”

[Footnote: Thiebault.]

”A wonderful idea!” cried Voltaire, ”to carry off a priest in his vestments and make a soldier of him; but say, now, abbe, could you not, at least, have taken your housekeeper with you? I dare say she was young and pretty.”

”I do not know,” said Bastiani; ”I am, as you know, very short- sighted, and I never looked upon her face; but it was a great misfortune for a priest to be torn from the Tyrolese mountains and changed into a soldier. But now, I look upon this as my greatest good fortune; by this means were the eyes of my exalted king fixed upon me; he was gracious, and honored me with his condescending friends.h.i.+p.”

”You forget there is no king here, and that here no man must be flattered,” said Frederick, frowning.

”Sire, I know there is no king present, and that proves I am no flatterer. I speak of my love and admiration to my king, but not to his face. I praise and exalt him behind his back; that shows that I love him dearly, not for honor or favor, but out of a pure heart fervently.”

”What happiness for your pure and unselfish heart, that your place of canonary of Breslau brings in three thousand thalers! otherwise your love, which does not understand flattery, might leave you in the lurch; you might be hungry.”

”He that eats of the bread of the Lord shall never hunger,” said Bastiani, in a low and solemn voice;” he that will serve two masters will be faithful to neither, and may fear to be hungry.”

”Oh, oh! look at our pious abbe, who throws off his sheep's skin and turns the rough side out,” cried Voltaire, ”It is written, 'The sheep shall be turned into wolves,' and you, dear abbe, in your piety fulfil this prophecy.”

”Your witty illusions are meant for me because I am the historian of the King of France, and gentleman of the bed-chamber to the King of Prussia. Compose yourself. As historian to the King of France, I have no pension, and his majesty of Prussia will tell you that I am the most useless of servants that the sun of royal favor ever shone upon. Yes, truly, I am a poor, modest, trifling, good-for-nothing creature; and if his majesty did not allow me, from time to time, to read his verses and rejoice in their beauty, and here and there to add a comma, I should be as useless a being as that Catholic priest stationed at Dresden, at the court of King Augustus, who has nothing to do--no man or woman to confess--there, as here, every man being a Lutheran. Algarotti told me he asked him once how he occupied himself. The worthy abbe answered: 'Io sono il cattolica di sua maesta.' So I will call myself, 'Il pedagogue di sua, maesta.'

[Footnote: ”Oeuvres Completes de Voltaire,” p. 376.] Like yourself, I serve but one master.”

”Alas! I fear my cattolica will not linger long by me,” said the king. ”A man of his talent and worth cannot content himself with being canon of Breslau. No, Bastiani, you will, without doubt, rise higher. You will become a prelate, an eminence; yes, you will, perhaps, wear the tiara. But what shall I be when you have mounted this glittering pinnacle--when you have become pope? I wager you will deny me your apostolic blessing; that you will not even allow me to kneel and kiss your slipper. If any man should dare to name me to you, you would no longer remember this unselfish love, which, without doubt, you feel pa.s.sionately for me at this moment. Ah! I see you now rising from St. Peter's chair with apostolic sublimity, and exclaiming with praiseworthy indignation: 'How! this heretic, this unclean, this savage from h.e.l.l! I curse him, I condemn him. Let no man dare even to name him.'”

”Grace, grace, sire!” cried the abbe, holding his hands humbly, and looking up at the king.

The other gentlemen laughed heartily. The king was inexorable. The specious holiness and hypocrisy which the abbe had brought upon the stage incensed him, and he was resolved to punish it.

”Now, if you were pope, and I am convinced you will be, I should, without doubt, go to Rome. It is very important for me to ascertain, while I have you here, what sort of a reception you would accord me?

So, let us hear. When I appear before your holiness, what will you say to me?”

The abbe, who had been sitting with downcast eyes, and murmuring from time to time in pleading tones: ”Ah, sire! ah, sire!” now looked up, and a flas.h.i.+ng glance fell upon the handsome face of the king, now glowing with mirth.

”Well?” repeated the king, ”what would you say to me?”

”Sire,” said Bastiani, bowing reverently, ”I would say, 'Almighty eagle, cover me with your wings, and protect me from your own beak.'” [Footnote: Bastiani's own words.--See Thiebault, p. 43.]

”That is an answer worthy of your intellect,” said the king, smiling, ”and in consideration of it I will excuse you from relating some little history of your life.--Now, Duke Algarotti, your time has come. You are the last, and no doubt you will conclude the evening worthily.”

”Sire, my case is similar to Bastiani's. There has been no mystery in my life; only that which seemed miraculous for a priest was entirely natural and simple in my case. I have travelled a great deal, have seen the world, known men; and all my experience and the feelings and convictions of my heart have at last laid me at the feet of your majesty. I am like the faithful, who, having been healed by a miracle, hang a copy of the deceased member upon the miraculous image which cured them. My heart was sick of the world and of men; your majesty healed it, and I lay it thankfully and humbly at your feet. This is my whole history, and truly it is a wonderful one. I have found a manly king and a kingly man.”

[Footnote: Algarotti's own words.]

”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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sionate 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.