VOLTAIRE AND WILFIELMINA.*

THE Princess Christian judged rightly when she thought that "the interesting little volume" published by Dr. Horn "would be a fitting sequel to the curious Memoirs of the Margravine of Baireuth," now, thanks to her, well known to the general reader. She has accordingly translated the German book, the specialty of which is that it contains certain letters from Voltaire to Wilhelmina which have been hitherto missing from his voluminous correspondence. They were found in Baireuth itself, "yellow with age, among the papers of the family of F. von Miedel," and they are "all in Voltaire's own small and original handwriting." He had a taste for neatness and legibility in penmanship, and, commenting on a crabbed hand, said,—" One may have very honest sentiments, and a good deal of esprit, and yet write like a cat." How came it that these letters were so long hidden in a lumber-room? Dr. Horn surmises that, on the death of Wilhelmina , the manuscripts were taken to Stuttgardt by her daughter, the unhappy Duchess of Wurtemberg, and that, as her library was sold by auction when she, too, died, the papers "were bought by a member of the family of Von Miedel, who was a Chamberlain of the Court of Baireuth, and possessed of literary and artistic tastes." In any case, there can be ne doubt of the genuineness of these documents, especially as the packet contained on its title- page, in the Margravine's own hand, the words, "Letters from Voltaire." There are twenty-five, and the interest they have for this late posterity lies in such side-lights as they throw on the relations of the splendid Frenchman to the renowned

• Tho Margravinc of Baireuth and Voltaire. By Dr. George Horn. Translated from the German by E.R.H. the Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, Princess of Great Britain and Ireland. London : David Stott.

brother and sister. They do not exalt the estimate already formed of his character as a friend, nor testify to his love of truth, nor modify the verdict occasionally passed on his absorbing vanity and self-seeking, but, like all his writings, they show that he was an "artist in speech," that he could not help admiring Frederick, and that he had a real regard for the Margravine, which cannot be concealed by clouds of extravagant compliments.

Voltaire visited the lady at Baireuth only once. It was in 1743, when he was endeavouring, without success, to play the diplomatist, penetrate the secrets of Frederick, and engage him in a French enterprise. The King carried him to Baireuth and left him there, where, in the midst of plays and intellectual talk, he was in his element ; and the memory of the happy days when he was adored haunted him afterwards.

In one of these newly found letters, written to Wilhelmina July 15th, 1757, so memorable in Frederick's history, he gives a curious glimpse of himself :—

"Your Royal Highness," he says, "has lost a mother ; you see your brother exposed to the greatest dangers, and war is raging on the borders of your country. Ah ! Madame, how much more enjoyable were those days [1743] when you so admirably repre- sented Roxane at your theatre, and I had the honour of personating Acomat, when I appeared in a Chinese costume, and was witness of the beautiful fetes you gave your Royal brother. I was very happy then ; I was daily near your Royal Highness, lost in admira- tion of your many talents and graceful ways, and listening to the sound of your voice."

His admiration was great, yet when he was settled for a time in Berlin and Potsdam, seven years earlier, he did not make the least attempt to visit Baireuth, not even, as Wilhelmina remarks, when the King was absent, inspecting and reviewing,

—the delights of his fine quarters overcoming his professed attraction towards the provincial capital. His letters to the Princess at this time are graceful and sparkling ; yet they are not peculiarly edifying, having frequently a. very profane savour :—

" Your Royal Highness is perfectly right [so begins an epistle dated December, 1750]. One ought to have a quiet, peaceable life. Princes and monks [Frederick was styled Father Abbot and his compeers freres] have only their lives in this world. It is not regiments which constitute happiness, but to pass the twenty-four hours of the day in quietness, and this is far more difficult than one would suppose. The Great Turk is bored at Constantinople, and yet it is a beautiful town. The situation of Baireuth is not a very cheerful one, but cleverness and affability embellish all things. Well, then, Madame, as it is necessary to use 'big words' [es gros mots], what would you do with your intelligence and your charms, if your Royal Highnass had not half-a-dozen people of worth to be influenced by them" Which precisely puts his own case, for the lover of quiet was a most restless as well as hardworking man, and ever hanker- ing after brilliant society, and, as was natural, the worship which it brought to him. He was at that time labouring assiduously upon the Siècle de Louis XIV. :— "I am writing all this accompanied by the sound of drums, of trumpets, and of incessant reports of firearms, which deafen my pacific ears ; it is good for Frederick the Great. He requires his armies of a morning and Apollo in the afternoon. He possesses everything; he forms battalions and he composes rhymes. As for the rest, each brother is peaceably established in his cell ; M. Rothenbourg still continues ill [is, indeed, about to die] ; Mau- pertuis also; Polnitz is rather sad. I am always pining and sickly —always working hard [yet manage to see a good deal of life], and always longing to pay my respects to your Royal Highness."

