At Wesel, in the rear of all this travelling and excitement, Friedrich
falls unwell; breaks down there into an aguish feverish distemper,
which, for several months after, impeded his movements, would he have
yielded to it. He has much business on hand, too,--some of it of prickly
nature just now;--but is intent as ever on seeing Voltaire, among
the first things. Diligently reading in the Voltaire-Friedrich
Correspondence (which is a sad jumble of misdates and opacities, in
the common editions), [Preuss (the recent latest Editor, and the only
well-informed one, as we said) prints with accuracy; but cannot be read
at all (in the sense of UNDERSTOOD) without other light.] this of
the aguish condition frequently turns up; "Quartan ague," it seems;
occasionally very bad; but Friedrich struggles with it; will not be
cheated of any of his purposes by it.
He had a busy fortnight here; busier than we yet imagine. Much
employment there naturally is of the usual Inspection sort; which fails
in no quarter of his Dominions, but which may be particularly important
here, in these disputed Berg-Julich Countries, when the time of decision
falls. How he does his Inspections we know;--and there are still
weightier matters afoot here, in a silent way, of which we shall have to
speak before long, and all the world will speak. Business enough,
parts of it grave and silent, going on, and the much that is public,
miscellaneous, small: done, all of it, in a rapid-punctual precise
manner;--and always, after the crowded day, some passages of Supper
with the Sages, to wind up with on melodious terms. A most alert and
miscellaneously busy young King, in spite of the ague.
It was in these Cleve Countries, and now as probably as afterwards,
that the light scene recorded in Laveaux's poor HISTORY, and in all the
Anecdote-Books, transacted itself one day. Substance of the story is
true; though the details of it go all at random,--somewhat to this
effect:--
"Inspecting his Finance Affairs, and questioning the parties interested,
Friedrich notices a certain Convent in Cleve, which appears to have,
payable from the Forest-dues, considerable revenues bequeathed by the
old Dukes, 'for masses to be said on their behalf.' He goes to look at
the place; questions the Monks on this point, who are all drawn out
in two rows, and have broken into TE-DEUM at sight of him: 'Husht! You
still say those Masses, then?' 'Certainly, your Majesty!'--'And what
good does anybody get of them?' 'Your Majesty, those old Sovereigns are
to obtain Heavenly mercy by them, to be delivered out of Purgatory by
them.'--'Purgatory? It is a sore thing for the Forests, all this while!
And they are not yet out, those poor souls, after so many hundred years
of praying?' Monks have a fatal apprehension, No. 'When will they be
out, and the thing complete?' Monks cannot say. 'Send me a courier
whenever it is complete!' sneers the King, and leaves them to their
TE-DEUM." [C. Hildebrandt's Modern Edition of the (mostly dubious)
_Anekdoten und Charakterzuge aus dem Leben Friedrichs des Grossen_ (and
a very ignorant and careless Edition it is; 6 vols. 12mo, Halberstadt,
1829), ii. 160; Laveaus (whom we already cited), _Vie de Frederic;_
&c. &c. Nicolai's _Anekdoten_ alone, which are not included in this
Hildebrandt Collection, are of sure authenticity; the rest, occasionally
true, and often with a kind of MYTHIC truth in them worth attending to,
are otherwise of all degrees of dubiety, down to the palpably false and
absurd.]
Mournful state of the Catholic Religion so called! How long must
these wretched Monks go on doing their lazy thrice-deleterious torpid
blasphemy; and a King, not histrionic but real, merely signify that he
laughs at them and it? Meseems a heavier whip than that of satire might
be in place here, your Majesty? The lighter whip is easier;--Ah yes,
undoubtedly! cry many men. But horrible accounts are running up, enough
to sink the world at last, while the heavier whip is lazily withheld,
and lazy blasphemy, fallen torpid, chronic, and quite unconscious of
being blasphemous, insinuates itself into the very heart's-blood of
mankind! Patience, however; the heavy whip too is coming,--unless
universal death be coming. King Friedrich is not the man to wield such
whip. Quite other work is in store for King Friedrich; and Nature will
not, by any suggestion of that terrible task, put him out in the one
he has. He is nothing of a Luther, of a Cromwell; can look upon fakirs
praying by their rotatory calabash, as a ludicrous platitude; and grin
delicately as above, with the approval of his wiser contemporaries.
