“Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you think of my garden?”
His enquiries after my needs and of his garden were simultaneous. To any other person I should have answered that I did not know anything about gardening, but this would have been equivalent to refusing to answer the question; and no monarch, even if he be a philosopher, could endure that. I therefore replied that I thought the garden superb.
“But,” he said, “the gardens of Versailles are much finer.”
“Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains.”
“True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully.”
“Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all at once, the fountains should be here.”
“Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics.”
I could not say that he was mistaken, for fear of offending him, so I simply bent my head, which might mean either yes or no. Thank God the king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics, with which I was totally unacquainted.
He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the field in war time.
“Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.”