When Louis XV saw me, he inquired my opinion of his Danish majesty.
“He is,” I replied, “a well-educated king, and that they say is a rarity.”
“True,” said Louis XV, “there are so many persons who are interested in our ignorance, that it is a miracle if we escape out of their hands as reasonable beings.”
I went on to tell the king our conversation.
“Ah,” cried he, “here is one who will increase the vanity of the literary tribe: they want it, certainly. All these wits are our natural born enemies; and think themselves above us; and the more we honor them, the greater right do they assume to censure and despise us.”
This was the usual burden of his song: he hated men of learning. Voltaire especially was his detestation, on account of the numerous epigrams which this great man had written against him; and Voltaire had just given fresh subject of offence by publishing “La Cour du Roi Petaud” (“The Court of the King Petaud,” ) a satire evidently directed as strongly against the king as your humble servant. M. de Voltaire had doubtless been encouraged to write this libel by the Choiseul party. He was at a distance, judged unfavorably of me, and thought he could scourge me without compromising himself.
It was comte Jean who brought me these verses, in which there was less poetry than malevolence. I read them, was indignant, and wept. The duc d’Aiguillon came, and finding me in tears, inquired the cause.
“Here,” said I, giving him the poem, “see if you can bear so gross an insult.” He took the paper, cast his eyes over it, and having folded it up, put it into his pocket.
“It was ill done,” said he, “to show this to you. I knew of it yesterday, and came now to talk with you of it.”
“I rely on you to do me justice.”