Speed to him on his own course!
What answer Friedrich found to his English proposals,--answer due here
on the 24th from Captain Dickens,--I do not pointedly learn; but can
judge of it by Harrington's reply to that Despatch of Dickens's,
which entreated candor and open dealing towards his Prussian Majesty.
Harrington is at Herrenhausen, still with the Britannic Majesty there;
both of them much at a loss about their Spanish War, and the French
and other aspects upon it: "Suppose his Prussian Majesty were to give
himself to France against us!" We will hope, not. Harrington's reply
is to the effect, "Hum, drum:--Berg and Julich, say you? Impossible to
answer; minds not made up here:--What will his Prussian Majesty do for
US?" Not much, I should guess, till something more categorical come
from you! His Prussian Majesty is careful not to spoil anything by
over-haste; but will wait and try farther to the utmost, Whether England
or France is the likelier bargain for him.
Better still, the Prussian Majesty is intent to do something for himself
in that Berg-Julich matter: we find him silently examining these Wesel
localities for a proper "entrenched Camp," Camp say of 40,000, against a
certain contingency that may be looked for. Camp which will much occupy
the Gazetteers when they get eye on it. This is one of the concerns
he silently attends to, on occasion, while riding about in the Cleve
Countries. Then there is another small item of business, important to
do well, which is now in silence diligently getting under way at Wesel;
which also is of remarkable nature, and will astonish the Gazetteer and
Diplomatic circles. This is the affair with the Bishop of Liege, called
also the Affair of Herstal, which his Majesty has had privately laid up
in the corner of his mind, as a thing to be done during this Excursion.
Of which the reader shall hear anon, to great lengths,--were a certain
small preliminary matter, Voltaire's Arrival in these parts, once off
our hands.
Friedrich's First Meeting with Voltaire! These other high things were
once loud in the Gazetteer and Diplomatic circles, and had no doubt
they were the World's History; and now they are sunk wholly to the
Nightmares, and all mortals have forgotten them,--and it is such a task
as seldom was to resuscitate the least memory of them, on just cause
of a Friedrich or the like, so impatient are men of what is putrid and
extinct:--and a quite unnoticed thing, Voltaire's First Interview,
all readers are on the alert for it, and ready to demand of me
impossibilities about it! Patience, readers. You shall see it, without
and within, in such light as there was, and form some actual notion
of it, if you will co-operate. From the circumambient inanity of Old
Newspapers, Historical shot-rubbish, and unintelligible Correspondences,
we sift out the following particulars, of this First Meeting, or actual
Osculation of the Stars.
The Newspapers, though their eyes were not yet of the Argus quality now
familiar to us, have been intent on Friedrich during this Baireuth-Cleve
Journey, especially since that sudden eclipse of him at Strasburg
lately; forming now one scheme of route for him, now another;
Newspapers, and even private friends, being a good deal uncertain
about his movements. Rumor now ran, since his reappearance in the Cleve
Countries, that Friedrich meant to have a look at Holland before going
home, And that had, in fact, been a notion or intention of Friedrich's.
"Holland? We could pass through Brussels on the way, and see Voltaire!"
thought he.
In Brussels this was, of course, the rumor of rumors. As Voltaire's
Letters, visibly in a twitter, still testify to us. King of
Prussia coming! Madame du Chatelet, the "Princess Tour" (that is,
Tour-and-Taxis), all manner of high Dames are on the tiptoe. Princess
Tour hopes she shall lodge this unparalleled Prince in her Palace: "You,
Madame?" answers the Du Chatelet, privately, with a toss of her head:
"His Majesty, I hope, belongs more to M. de Voltaire and me: he shall
lodge here, please Heaven!" Voltaire, I can observe, has sublime
hostelry arrangements chalked out for his Majesty, in case he go to
Paris; which he does n't, as we know. Voltaire is all on the alert,
awake to the great contingencies far and near; the Chatelet-Voltaire
breakfast-table,--fancy it on those interesting mornings, while the post
comes round! [Voltaire, xxii. 238-256 (Letters 22d August-22d September,
1740).]
