"And yet I entreat your grace for him, sire. I love this king because of his royal pomp, and the beautiful monument which he left behind him."
"Well, that was vanity, that posterity might speak of him. From vanity he protected the arts; from vanity and foolish pride he placed the crown upon his head. His wife, the great Sophia Charlotte, was right when she said of him on her death-bed: 'The king will not have time to mourn for me; the interest he will take in solemnizing my funeral with pomp and regal splendor will dissipate his grief; and if nothing is wanting, nothing fails in the august and beautiful ceremony, he will be entirely comforted.' [Footnote: Thiebault.] He was only great in little things, and therefore when Sophia Charlotte received from her friend Leibnitz his memoir 'On the Power of Small Things,' she said, smiling: 'Leibnitz will teach me to know small things; has he forgotten that I am the wife of Frederick the First, or does he think that I do not know my husband?'" [Footnote: Ibid.]
"Well, I pray for grace for the husband on his wife's account. Sophia Charlotte was an exalted and genial woman; you should forgive her husband all other things, because he was wise enough to make her his wife and your grand-mother! And if your majesty reproaches him for the vanity of making himself king, that is a vanity from which his descendants have obtained some right solid advantages."
"The title appears to me not in the least disagreeable! The title is beautiful, when given by a free people, or earned by a prince. Frederick the First had done nothing to stamp him a king, and that condemns him."
"So let it be," said Voltaire, shrugging his shoulders, "he is your grandfather, not mine. Do with him as you think best, sire; I have nothing more to say, and will content myself with softening a few phrases." [Footnote: This conversation of the king and Voltaire is historic. Voltaire tells it in a letter to Madame Denis.]
When he saw that Frederick's brow clouded at these words, he said, with a sly laugh: "Look you, how the office of a teacher, which your majesty forced upon me, makes me insolent and haughty! I, who would do well to correct my own works, undertake to improve the writings of a king. I remind myself of the Abbot von Milliers, who has written a book called 'Reflections on the Faults of Others.' On one occasion he went to hear a sermon of a Capuchin. The monk addressed his audience, in a nasal voice, in the following manner: 'My dear brothers in the Lord, I had intended to-day to discourse upon hell, but at the door of the church I have read a bill posted up, "Reflections on the Faults of Others." "Ha! my friend," thought I, "why have you not rather made reflections over your own faults?" I will therefore speak to you of the pride and arrogance of men!'"
"Well, make such reflections always when occupied with the History of Louis the Fifteenth," said the king, laughing; "only, I beseech you, when you are with me, not to be converted by the pious Capuchin, but make your reflections on the faults of others only."
CHAPTER IX.
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF VOLTAIRE.
Voltaire enjoyed the rare privilege of speaking the truth to the king, and he made a cruel and bitter use of his opportunities in this respect. He was jealous and envious of the king's fame and greatness, and sought to revenge him-self by continual fault-finding and criticism. He sought to mortify the great Frederick, who was admired and wondered at by all the world; to make him feel and confess that he could never equal the renowned writer Voltaire.