“Yes, but that is a politeness towards you, sire, who are only a King!” “Only!” “I continue: “‘Ton trône est done placé sur la double colline On sait dans l’Occident, que malgre mes travers J’ai toujours fort aimé les rois qui font des vers!’” “Thank you.” “‘O toi que sur le trône un feu céleste enflamme Des moi si ce grand art don’t nous sommes épris, Est aussi difficile à Pekin qu’à Paris. Ton peuple est-il soumis a cette loi si dure, Qui vent qu’avec six pieds d’une égale mesure De deux Alexandrins, côte à côte marchants L’un serve pour la rime, et l’autre pour le sens? Si bien que sans rien perdre, en bravant cet usage, On pourrait retrancher la moitié d’un ouvrage.’” “Bravo! Very good!” broke in the King, who felt the sting of the satire but could control himself. “But do you think that the Emperor will understand that--at any rate as you intend it?” “If he does not understand it, then he is a blockhead....” “But if he does, you may expect a declaration of war.” “China against Voltaire!” “What would you do then?” “I would beat them, as you do, with my troops, of course.” “But if the Emperor has more troops than you?” “Then I should flee, of course, like you do, sire, or I let myself be put to flight, and so save my honour as a soldier.” The King was accustomed to Voltaire’s impertinences, and he pardoned them for the moment, but stored them in his memory. “But now, don’t stick poking about in your room, Monsieur. Come out for a walk with me. We will philosophise in the cool of the evening. I have so much to say, and must put my thoughts in order for the great work.” “Sire, I will come immediately.” “No, now; I am waiting.” Monsieur Voltaire became nervous, and began to tidy his desk; he pulled out drawers, and protracted the business. But the King stood as if on guard, and watched him. At last the old man had to stop tidying up and come out, but his limbs twitched, and he shook himself, as though he wished to shake off something. The King led him down the third terrace, and turned to the right into the park, where they found a long avenue which led to a small circular open space. Here there stood the Temple of Friendship. There was an embarrassing silence between them, but Frederick, who had learnt self-control, was the first to find the thread which they had lost. But he had to introduce the conversation by commencing with their present surroundings. “What a peaceful evening, Monsieur! Peace in nature and in human life! Have you noticed that there has been no war in the world for seven years--that is, since the Peace of Aachen?” “Now I have not thought about it. Well, you can now expect the seven lean kine--I mean years.”