the old
Pipinus, old Carolus Magnus did: recognizes his Pope, in despite of the
base vulgar; elevates him aloft into worship, for the vulgar and for
everybody! Carolus Magnus did that thrice-salutary feat [sublimely
human, if you think of it, and for long centuries successful more or
less]; Fridericus Magnus, under other omens, unconsciously does the
like,--the best he can! Let the Opera Fiddlers, the Frerons, Travenols
and Desfontaines-of-Sodom's Ghost look and consider!"--

Madame Denis, an expensive gay Lady, still only in her thirties,
improvable by rouge, carries on great work in the Rue Traversiere;
private theatricals, suppers, flirtations with Italian travelling
Marquises;--finds Intendant Longchamp much in her way, with his rigorous
account-books, and restriction to 100 louis per month; wishes even
her Uncle were back, and cautions him, Not to believe in Friedrich's
flattering unctions, or put his trust in Princes at all. Voltaire, with
the due preliminaries, shows Friedrich her Letter, one of her Letters,
[Now lost, as most of them are; Voltaire's Answer to it, already cited,
is "24th August, 1750" (misprinted "14th August,"--OEuvres,--lxxiv. 185;
see IB. lxxv. 135); King Friedrich's PRACTICAL Answer (so munificent
to Denis and Voltaire), "Your Majesty's gracious Agreement," bore date
"August 23d."]--with result as we saw above.

Formey says: "In the Carnival time, which Voltaire usually passed at
Berlin, in the Palace, people paid their court to him as to a declared
Favorite. Princes, Marshals, Ministers of State, Foreign Ambassadors,
Lords of the highest rank, attended his audience; and were received,"
says Formey, nowhere free from spite on this subject, "in a sufficiently
lofty style (HAUTEUR ASSEZ DEDAIGNEUSE). [Formey,--Souvenirs,--i. 235,
236.] A great Prince had the complaisance to play chess with him; and
to let him win the pistoles that were staked. Sometimes even the pistole
disappeared before the end of the game," continues Formey, green
with spite;--and reports that sad story of the candle-ends; bits of
wax-candle, which should have remained as perquisite to the valets,
but which were confiscated by Voltaire and sent across to the
wax-chandler's. So, doubtless, the spiteful rumor ran; probably little
but spite and fable, Berlin being bitter in its gossip. Stupid Thiebault
repeats that of the candle-ends, like a thing he had seen (twelve years
BEFORE his arrival in those parts); and adds that Volt