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Voltaire was ever the child of good fortune, and his life and adventures have been extraordinary, while I was near sharing the common fate of younger sons. I was destined for the priesthood." "That's a droll idea, indeed!" said Frederick. "D'Argens, who believes in nothing, intended for a priest! How did you escape this danger?"
I wrote to my brother at Paris, telling him I had had a fortunate escape from the dagger of the assassin. I begged him to direct his answer to Aix, where I intended to spend a fortnight, in the hope of seeing the Marquis d'Argens. I left Perpignan the day after my arrival, and slept at Narbonne, and the day after at Beziers.
My poem was called 'Le tu et le vous. Now, gentlemen, this is the story of my 'Brutus' and the pig's head," "I acknowledge that it is a good story. It will be difficult for you, D'Argens, to relate so good a one," said the king. "I dare not make the attempt, sire.
My palace of Weinberg, near Potsdam, is finished. I will drive you there today you alone, marquis! As for the others, they are light-minded, audacious, suspicious children of men, and they shall not so soon poison the air in my little paradise with their levities. You alone, D'Argens, are worthy. You are pure as those who lived before the fall.
The king made no reply. He walked thoughtfully backward and forward, then stood before D'Argens, and said, in a kindly tone: "You are so great an enthusiast for the stage that it would he cruel to take you to Weinberg this evening. We will go to the theatre and see Barbarina dance, and to-morrow you shall consecrate my house; and now, adieu, gentlemen I must work!
He made two marches farther, not now direct for Berlin, but direct for Saxony AND it; to Lubben, 50 or 60 miles straight south of Berlin; and halted there some days, to adjust himself for a new sequel. "These are the things," exclaims he, sorrowfully, to D'Argens, "which I have been in dread of since Winter last; this is what gave the dismal tone to my Letters to you.
Algarotti was an elegant dabbler in scientific matters he had written a book to explain Newton to the ladies; d'Argens was an amiable and erudite writer of a dull free-thinking turn; Chasot was a retired military man with too many debts, and Darget was a good-natured secretary with too many love affairs; La Mettrie was a doctor who had been exiled from France for atheism and bad manners; and Pöllnitz was a decaying baron who, under stress of circumstances, had unfortunately been obliged to change his religion six times.
At the present period he is in a prison which he will probably never leave, and his wife is happy, maybe, in a convent. My Departure Letter from Henriette Marsellies History of Nina Nice Turin Lugano Madame De As soon as I had regained my usual strength, I went to take leave of the Marquis d'Argens and his brother.
They will heal at last, and then I shall be a hard and hardened man. We will speak no more of it." "No, sire, we shall not say that you will ever be hardened," cried D'Argens, deeply moved. "You dare not slander your heart and say that it is dead. It beats, and will ever beat for your friends, for the whole world, for all that is great, and glorious, and exalted."
Friedrich means to try it, readers will see how, were the Fort of Schweidnitz once had; for which object Friedrich watches the weather like a very D'Argens, eager that the frost would go. Recapture of Schweidnitz, the last speck of Austrianism wiped away there; that is evidently the preface to whatsoever day's-work may be ahead.
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