as he seems to feel himself equal to the highest, and
we never find that any majesty can embarrass his free mind even for a
moment."

"Yes," said Goethe, "he bore himself like a man of rank. And with all
his freedom and audacity, he ever kept within the limits of strict
propriety, which is, perhaps, saying still more. I may cite the Empress
of Austria as an authority in such matters; she has repeatedly assured
me, that in those poems of Voltaire's, there is no trace of crossing the
line of _convenance_."

"Does your excellency," said I, "remember the short poem in which he
makes to the Princess of Prussia, afterwards Queen of Sweden, a pretty
declaration of love, by saying that he dreamed of being elevated to the
royal dignity?"

"It is one of his best," said Goethe, and he recited the lines--

"Je vous aimais, princesse, et j'osais vous le dire;
Les Dieux et mon reveil ne m'ont pas tout ote,
Je n'ai perdu que mon empire."

"How pretty that is! And never did poet have his talent so completely at
command every moment as Voltaire. I remember an anecdote, when he had
been for some time on a visit to Madame du Chatelet. Just as he was
going away, and the carriage was standing at the door, he received a
letter from a great number of young girls in a neighboring convent, who
wished to play the 'Death of Julius Caesar' on the birthday of their
abbess, and begged him to write them a prologue. The case was too
delicate for a refusal; so Voltaire at once called for pen and paper,
and wrote the desired prologue, standing, upon the mantlepiece. It is a
poem of perhaps twenty lines, thoroughly digested, finished, perfectly
suited to the occasion, and, in short, of the very best class."

"I am very desirous to read it," said I.

"I doubt," said Goethe, "whether you will find it in your collection. It
has only lately come to light, and, indeed, he wrote hundreds of such
poems, of which many may still be scattered about among private
persons."

"I found of late a passage in Lord Byron," said I, "from which I
perceived with delight that even Byron had an extraordinary esteem for
Voltaire. We may see in his works how much he liked to read, study, and
make use of Voltaire.

"Byron," said Goethe, "knew too well where anything was to be got, and
was too clever not to draw from this universal source of light."

The conversation then turned entirely upon Byron and several of his
works, and Goethe found occasion to repea