Alas, in the first days of September,--Friedrich's Letter is dated
"Wesel, 2d" (and has the STRASBURD DOGGEREL enclosed in it),--the
Brussels Postman delivers far other intelligence at one's door; very
mortifying to Madame: "That his Majesty is fallen ill at Wesel; has
an aguish fever hanging on him, and only hopes to come:" VOILA,
Madame!--Next Letter, Wesel, Monday, 5th September, is to the effect:
"Do still much hope to come; to-morrow is my trembling day; if that
prove to be off!"--Out upon it, that proves not to be off; that is on:
next Letter, Tuesday, September 6th, which comes by express (Courier
dashing up with it, say on the Thursday following) is,--alas,
Madame!--here it is:--
KING FRIEDRICH TO M. DE VOLTAIRE AT BRUSSELS.
"WESEL, 6th September, 1740. "MY DEAR VOLTAIRE,--In spite of myself,
I have to yield to the Quartan Fever, which is more tenacious than a
Jansenist; and whatever desire I had of going to Antwerp and Brussels, I
find myself not in a condition to undertake such a journey without risk.
I would ask of you, then, if the road from Brussels to Cleve would not
to you seem too long for a meeting; it is the one means of seeing you
which remains to me. Confess that I am unlucky; for now when I could
dispose of my person, and nothing hinders me from seeing you, the fever
gets its hand into the business, and seems to intend disputing me that
satisfaction.
"Let us deceive the fever, my dear Voltaire; and let me at least have
the pleasure of embracing you. Make my best excuses [polite, rather than
sincere] to Madame the MARQUISE, that I cannot have the satisfaction of
seeing her at Brussels. All that are about me know the intention I was
in; which certainly nothing but the fever could have made me change.
"Sunday next I shall be at a little Place near Cleve,"--Schloss of
Moyland, which, and the route to which, this Courier can tell you
of;--"where I shall be able to possess you at my ease. If the sight of
you don't cure me, I will send for a Confessor at once. Adieu; you know
my sentiments and my heart. [Preuss, _OEuvres de Frederic,_ xxii. 27.]
FREDERIC."
After which the Correspondence suddenly extinguishes itself; ceases for
about a fortnight,--in the bad misdated Editions even does worse;--and
we are left to thick darkness, to our own poor shifts; Dryasdust being
grandly silent on this small interest of ours. What is to be done?
PARTICULARS OF FIRST INTERVIEW, ON SEVERE SCRUTINY.
Here, from a painful Predecessor whose Papers I inherit, are some old
documents and Studies on the subject,--sorrowful collection, in fact,
of what poor sparks of certainty were to be found hovering in that
dark element;--which do at last (so luminous are certainties always,
or "sparks" that will shine steady) coalesce into some feeble general
twilight, feeble but indubitable; and even show the sympathetic reader
how they were searched out and brought together. We number and label
these poor Patches of Evidence on so small a matter; and leave them to
the curious:--
No. 1. DATE OF THE FIRST INTERVIEW. It is certain Voltaire did arrive at
the little Schloss of Moyland, September 11th, Sunday night,--which is
the "Sunday" just specified in Friedrich's Letter. Voltaire had at once
decided on complying,--what else?--and lost no time in packing himself:
King's Courier on Thursday late; Voltaire on the road on Saturday early,
or the night before. With Madame's shrill blessing (not the most
musical in this vexing case), and plenty of fuss. "Was wont to travel
in considerable style," I am told; "the innkeepers calling him 'Your
Lordship' (M. LE COMTE)." Arrives, sure enough, Sunday night; old Schloss
of Moyland, six miles from Cleve; "moonlight," I find,--the Harvest
Moon. Visit lasted three days. [Rodenbeck, p. 21; Preuss, &c. &c.]
No. 2. VOLTAIRE'S DRIVE THITHER. Schloss Moyland: How far from Brussels,
and by what route? By Louvain, Tillemont, Tongres to Maestricht; then
from Maestricht up the Maas (left bank) to Venlo, where cross; through
Geldern and Goch to Cleve: between the Maas and Rhine this last portion.
Flat damp country; tolerably under tillage; original constituents bog
and sand. Distances I guess to be: To Tongres 60 miles and odd; to
Maestricht 12 or 15, from Maestricht 75; in all 150 miles English. Two
days' driving? There is equinoctial moon, and still above twelve hours
of sunlight for "M. le Comte."
