An officer entered and informed His Majesty that it was time for the council, also incidentally, that Monsieur Voltaire had left.
“The fool!” His Majesty shouted.
My stay at the Court of Frederick the Great was of a short duration. I had no intention to amuse His Majesty by my ability to speak many languages, tell anecdotes, or cure his rheumatism. My experience with Charlemagne was too painful to be forgotten.
Elections in Poland were more turbulent than ever. The nobles could not decide upon a ruler. Frederick wished to reduce the noise and the danger by cutting a slice of the Polish kingdom. He needed money. His experiments in alchemy had proved futile and costly. My banks, less gaudy, but more substantial, supplied his needs.
Thenceforth Europe was firmly in my grasp.
I was the secret monarch of the world.
“Kotikokura, we must leave Sans-Souci. Before long swords will rattle and cannons boom. Our ears are too sensitive for such noise.”
Kotikokura grinned.
“There are still a few countries which I must capture. Then, I shall retire and watch the comedy. Do not imagine, however, that I mean to bring war and devastation upon the world. On the contrary. Ca-ta-pha is a gentle and peace-loving god. He will endeavor, whenever allowed by the cupidity and cruelty of man, to spread art and joy and wealth. It is probable, my friend, that his desire will be frustrated. It is also probable that people will blame him for their wars, and deny his peaceful pursuits. But that is unavoidable. Every crown is a crown of thorns. However, I shall be as cautious as possible, and the thorns shall not pierce too deeply.”
Kotikokura grinned.
LXXIX: ROTHSCHILD MOVES TO PARIS—A FASHIONABLE SALON—THE GOD ENNUI—KOTIKOKURA’S NEW LANGUAGE—ROUSSEAU MAKES A FOOL OF HIMSELF—I RECEIVE A MYSTERIOUS INVITATION—THE GOLDEN BOY—HERMA—A GLIMPSE OF LILITH
ROTHSCHILD transferred his main office to Paris. Quietly, subtly, like a spider, he was weaving the intricate web to capture all Europe for me.
France was a wise and fortunate choice. The king and nobles were deeply in debt and ready to pay exorbitant interest for ready cash. The banks were in a dilapidated condition, requiring the hand of a genius for reconstruction.
Meanwhile, Mayer-Anselm proved as honest as he had promised to be. My money, nearly tripled, awaited me wherever I ordered, while my many names were never associated with that of Prince Daniel Petrovich, Member of Russian Royalty, scholar, linguist, traveler, and lover.
Kotikokura and I walked arm in arm along the shore of the Seine. The stars dipped their long fingernails into the cool waters of the river. One flat-bottomed barge emerged silently from under the bridge. A couple, their arms wound about each other’s waists, bent over the rail and laughed.
“Spinoza was right, Kotikokura. The sea is our Mother. From the sea we come. Into the sea we go. Everything changes. The water remains. Where is the Paris through which we rode triumphantly with that strange man whose beard was a frozen cataract of amethysts? There is hardly a pile of stones, a bit of iron which is still intact. The Seine, however, flows on unconcerned. The Seine is like us, Kotikokura. All things about us decay and turn to dust. We remain.”
Kotikokura nodded.
“And yet, is there so colossal a change? Are there not now as then houses, streets, men, women? Now as then, people live by illusion. Then it was the Philosopher’s Stone. Now it is Reason. Always the futile search for happiness.”
Kotikokura nodded.
“Then as now, a handful of people ruled the rest of the nation. Then as now, a few managed to live in luxury, while the rest tried to squeeze out of the hard and stony earth the milk of existence. Then as now, the poor hoped to become rich and the rich fought to retain their wealth. Nothing really changes, Kotikokura. Nothing is ever born. Nothing dies.”
I looked at my watch.
“But we are late, Kotikokura. The Marquise is awaiting us. Her food will become unpalatable. A dinner is more important to a hostess than all the truths of life and death. She is right. We live by food and not by melancholy meditation, watching the stars dip their fingertips into rivers.”
Madame la Marquise du Deffand bade me sit next to her. She placed her small ivory fan upon her lap and felt my face with both hands. They were delicate and white, but the knuckles had begun to assert themselves. She touched every part of my face and throat, lingering over my lips and forehead.
“Since I am blind, Prince, I have really begun to see faces. You are very handsome.”
“Madame forces me to acknowledge the truth which I prefer to hear rather than to express.”
She laughed a low guttural sound not unpleasant, but cheerless.
“You Russians learn the art of words so readily. You have much in common with us although it is not evident on the surface. But then, you have been in France before?”
“Long ago, Madame, in my youth.”
The Marquise laughed. “Long ago! How can you know the meaning of long ago, monsieur? But youth, of course, will draw voluptuous pleasure even out of such a thought, however distasteful it may be to those really afflicted with age.”
“How should Madame know the distastefulness of age?”
She struck me lightly with her fan. “Flattery is always delicious—at my age.”
“I insist, madame. You can have no conception of the meaning of age.”
“Let me feel your lips, Prince.”
She felt my lips with the tips of her fingers, perfumed with lavender.
“No,” she said, “you do not grin. You are sincere.”
Her face, half-hidden in her velvet bonnet trimmed with lace, had, if not beauty, at least a daintiness and charm peculiar to so many French women. A few, thinly-drawn, almost imperceptible wrinkles danced about her eyes, tightly shut, and about her lips.
“I do not know what you may have heard about me, Prince. A blind person suspects every whisper.”
“I have heard only praises– —”
“I have not always done what I should have done—that is true. But monsieur, I was bored. I strove to evade the great God Ennui.”
I sighed. “Who has not been smothered by his terrible shadow, madame?”
“Your voice seems different, Prince. I should almost have believed it another man’s. Strange! It sounded far, far off, thousands of miles—or perhaps, thousands of years. I was frightened.”
“I spoke of the god Ennui, madame. One should be realistic.”
She bade me give her my hand which she pressed. “Let me whisper something into your ear.”
I bent until her lips touched and pressed my ear.
“Je vous adore.”
I kissed her fingers. Meanwhile, the Salon became crowded with ladies and gentlemen.
The hearing of Madame la Marquise was very acute.
“The man who is laughing now,” she said, “is Monsieur d’Alembert, a fine genius but rather effeminate. Once,” she sighed, “I thought I loved him. Youth—you know. The lady who speaks now is Madame d’Epinay. Beware of her, Prince! She smiles always, I remember, but it is a false smile, I assure you. But then, it was a man’s fault, as usual. Her husband, Monsieur de la Live, has hardened her heart. Had he only been a little more careful in his faithlessness,—for it is not expected of a man to be a model of virtue. It is enough if one can betray with tact, and charm, and wit.”