There is a constant repetition, as we suppose was proper, of these professions. "I am still a monk at Berlin," he writes,

" as I was at Potsdam, being only acquainted with my cell, and with the Reverend Father Abbot, near to whom I wish to live and die, and who alone consoles me for not passing my days with your Royal Highness. Your monastery and his are

the only ones where a soul like mine can find salvation." It is plain enough from his acts that he did not mean half what he said, always excepting his genuine esteem for the Princess, about whom he was never satirical or profane. The difference

between the two natures is best shown in time of trouble. Voltaire rarely ceases for a moment to flatter gaily and abound in compliments; but Wilhelmina, always very grave after the

disaster of Kolin, cuts them short with, " Voila bien dubaroar- • dage," and goes earnestly to the harsh facts, a brief amount of Leuthen, an event deeply interesting to her, if not to him. One of the Voltaire letters relates to the famous scenes at

Frankfort when he was arrested with his niece. It is an appeal imploring the Princess to intervene with her brother on his behalf, and is very eloquent; but misrepresents the whole transaction, and obtains sympathy on false grounds, yet con- fesses vaguely his own faults in the quarrel with Maupertuis, as if his conduct on that occasion was his sole offence. The detention at Frankfort was exasperating; but so was the fact that Voltaire was carrying off what he should have surrendered, whether demanded or not,—his key as Chamberlain, his Order of Merit, and the copy of the King's Poesies, a collection full of combustibles. It is at the foot of this letter that he signs himself, " Jadis Frbre Voltaire." Four years afterwards, January 25th, Colmar, he sends a work to the King through the Princess, and forgets the jadis :—

"I beg you to believe that Brother Voltaire is always the same ; he has only changed his cell; he has not changed in feeling; and perhaps some day the very renowned and very respectable Father Superior will know that his monk has never failed him, and will retain his devotion to the grave."

Frederick had long forgiven him, but had never been able to

trust him after his attempt to make money out of the Saxon paper through the Jew Hirsch, which led to many discreditable transactions. Nevertheless, Voltaire did try to help a little in bringing about a peace ; and it was he, as appears from these letters, who counselled the application to Marshal de Richelieu, who, he wrote, "would be flattered if he were addressed per- sonally," as he was ; but to no effect. That was after Kohn. A little later, at a time when he was abusing Frederick, privately, Voltaire wrote :—" The King, your brother, will always remain a great man, and if he experiences misfortunes, like so many other Princes, he will have a new kind of glory. I wish he could be pursuaded of his own personal worth, for he has reached that point where many people of all ranks respect him

more as a man than a King." If that extravagant assertion was meant for flattery, it was maladroit; but the sentence is

remarkable because it seems to convey a suggestion that Frederick should retire from business under the protection of France, a suggestion actually made in a cruder form at another time. In his encounters with the King, the great wit did not always come off scathless. It was proposed to Frederick, through the philosopher and poet, that he might give up Cleve because the inhabitants were stupid. To which the answer is, "What would your Ministers say if one required the Province of Champagne from them, because the proverb says ninety-nine

sheep and one Champagner make a hundred head of cattle P" —a rough joke which could not fail to tickle the hermit of Les Delices ; it is so much in his own vein.

Voltaire, being, as he said, "French to excess," was not, and could not be, sincere with Frederick. In August, 1758, he wrote to Bernie :—" I cannot imagine how some people have gone into suspecting that my heart might have the weakness to lean a little towards my Ingrate that was." Some weeks later, certainly after the Battle of Zorndorf, which was fought on August 25th, this is what we find in one of the new letters, addressed directly, through Wilhelmina, to the King :—

" I am amazed, Sire, at his Majesty the King, who goes about so, who beats three great nations one after the other. I have written to a learned Benedictine, my cousin, that he should be pleased to search among all his books, if any mention be made of another man like his Majesty the King, and I await his reply. I thought I had approached (that is now five years ago) this great man, but it was not he. You know that the one I saw had a gentle face and large blue eyes, and he had a most agreeable nature, very agreeable, my good Sire, and that he was very witty, and composed the prettiest stanzas in the world, as much in prose as in verse, and that he was very philosophical. Oh, it is he whom I shall always regret, for I am also a philosopher, I am, but only at intervals. I am very fond of a great King who is all over a man. I think, God forgive me, my good Sire, that I will come and see him when he has leisure, for I have a great curiosity for rarities. But I am so old, so old, my good Sire, and he so very great, that I shall never have strength to go. We say prayers every day in our holy church for his holy preservation. All our Brothers give you the kiss of peace."

"One is bound to have politeness," says Voltaire to Bernis ; but surely the language we have quoted from one of the most characteristic letters in this interesting volume goes beyond politeness, and deserves another name.