"I don't love Luc, far from it: I never will pardon him his infamous procedure with my Niece [at Frankfurt that time]; nor the face he has to write me flattering things twice a month; without having ever repaired his wrongs. I desire much his entire humiliation, the chastisement of the sinner; whether his eternal damnation. I don't quite know." [Ib. lxxviii. 195 ("19th August, 1759").] (Hear, hear!) TO THE SAME (a month after MAXEN: "Peace" Negotiation very lively). ... "Meanwhile, if Luc could be punished before this happy Peace! If, by this last stroke of General Beck [tussle with Dierecke at Meissen, 4th December, capture of Dierecke and 1,500; stroke not of an overwhelming nature, but let us be thankful for our mercies], which has opened the road from the Lausitz to Berlin [alas, not in the least], some Haddick could pay Berlin a visit again! You see, in Tragedy I wish always to have crime punished. "There is talk of a great Battle fought the 6th [not a word of truth in it] between Luc and him of the Consecrated Hat: said to have been very murderous. I interest myself very much in this Piece" now playing under the Sun. "Whenever the Austrians have any advantage, Kaunitz says to Madame de Bentinck [litigant wandering Lady, known to me at Berlin and elsewhere], 'Write that to our Friend Voltaire.' Whenever Luc has the least success, he tells me, 'I have battered the oppressors of mankind. Dear Angel, in these horrors I am the only one that has room to laugh:--and yet I don't laugh either; owing to the CULS-NOIRS [base crockery; one's Dinner Plate all vanished [Supra, p. 374.]], to the Annuities, Lotteries, and to Pondicherry,--for I am always afraid about that latter!" (Going, that, for certain; going, gone, and your East Indies along with it!) [_OEuvres de Voltaire,_ lxxviii. 346 ("22d December, 1759").] TO PERPETUAL SECRETARY FORMEY (in forwarding a "Letter left with me"). "Health and peace, Monsieur; and be SECRETAIRE ETERNEL. Your King is always a man unique, astonishing, inimitable. He makes charming verses, in times when another could not write a line of prose; he deserves to be happy: but will he be so? And if not, what becomes of you? For my own part, I will not die between two Capuchins. Hardly worth while, exalting one's soul for such a future as that. What a stupid and detestable farce this world is!" [Ib. lxxviii. 348 (from SOUVENIRS D'UN CITOYEN, i. 302), "11th January 1760."]