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Then came the victory of Torgau, the last and one of the most desperate of his battles: a success dearly bought, and bringing neither rest nor safety. Once more he wrote to D'Argens: "Adieu, dear Marquis; write to me sometimes. Don't forget a poor devil who curses his fatal existence ten times a day." "I live like a military monk. Endless business, and a little consolation from my books.
If the conclave took the eccentric whim of making him pope, Christ would never have an uglier vicar. I enquired about the Marquis d'Argens soon after the departure of his eminence, and was told that he was in the country with his brother, the Marquis d'Eguille, President of the Parliament, so I went there.
"'Upon which, see, paltry La Beaumelle has become my enemy for life! shrieks Voltaire many times afterwards: 'And it was false, I declare to Heaven, and again declare; it was not I, it was D'Argens quizzing me about it, that called his Majesty's attention to that PENSEE of Blockhead La Beaumelle, you treacherous Perpetual President, stirring up enemies against me, and betraying secrets of the King's table. Sorrow on your red wig, and you!
I speak of more bitter, more cruel defeats, occasioned by the ingratitude and baseness of men." "Your majesty still thinks of the unworthy Abbot of Prades," said D'Argens, sadly. "No, marquis; that hurt, I confess. I liked him, but I never loved him he was not my friend, his treachery grieved but did not surprise me. I knew he was weak. He sold me!
"Your majesty cannot justly say that, when I have turned my back upon it, and shouted for joy when the sun of the north has cast its rays upon me. Sire, let me pass my life under the glorious northern sun, but grant that I may die in my own land." "You are incomprehensible, D'Argens; how can you know when you are about to die, and when it will be time to return to your beautiful Provence?"
In vain Benda declared the organ in the chapel was out of tune, the performance impossible; the marquis hastened to the organist and obliged him to put it in order that night. In vain the singers protested against singing this difficult music before the king without preparation; D'Argens commanded them in the name of the king to have a rehearsal during the night.
"The Worlds" of DONI, and the numerous whimsical works of ORTENSIO LANDI, and the "Circe" of GELLI, of which we have more than one English translation, which, under their fantastic inventions, cover the most profound philosophical views, have been considered the precursors of the finer genius of "The Persian Letters," that fertile mother of a numerous progeny, of D'Argens and others.
Here, upon my Weinberg, I will not be a king, but a friend and a philosopher." "And a poet," said D'Argens, in loving tones. "I will now recall a couplet to the poet-king, which he once repeated to me, when I was melancholy-almost hopeless: "'Nous avons deux moments a vivre; Qu'il en soit un pour le plaisir."
"We will first read the letters from our friends," said the king, placing the dispatches and papers on one side. "Here are letters from D'Argens, and from Knobelsdorf, but none from Duhan, or Jordan, or Kaiserling. What does that mean? I fear that all is not right. Ah! here is a letter for you, my friend, in the handwriting of Duhan. He writes to you, and not to me.
"And why have you made yourself the postilion, and brought me all these letters, marquis?" "Sire, because " "I will tell you, marquis," said Frederick, with a loving glance, and laying his hand upon D'Argens' shoulder; "you did this, because you knew my poor heart had received a deep wound, and you wished to heal it.
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