"And who use it as a scourge upon the backs of the pious penitents," said Voltaire. "Ah, sire! your story is as wise as it is piquant—it is another proof that you are a warrior. You have won a spiritual battle with your miraculous wig, a battle against Holy Mother Church."
"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, God'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 mass, 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 friendship."
"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."