herring, then; worthiest of the human feline tribe!--As to the Play
MEROPE, here is the notable passage:

"PARIS, WEDNESDAY, 20th FEBRUARY, 1743. First night of MEROPE;
which raised the Paris Public into transports, so that they knew
not what to do, to express their feelings. 'Author! M. de Voltaire!
Author!' shouted they; summoning the Author, what is now so common,
but was then an unheard-of originality. 'Author! Author!' Author,
poor blushing creature, lay squatted somewhere, and durst not come;
was ferreted out; produced in the Lady Villars's Box,--Dowager
MARECHALE DE VILLARS, and her Son's Wife DUCHESSE DE VILLARS, being
there; known friends of Voltaire's. Between these Two he stands
ducking some kind of bow; uncertain, embarrassed what to do; with a
Theatre all in rapturous delirium round him,--uncertain it too, but
not embarrassed. 'Kiss him! MADAME LA DUCHESSE DE VILLARS,
EMBRASSEZ VOLTAIRE!' Yes, kiss him, fair Duchess, in the name of
France! shout all mortals;--and the younger Lady has to do it;
does it with a charming grace; urged by Madame la Marechale her
mother-in-law. [Duvernet (T. J. D. V.), Vie de Voltaire,
p. 128; Voltaire himself, OEuvres, italic> ii. 142; Barbier, ii. 358.] Ah, and Madame la Marechale was
herself an old love of Voltaire's; who had been entirely unkind
to him!

"Thus are you made immortal by a Kiss;--and have not your choice of
the Kiss, Fate having chosen for you. The younger Lady was a
Daughter of Marechal de Noailles [our fine old Marechal, gone to
the Wars against his Britannic Majesty in those very weeks]:
infinitely clever (INFINIMENT D'ESPRIT); beautiful too, I
understand, though towards forty;--hangs to the human memory,