No. 3. OF THE PLACE WHERE. Voltaire, who should have known, calls it
"PETIT CHATEAU DE MEUSE;" which is a Castle existing nowhere but in
Dreams. Other French Biographers are still more imaginary. The little
Schloss of Moyland--by no means "Meuse," nor even MORS, which Voltaire
probably means in saying CHATEAU DE MEUSE--was, as the least inquiry
settles beyond question, the place where Voltaire and Friedrich first
met. Friedrich Wilhelm used often to lodge there in his Cleve journeys:
he made thither for shelter, in the sickness that overtook him in friend
Ginkel's house, coming home from the Rhine Campaign in 1734; lay there
for several weeks after quitting Ginkel's. Any other light I can
get upon it, is darkness visible. Busching pointedly informs me,
[_Erdbeschreibung_, v. 659, 677.] "It is a Parish [or patch of country
under one priest], and Till AND it are a Jurisdiction" (pair of patches
under one court of justice):--which does not much illuminate the
inquiring mind. Small patch, this of Moyland, size not given; "was
bought," says he, "in 1695, by Friedrich afterwards First King, from
the Family of Spaen,"--we once knew a Lieutenant Spaen, of those Dutch
regions,--"and was named a Royal Mansion ever thereafter." Who lived in
it; what kind of thing was it, is it? ALTUM SILENTIUM, from Busching and
mankind. Belonged to the Spaens, fifty years ago;--some shadow of
our poor banished friend the Lieutenant resting on it? Dim enough old
Mansion, with "court" to it, with modicum of equipment; lying there in
the moonlight;--did not look sublime to Voltaire on stepping out. So
that all our knowledge reduces itself to this one point: of finding
Moyland in the Map, with DATE, with REMINISCENCE to us, hanging by
it henceforth! Good. [Stieler's _Deutschland_ (excellent Map in 25
Pieces), Piece 12.--Till is a mile or two northeast from Moyland;
Moyland about 5 or 6 southeast from Cleve.]
Mors--which is near the Town of Ruhrort, about midway between Wesel
and Dusseldorf--must be some forty miles from Moyland, forty-five from
Cleve; southward of both. So that the place, "A DEUX LIEUES DE CLEVES,"
is, even by Voltaire's showing, this Moyland; were there otherwise any
doubt upon it. "CHATEAU DE MEUSE"--hanging out a prospect of MORS
to us--is bad usage to readers. Of an intelligent man, not to say a
Trismegistus of men, one expects he will know in what town he is, after
three days' experience, as here. But he does not always; he hangs out a
mere "shadow of Mars by moonlight," till we learn better. Duvernet, his
Biographer, even calls it "SLEUS-MEUSE;" some wonderful idea of Sluices
and a River attached to it, in Duvernet's head! [Duvernet (2d FORM of
him,--that is, _Vie de Voltaire_ par T. J. D. V.), p. 117.]
WHAT VOLTAIRE THOUGHT OF THE INTERVIEW TWENTY YEARS AFTERWARDS
Of the Interview itself, with general bird's-eye view of the Visit
combined (in a very incorrect state), there is direct testimony by
Voltaire himself. Voltaire himself, twenty years after, in far other
humor, all jarred into angry sarcasm, for causes we shall see by and
by,--Voltaire, at the request of friends, writes down, as his Friedrich
Reminiscences, that scandalous VIE PRIVEE above spoken of, a most sad
Document; and this is the passage referring to "the little Place in
the neighborhood of Cleve," where Friedrich now waited for him: errors
corrected by our laborious Friend. After quoting something of that
Strasburg Doggerel, the whole of which is now too well known to us,
Voltaire proceeds:--
"From Strasburg he," King Friedrich, "went to see his Lower German
Provinces; he said he would come and see me incognito at Brussels. We
prepared a fine house for him,"--were ready to prepare such hired
house as we had for him, with many apologies for its slight degree
of perfection (ERROR FIRST),--"but having fallen ill in the little
Mansion-Royal of Meuse (CHATEAU DE MEUSE), a couple of leagues from
Cleve,"--fell ill at Wesel; and there is no Chateau de MEUSE in the
world (ERRORS 2d AND 3d),--"he wrote to me that he expected I would
make the advances. I went, accordingly, to present my profound homages.
