Curious to reflect, had they happened to say Yes:--"Go into the Diplomatic line, then, you sharp climbing creature, and become great by that method; WRITE no more, you; write only Despatches and Spy-Letters henceforth!"-- how different a world for us, and for all mortals that read and that do not read, there had now been! Voltaire fancies he has done his Diplomacy well, not without fruit; and, at Brunswick,--cheered by the grand welcome he found there,--has delightful outlooks (might I dare to suggest them, Monseigneur ?) of touring about in the German Courts, with some Circular HORTATORIUM, or sublime Begging-Letter from the Kaiser, in his hand; and, by witchery of tongue, urging Wurtemberg, Brunswick, Baireuth, Anspach, Berlin, to compliance with the Imperial Majesty and France.

[Ib.

lxxiii.

133.] Would not that be sublime! But that, like the rest, in spite of one's talent, came to nothing.

Talent?
Success?
Madame de Chateauroux had, in the interim, taken a dislike to M.Amelot; "could not bear his stammering," the fastidious Improper Female; flung Amelot overboard,--Amelot, and his luggage after him, Voltaire's diplomatic hopes included; and there was an end.
How ravishing the thing had been while it lasted, judge by these other stray symptoms; hastily picked up, partly at Berlin, partly at Brunswick; which show us the bright meridian, and also the blaze, almost still more radiant, which proved to be sunset.