Part 76 (1/2)
”What are you doing?” cried the king, hastily; and, without regarding the flames, ho stretched out his hand to seize the ma.n.u.script.
Voltaire laughed heartily, seized the tongs, and pushed it farther into the flames. ”Sire, sire, I am the devil, and I will not allow my victim to be torn from me. My 'Akakia' was only worthy of the lower regions; you condemned it, and therefore it must suffer. I, the devil, command it to burn.”
”But I, the angel of mercy, will redeem the poor 'Akakia,'” cried the king, trying to obtain possession of the tongs. ”Truly this 'Akakia' is too l.u.s.ty and witty a boy to be laid, like the Emperor Guatimozin, upon the gridiron. It was enough to deny him a public exhibition--it was not necessary to destroy him.”
”Sire, I am a poor, weak man! If I kept the living 'Akakia' by my side, it would be a poisonous weapon, which I would hurl one day surely at the head of Maupertius. It is therefore better it should live only in my remembrance, and be only an imaginary dagger, with which I will sometimes tickle the haughty lord-president.”
”And you have really no copy?” said the king, whose distrust was awakened by Voltaire's too ready compliance. ”Was this the only ma.n.u.script of the 'Akakia?'”
”Sire, if you do not believe my word, send your servants and let them search my room. Here are my keys; they shall bring you every sc.r.a.p of written paper; your majesty will then be convinced. I entreat you to do this, as you will not believe my simple word.”
The king fixed his eyes steadfastly upon Voltaire. ”I believe you.
It would be unworthy of you to deceive me, and unworthy of me to mistrust you. I believe you; but I will make a.s.surance doubly sure.
The 'Akakia' is no longer upon paper, but it is in your head, and I fear your head more than I do all the paper in the world. Promise me, Voltaire, that as long as you live with me you will engage in no written strifes or controversies--that you will not employ your bitter irony against the government, or against the authors.”
”I promise that cheerfully!”
”Will you do so in writing?”
Voltaire stepped to the table and took the pen. ”Will your majesty dictate?”
The king dictated, and Voltaire wrote with a rapid but firm hand: ”I promise your majesty that so long as you allow me to lodge in your castle, I will write against no one, neither against the French government nor any of the foreign amba.s.sadors, nor the celebrated authors. I will constantly manifest a proper respect and regard to them. I will make no improper use of the letters of the king. I will in all things bear myself as becomes an historian and a scholar, who has the honor to be gentleman in waiting to the King of Prussia, and to a.s.sociate with distinguished persons.” [Footnote: Preus, ”Friedrich der Grosse.”]
”Will you sign this?” said the king.
”I will not only sign it,” said Voltaire, ”but I will add something to its force. Listen, your majesty.--I will strictly obey all your majesty's commands, and to do so gives me no trouble. I entreat your majesty to believe that I never have written any thing against any government--least of all against that under which I was born, and which I only left because I wished to close my life at the feet of your majesty. I am historian of France. In the discharge of this duty, I have written the history of Louis the Fourteenth, and the campaigns of Louis the Fifteenth. My voice and my pen were ever consecrated to my fatherland, as they are now subject to your command. I entreat you to look into my literary contest with Maupertius, and to believe that I give it up cheerfully to please you, sire; and because I will in all things submit to your will. I will also be obedient to your majesty in this. I will enter into no literary contest, and I beg you, sire, to believe that, in the hour of death, I will feel the same reverence and attachment for you which filled my heart the day I first appeared at your court.
VOLTAIRE.”
The king took the paper, and read it over, then fixed his eyes steadily upon Voltaire's lowering face. ”It is well! I thank you,”
said Frederick, nodding a friendly dismissal to Voltaire. He left the room, and the king looked after him long and thoughtfully.
”I do not trust him; he was too ready to burn the ma.n.u.script. And yet, he gave me his word of honor.”
Voltaire returned to his room, and, now alone and un.o.bserved, a malicious, demoniac exultation was written on his face. ”I judged rightly,” said he, with a grimace; ”the king wished to sacrifice me to Maupertius. I think this was a master-stroke. I have truly burned the original ma.n.u.script, but a copy of it was sent to Leyden eight days since. While the king thinks I am such a good-humored fool as to yield the contest to the proud beggar Maupertius, my 'Akakia'
will be published in Leyden. Soon it will resound through the world, and show how genius binds puffed-up folly, which calls itself geniality, to the pillory.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE LAST STRUGGLE.
It was Christmas eve! The streets were white with snow; crowds of people were rus.h.i.+ng through the castle square, seeking for Christmas-trees, and little presents for their children. There were, however, fewer purchasers than usual. The small traders stood idle at the doors of the booths, and looked discontentedly at the swarms of laughing men, who pa.s.sed by them, and rushed onward to the Gens d'Armen Market.