Maupertuis, who already had his views, and was possessed with the rage
of being President to an Academy, had of his own accord,"--no, being
invited, and at my suggestion (ERROR 4th),--"presented himself there;
and was lodged with Algarotti and Keyserling [which latter, I suppose,
had come from Berlin, not being of the Strasburg party, he] in a garret
of this Palace.
"At the door of the court, I found, by way of guard, one soldier.
Privy-Councillor Rambonet, Minister of State--[very subaltern man; never
heard of him except in the Herstal Business, and here] was walking in
the court; blowing in his fingers to keep them warm." Sunday night,
11th September, 1740; world all bathed in moonshine; and mortals mostly
shrunk into their huts, out of the raw air. "He" Rambonet "wore big
linen ruffles at his wrists, very dirty [visibly so in the moonlight?
ERROR 5th extends AD LIBITUM over all the following details]; a holed
hat; an old official periwig,"--ruined into a totally unsymmetric state,
as would seem,--"one side of which hung down into one of his pockets,
and the other scarcely crossed his shoulder. I was told, this man
was now intrusted with an affair of importance here; and that proved
true,"--the Herstal Affair.
"I was led into his Majesty's apartment. Nothing but four bare walls
there. By the light of a candle, I perceived, in a closet, a little
truckle-bed two feet and a half broad, on which lay a man muffled up in
a dressing-gown of coarse blue duffel: this was the King, sweating and
shivering under a wretched blanket there, in a violent fit of fever. I
made my reverence, and began the acquaintance by feeling his pulse, as
if I had been his chief physician. The fit over, he dressed himself,
and took his place at table. Algarotti, Keyserling, Maupertuis, and the
King's Envoy to the States-General"--one Rasfeld (skilled in HERSTAL
matters, I could guess),--"we were of this supper, and discussed,
naturally in a profound manner, the Immortality of the Soul, Liberty,
Fate, the Androgynes of Plato [the ANDROGYNOI, or Men-Women, in
Plato's CONVIVIUM; by no means the finest symbolic fancy of the divine
Plato],--and other small topics of that nature." [Voltaire, _OEuvres,_
(Piece once called VIE PRIVEE), ii. 26, 27.]
This is Voltaire's account of the Visit,--which included three
"Suppers," all huddled into one by him here;--and he says nothing
more of it; launching off now into new errors, about HERSTAL, the
ANTI-MACHIAVEL, and so forth: new and uglier errors, with much more of
mendacity and serious malice in them, than in this harmless half-dozen
now put on the score against him.
Of this Supper-Party, I know by face four of the guests: Maupertuis,
Voltaire, Algarotti, Keyserling;--Rasfeld, Rambonet can sit as simulacra
or mute accompaniment. Voltaire arrived on Sunday evening; stayed till
Wednesday. Wednesday morning, 14th of the month, the Party broke up:
Voltaire rolling off to left hand, towards Brussels, or the Hague; King
to right, on inspection business, and circuitously homewards. Three
Suppers there had been, two busy Days intervening; discussions about
Fate and the Androgynoi of Plato by no means the one thing done by
Voltaire and the rest, on this occasion. We shall find elsewhere, "he
declaimed his MAHOMET" (sublime new Tragedy, not yet come out), in the
course of these three evenings, to the "speechless admiration" of his
Royal Host, for one; and, in the daytime, that he even drew his pen
about the Herstal Business, which is now getting to its crisis, and
wrote one of the Manifestoes, still discoverable. And we need not doubt,
in spite of his now sneering tone, that things ran high and grand here,
in this paltry little Schloss of Moyland; and that those three were
actually Suppers of the Gods, for the time being.
