for permission to dedicate their works to the king, knowing perfectly well beforehand, that the book will be placed unread in the back of some library shelf, where genealogical almanacs, plates, diagrams and works on titles and heraldry fill up the front row.
The hereditary aristocracy is naturally more humble, more reverent to the king—if such a thing be possible—than the aristocracy of intellect. This hereditary aristocracy which surrounds the king constantly, which sees the night-cap under the crown, the flannel under the purple mantle, which is the author of all the stories and caricatures about the royal family, which ridicules his weaknesses, and acquaints the people with his vices, this aristocracy has notwithstanding all this, no higher ambition than to creep or flatter its way into the favor of the king, whether he is a Louis XV. or a Philip IV. It condescends to any dirty trick that will turn the royal glance upon it; it sells to him its wives and daughters; it accepts that disgraceful motto: "the blood of the king does not tarnish." An aristocrat who is too proud to even look at or address his own servant directly, works hard for the privilege of being the king's servant, and on certain occasions to wash his hands, bring his food, fill his glass, run his errands, and perform all the menial services of a waiter, lackey and messenger-boy, even if they are only symbolical. It is a well-known anecdote, but not therefore necessarily true, that Peter the Great when on a visit to Denmark, wishing to convince the king of the implicit obedience paid him by his subjects, commanded a cossack in his suite to leap from the top of a high tower. The cossack crossed himself and sprang into the air without a moment's hesitation. There is not any doubt that the majority of courtiers, even at the present day, would respond in the same way to a similar test. Why? From
