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This roused Voltaire's rage to the highest pitch. "And this utterance of two words is then beyond your ability? D'ailleurs D'Arnaud est un bon diable, qui par-oi par-la ne laisoe pas de rencontrer de bons tirades. Il a du gout, il se forme, et s'il aime qu'il se deforme, il n'y a pas grand mal.
It must have been a painful surprise to Friedrich to hear from his Voltaire, some few weeks after those munificences, That he, Voltaire, was in very considerable distress of mind, from the bad, not to call it the felonious and traitorous, conduct of M. D'Arnaud, once Friedrich's shoeing-horn and "rising-sun" for Voltaire's behoof; now a vague flaunting creature, without significance to Friedrich or anybody!
In a word, though to me D'Arnaud had done nothing, it was on your account that he had to go. "You have had the most villanous affair in the world with a Jew. It has made a frightful scandal all over Town. And that Steuer-Schein business is so well known in Saxony, that they have made grievous complaints of it to me.
A D'Arnaud of nearly no significance, to Friedrich or to anybody. A D'Arnaud whose bits of fooleries and struttings about, in the peacock or jackdaw way, might surely have been below the notice of a Trismegistus! And now there will be peace in our garden of the gods, and perpetual azure will return?
His Majesty even wrote some bad verses, of which the sense was, that Voltaire was a setting sun, and that D'Arnaud was rising. Good-natured friends soon carried the lines to Voltaire. He was in his bed. He jumped out in his shirt, danced about the room with rage, and sent for his passport and his post-horses. It was not difficult to foresee the end of a connection which had such a beginning.
D'Arnaud, animated with the true love of glory, and not yet grown sufficiently illustrious by his own immortal Works, has done ONE of that kind," by his behavior here. And, in short, better or worse, my SECOND ACT is begun, as you perceive! And certain readers will be apt to look in again, before all is over.
On this, Voltaire went off into a paroxysm of childish rage. "Was there ever such avarice? He has hundreds of tubs full of dollars in his vaults, and haggles with me about a poor thousand louis." It seemed that the negotiation would be broken off; but Frederic, with great dexterity, affected indifference, and seemed inclined to transfer his idolatry to Baculard d'Arnaud.
D'Arnaud and D'Argens, Guichard and La Métrie, might, for the sake of a morsel of bread, be willing to bear the insolence of a master; but Voltaire was of another order.
The last rehearsal was to take place that morning. Voltaire had shown himself in his former unbridled license, his biting irony, his cutting sarcasm. Not an actor or actress escaped his censure or his scorn. The poor poet D'Arnaud had been the special subject of his mocking wit. D'Arnaud had once been Voltaire's favorite scholar, and he had commended him highly to the king.
"But, on arriving, you exacted of me, in a rather singular manner, Not to take Freron to write me news from Paris; and I had the weakness, or the complaisance, to grant you this, though it is not for you to decide what persons I shall take into my service. D'Arnaud had faults towards you; a generous man would have pardoned them; a vindictive man hunts down those whom he takes to hating.
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