A head looked in at the window, and the King greeted him, “Good evening, Monsieur; so busy?”
Like a boy surprised in cribbing, the writer threw his papers into disorder, and drew half a sheet of Dutch vellum over them.
“Yes, sire, I have just finished a poem to the Emperor Kian-Loung, which is an answer to his ‘Eloge de Mukden.’”
“To the Emperor of China! You have grander acquaintances than I.”
This he said with a superior air of satirising himself, as though he would make game of his own notorious vanity.
The King took the jest as it was intended. “Yes, Monsieur Voltaire belongs to my most honourable acquaintances, but I would not say to the grandest.”
“May I now read my poem to the Chinese Emperor? Do you allow me, sire?”
“Would it be any use, if I did not allow it, you pushing man?”
“‘Recois mes compliments, charmant roi de la Chine.’”
“Yes, but that is a politeness towards you, sire, who are only a King!”
“‘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!’”
“‘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.”
“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.”