otsdam.

"Here, for five hours daily, the King's encyclopedical conversation
enchanted me completely. Fine arts, war, medicine, literature and
religion, philosophy, ethics, history and legislation, in turns passed
in review. The fine centuries of Augustus and of Louis XIV.; good
society among the Romans, among the Greeks, among the French; the
chivalry of Francois I.; the frankness and valor of Henri IV.; the
new-birth (RENAISSANCE) of Letters and their revolution since Leo X.;
anecdotes about the clever men of other times, and the trouble they
give; M. de Voltaire's slips; susceptibilities of M. de Maupertuis;
Algarotti's agreeable ways; fine wit of Jordan; D'Argens's hypochondria,
whom the King would send to bed for four-and-twenty hours by simply
telling him that he looked ill;--and, in fine, what not? Everything, the
most varied and piquant that could be said, came from him,--in a most
soft tone of voice; rather low than otherwise, and no less agreeable
than were the movements of his lips, which had an inexpressible grace.

"It was this, I believe, which prevented one's observing that he was,
in fact, like Homer's heroes, somewhat of a talker (UN PEU BABILLARD),
though a sublime one. It is to their voices, their noise and gestures,
that talkers often owe their reputation as such; for certainly one could
not find a greater talker than the King; but one was delighted at his
being so. Accustomed to talk to Marquis Lucchesini, in the presence of
only four or five Generals who did not understand French, he compensated
in this way for his hours of labor, of study, of meditation and
solitude. At least, said I to myself, I must get in a word. He had just
mentioned Virgil. I said:--

EGO. "'What a great Poet, Sire; but what a bad gardener!'

KING. "'Ah, to whom do you tell that! Have not I tried to plant, sow,
till, dig, with the GEORGICS in my hand? "But, Monsieur," said my man,
"you are a fool (BETE), and your Book no less; it is not in that way
one goes to work." Ah, MON DIEU, what a climate! Would you believe it,
Heaven, or the Sun, refuse me everything? Look at my poor orange-trees,
my olive-trees, lemon-trees: they are all starving.'

EGO. "'It would appear, then, nothing but laurels flourish with
you, Sire.' (The King gave me a charming look; and to cover an inane
observation by an absurd one, I added quickly:) 'Besides, Sire, there
are too many GRENADIERS [means, in French, POMEGRANATES as well as
GRENADIERS,--p