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 scrupulous plastering of undeserving royalty, the effusion earned him no favour from its subject. In 1745 he tried again—and this time he had female influence to help him, more powerful than that of all the nine muses. The famous Madame de Pompadour was now the sultana regnant. Voltaire and she had been friends of old, when she was obscure Madame D'Etioles—and an opportunity occurred of turning her friendship to account. The Dauphin's wedding with a Spanish Princess was about to be celebrated; to the shows and spectacles Voltaire was called on to contribute a dramatic piece. Its title was "The Princess of Navarre:" he had, or professed to have, the meanest opinion of it; but, transfigured by the light of Madame de Pompadour's favour, it appeared so excellent that it gained for its author some lucrative offices at Court: he was appointed gentleman-in-ordinary of the chamber (whatever that may be), with permission to sell the dignity; and also Historiographer-Royal. Though gratified by these favours, he could not help seeing how inadequate was the occasion taken for bestowing them, and expressed his sense of the incongruity in a verse (not specially adapted for translation into English verse, nor a particularly good example of his style,) which says "My 'Henriade,' my 'Zaire,' and 'Alzire' never procured for me a single look from the king: I had a thousand enemies and very little glory—now, honours and benefits are showered on me for une farce de la Foire," which may fairly be translated "a burlesque at the Strand." But his Court-favour was entirely of the reflected kind: there was nothing personal in it, and of this he was made sensible before long. He celebrated the triumphal return of the