"Councillor Rambonet," with the holed hat and unsymmetric wig,
continues Voltaire in the satirical vein, "had meanwhile mounted a hired
hack (CHEVAL DE LOUAGE;" mischievous Voltaire, I have no doubt he went
on wheels, probably of his own): "he rode all night; and next morning
arrived at the gates of Liege; where he took Act in the name of the
King his Master, whilst 2,000 men of the Wesel Troops laid Liege under
contribution. The pretext of this fine Marching of Troops,"--not a
pretext at all, but the assertion, correct in all points, of just claims
long trodden down, and now made good with more spirit than had been
expected,--"was certain rights which the King pretended to, over a
suburb of Liege. He even charged me to work at a Manifesto; and I made
one, good or bad; not doubting but a King with whom I supped, and who
called me his friend, must be in the right. The affair soon settled
itself by means of a million of ducats,"--nothing like the sum, as we
shall see,--"which he exacted by weight, to clear the costs of the Tour
to Strasburg, which, according to his complaint in that Poetic Letter
[Doggerel above given], were so heavy."
That is Voltaire's view; grown very corrosive after Twenty Years. He
admits, with all the satire: "I naturally felt myself attached to him;
for he had wit, graces; and moreover he was a King, which always forms
a potent seduction, so weak is human nature. Usually it is we of the
writing sort that flatter Kings: but this King praised me from head to
foot, while the Abbe Desfontaines and other scoundrels (GREDINS) were
busy defaming me in Paris at least once a week."
WHAT VOLTAIRE THOUGHT OF THE INTERVIEW AT THE TIME.
But let us take the contemporary account, which also we have at first
hand; which is almost pathetic to read; such a contrast between ruddy
morning and the storms of the afternoon! Here are two Letters from
Voltaire; fine transparent human Letters, as his generally are: the
first of them written directly on getting back to the Hague, and to the
feeling of his eclipsed condition.
VOLTAIRE TO M. DE MAUPERTUIS (with the King). "THE HAGUE, 18th
September, 1740.
"I serve you, Monsieur, sooner than I promised; and that is the way you
ought to be served. I send you the answer of M. Smith,"--probably some
German or Dutch SCHMIDT, spelt here in English, connected with the
Sciences, say with water-carriage, the typographies, or one need not
know what; "you will see where the question stands.
"When we both left Cleve,"--14th of the month, Wednesday last; 18th
is Sunday, in this old cobwebby Palace, where I am correcting
ANTI-MACHIAVEL,--"and you took to the right,"--King, homewards, got to
HAM that evening,--"I could have thought I was at the Last Judgment,
where the Bon Dieu separates the elect from the damned. DIVUS FREDERICUS
said to you, 'Sit down at my right hand in the Paradise of Berlin;' and
to me, 'Depart, thou accursed, into Holland.'
"Here I am accordingly in this phlegmatic place of punishment, far
from the divine fire which animates the Friedrichs, the Maupertuis, the
Algarottis. For God's love, do me the charity of some sparks in these
stagnant waters where I am,"--stiffening, cooling,--"stupefying
to death. Instruct me of your pleasures, of your designs. You will
doubtless see M. de Valori,"--readers know de Valori; his Book has been
published; edited, as too usual, by a Human Nightmare, ignorant of his
subject and indeed of almost all other things, and liable to mistakes
in every page; yet partly readable, if you carry lanterns, and love "MON
GROS VALORI:"--"offer him, I pray you, my respects. If I do not write to
him, the reason is, I have no news to send: I should be as exact as I am
devoted, if my correspondence could be useful or agreeable to him.
"Won't you have me send you some Books? If I be still in Holland when
your orders come, I will obey in a moment. I pray you do not forget me
to M. de Keyserling,"--Caesarion whom we once had at Cirey; a headlong
dusky little man of wit (library turned topsy-turvy, as Wilhelmina
called him), whom we have seen.
"Tell me, I beg, if the enormous monad of Volfius--[Wolf, would the
reader like to hear about him? If so, he has only to speak!] is arguing
at Marburg, at Berlin, or at Hall [HALLE, which is a very different
place].
"Adieu, Monsieur: you can address your orders to me 'At the Hague:'
they will be forwarded wherever I am; and I shall be, anywhere on
earth,--Yours forever (A VOUS POUR JAMAIS)." [Voltaire, lxxii. 252.]
Letter Second, of which a fragment may be given, is to one Cideville, a
month later; all the more genuine as there was no chance of the King's
hearing about this one. Cideville, some kind of literary Advocate at
Rouen (who is wearisomely known to the reader of Voltaire's Letters),
had done, what is rather an endemical disorder at this time, some Verses
for the King of Prussia, which he wished to be presented to his Majesty.
