" think the Gazetteers; "fight almost as the very Swedes did; and
is led on by its King too,--who may prove, in his way, a very Charles
XII., or small Macedonia's Madman, for aught one knows?" In which latter
branch of their prognostic the Gazetteers were much out.--

The Fame of this Battle, which is now so sunk out of memory, was great
in Europe; and struck, like a huge war-gong, with long resonance,
through the general ear. M. de Voltaire had run across to Lille in those
Spring days: there is a good Troop of Players in Lille; a Niece, Madame
Denis, wife of some Military Commissariat Denis, important in those
parts, can lodge the divine Emilie and me;--and one could at last see
MAHOMET, after five years of struggling, get upon the boards, if not yet
in Paris by a great way, yet in Lille, which is something. MAHOMET is
getting upon the boards on those terms; and has proceeded, not amiss,
through an Act or two, when a Note from the King of Prussia was handed
to Voltaire, announcing the victory of Mollwitz. Which delightful
Note Voltaire stopt the performance till he read to the Audience:
"Bravissimo!" answered the Audience. "You will see," said M. de Voltaire
to the friends about him, "this Piece at Mollwitz will make mine
succeed:" which proved to be the fact. [Voltaire, _OEuvres (Vie
Privee),_ ii. 74.] For the French are Anti-Austrian; and smell great
things in the wind. "That man is mad, your Most Christian Majesty?" "Not
quite; or at any rate not mad only!" think Louis and his Belleisles now.

Dimly poring in those old Books, and squeezing one's way into
face-to-face view of the extinct Time, we begin to notice what
a clangorous rumor was in Mollwitz to the then generation of
mankind;--betokening many things; universal European War, as the first
thing. Which duly came to pass; as did, at a slower rate, the ulterior
thing, not yet so apparent, that indeed a new hour had struck on the
Time Horologe, that a New Epoch had risen. Yes, my friends. New Charles
XII. or not, here truly has a new Man and King come upon the scene:
capable perhaps of doing something? Slumberous Europe, rotting amid its
blind pedantries, its lazy hypocrisies, conscious and unconscious: this
man is capable of shaking it a little out of its stupid refuges of
lies, and ignominious wrappages and bed-clothes, which will be its
grave-clothes otherwise; and of intimating to it, afar off, that there
is still a Veracity in Things, and a Mendacity in Sham