The presentation, owing to accidents, did not take place; hear how
Voltaire, from his cobweb Palace at the Hague, busy with ANTI-MACHIAVEL,
Van Duren and many other things,--18th October, 1740, on which day we
find him writing many Letters,--explains the sad accident:--
VOLTAIRE TO M. DE CIDEVILLE (at Rouen).
"AT THE HAGUE, KING OF PRUSSIA'S PALACE, 18th October, 1740.
"... This is my case, dear Cideville. When you sent me, enclosed in
your Letter, those Verses (among which there are some of charming and
inimitable turn) for our Marcus Aurelius of the North, I did well design
to pay my court to him with them. He was at that time to have come to
Brussels incognito: we expected him there; but the Quartan Fever, which
unhappily he still has, deranged all his projects. He sent me a courier
to Brussels,"--mark that point, my Cideville;--"and so I set out to find
him in the neighborhood of Cleve.
"It was there I saw one of the amiablest men in the world, who forms the
charm of society, who would be everywhere sought after if he were not
King; a philosopher without austerity; full of sweetness, complaisance
and obliging ways (AGREMENS); not remembering that he is King when he
meets his friends; indeed so completely forgetting it that he made me
too almost forget it, and I needed an effort of memory to recollect that
I here saw sitting at the foot of my bed a Sovereign who had an Army
of 100,000 men. That was the moment to have read your amiable Verses to
him:"--yes; but then?--"Madame du Chatelet, who was to have sent them
to me, did not, NE L'A PA FAIT." Alas, no, they are still at Brussels,
those charming Verses; and I, for a month past, am here in my cobweb
Palace! But I swear to you, the instant I return to Brussels, I, &c. &c.
[Voltaire, lxii. 282.]
Finally, here is what Friedrich thought of it, ten days after parting
with Voltaire. We will read this also (though otherwise ahead of us as
yet); to be certified on all sides, and sated for the rest of our lives,
concerning the Friedrich-Voltaire First Interview.
KING FRIEDRICH TO M. JORDAN (at Berlin).
POTSDAM, 24th September, 1740.
"Most respectable Inspector of the poor, the invalids, orphans, crazy
people and Bedlams,--I have read with mature meditation the very
profound Jordanic Letter which was waiting here;"--and do accept your
learned proposal.
"I have seen that Voltaire whom I was so curious to know; but I saw him
with the Quartan hanging on me, and my mind as unstrung as my body. With
men of his kind one ought not to be sick; one ought even to be specially
well, and in better health than common, if one could.
"He has the eloquence of Cicero, the mildness of Pliny, the wisdom of
Agrippa; he combines, in short, what is to be collected of virtues and
talents from the three greatest men of Antiquity. His intellect is at
work incessantly; every drop of ink is a trait of wit from his pen.
He declaimed his MAHOMET to us, an admirable Tragedy which he has
done,"--which the Official people smelling heresies in it ("toleration,"
"horrors of fanaticism," and the like) will not let him act, as readers
too well know:--"he transported us out of ourselves; I could only admire
and hold my tongue. The Du Chatelet is lucky to have him: for of the
good things he flings out at random, a person who had no faculty but
memory might make a brilliant Book. That Minerva has just published her
Work on PHYSICS: not wholly bad. It was Konig"--whom we know, and whose
late tempest in a certain teapot--"that dictated the theme to her: she
has adjusted, ornamented here and there with some touch picked from
Voltaire at her Suppers. The Chapter on Space is pitiable; the"--in
short, she is still raw in the Pure Sciences, and should have waited....
"Adieu, most learned, most scientific, most profound Jordan,--or rather
most gallant, most amiable, most jovial Jordan;--I salute thee, with
assurance of all those old feelings which thou hast the art of inspiring
in every one that knows thee. VALE.
"I write the moment of my arrival: be obliged to me, friend; for I have
been working, I am going to work still, like a Turk, or like a Jordan."
[_OEuvres de Frederic,_ xvii. 71.]
This is hastily thrown off for Friend Jordan, the instant after his
Majesty's circuitous return home. Readers cannot yet attend his
Majesty there, till they have brought the Affair of Herstal, and other
remainders of the Cleve Journey, along with them.