'4 v wJW 
 
 fa* <r3*4^i 4 < ( <*'.*** 'Ci',4 >"*', 
 
 * , ' < . ' ; '-' < ! a 
 
 <;< X< .<< s'Xvv < v v 
 
 VAVAVt < ' . - ( 4 
 
 vKvW< > - '^; ; <',', ;^ . 
 WiWVV'S'V"" '< - 
 
 *V*/-*% U < . \' '< ' ' t < < < < <\N 
 
 4 i <i 4 i < < '; ,< < 4 '< ' '<<<<* 
 
 
LI^RY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 'J 
 

LIFE OF VOLTAIRE. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE OF VOLTAIRE, 
 
 WITH INTERESTING PARTICULARS RESPECTING 
 
 HIS DEATH, 
 
 AND 
 
 ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS 
 
 OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 
 
 By FRANK HALL STANDISH, Esq. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN ANDREWS, 
 167, New Bond-Street. 
 
 1821. 
 
LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 Northumberland-court. 
 
o 
 
 QIO^*! 
 
 
 TO 
 
 JAMES PILLANS, ESQ., 
 
 PROFESSOR OF HUMANITY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH, AND F.R.S.E., 
 
 THE FOLLOWING WORK IS DEDICATED, 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF 
 RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER, 
 GRATITUDE FOR HIS SERVICES, AND ESTEEM FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP, 
 BY HIS MOST OBLIGED AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 F. H. STANDISH. 
 
 970 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 1 HE History of the Life of Voltaire neces- 
 sarily comprehends in a general view great 
 part of the political and literary occurrences 
 in Europe, during the eighteenth century. 
 In this work, however, I have confined my- 
 self to much the same course as his biogra- 
 phers have already pursued, occasionally 
 giving sketches of the characters of those 
 who were his most determined antagonists, or 
 most devoted admirers. It has not been my 
 wish to enlarge more on the speculative 
 opinions disseminated among many of the 
 writings, to which I have been obliged oc- 
 casionally to refer, than the nature of my 
 subject required : I, therefore, hope that some 
 allowances will be made in that respect* 
 The first chapter has been compiled with 
 the view of acquainting the reader with the 
 despotism of the clergy, and the state of af- 
 fairs in France during the two centuries 
 previous to that with which my pages are 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 connected. The trial of Urbain Grandier, 
 the curate of Loud on , has been for a like 
 reason inserted. I intend not to depreciate 
 the ecclesiastical profession ; for there exists 
 no class of men from whom all communities 
 might derive so much profit as from clergy- 
 men, as long as they execute their functions 
 with propriety. I have seldom given notes ; for 
 the bare facts of my narrative may be found 
 in all the French Lives of Voltaire; and the 
 arrangement and opinions are exclusively 
 my own. In the first chapter, I have made 
 my acknowledgments where I have consulted 
 other authors. To the Abbe Millot I am 
 indebted for some notices on the reign of 
 Louis XIV. After all, a work of this nature 
 must be incomplete, and liable to inaccu- 
 racies : I dismiss it, however, with the con- 
 solation, that whatever sentence may be 
 pronounced, through the work, upon the 
 author, he has experienced pleasure and ad- 
 vantages during its composition, which the 
 ndventitious circumstances of rank, or for- 
 tune, are unable to procure for their most 
 pampered possessors. 
 
INTRODUCTORY 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 OOME remarks on the state of France during the 
 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, before enter- 
 ing on the immediate subject of the following- 
 pages, will enable the Reader more completely to 
 appreciate the miseries under which that nation 
 laboured previous to the appearance of Voltaire, 
 and to more readily estimate the value of any ex- 
 ertions he may have used in the removal of errors 
 and superstitious prejudices ; and, in tracing the 
 great political events which occurred during these 
 same periods, we shall be made acquainted with 
 those transactions which influenced, though not in 
 an apparently immediate degree, the advancement 
 and subsequent refinement of the ideas in which 
 
2 THE REFORMATION. 
 
 we indulge on many subjects. The notions, 
 indeed, of antiquity, only appear strange and 
 unaccountable from the contrast with the mo- 
 dern ; and even at present, when we consider the 
 different views which are taken of morals or 
 philosophy, from those which engaged the dis- 
 putes and speculations, or the pleasures of some 
 past centuries, we are by necessity obliged to 
 humble our triumphant tone of investigation, and 
 proportion the diffidence of decision to the im- 
 portance of the discovery which we attempt, 
 The greatest revolution which occurred during 
 these periods, favourable to the cause of litera- 
 ture and the progress of knowledge, and which 
 ultimately led to its present advanced state towards 
 perfection, was occasioned by the Reformation, or 
 establishment of the Protestant religion, and also 
 by the discovery of printing, which happened 
 nearly about the same periods. This art appears 
 to have been to a certain degree in use among 
 the ancient Romans, as is indicated by some old 
 rings bearing the signatures most probably of 
 their owner; but their idea of the advantages 
 attending it, seems to have been extremely 
 
INVENTION OF PRINTING. d 
 
 limited and confined, although hinted at by Cicero 
 in one of his philosophical works *. 
 
 However, there is every reason to believe, that 
 in this invention, as well as in most others, the 
 advantages which have subsequently taken place, 
 have benefitted the art itself as much as the art 
 has been of advantage to mankind ; therefore the 
 question of its origin may not be of so much im- 
 portance. Mr. Bowyer, in his History of Printing, 
 adjudges the credit of its modern discovery to the 
 three cities of Haerlem, Mentz, and Strasbourg. 
 The first of these may be entitled to the highest 
 honours of its introduction, though all of them 
 may presume to claim it in a qualified sense, on 
 account of the improvements each has borrowed 
 from the other. Laurentius Coster, of Haerlem, 
 made, it is supposed, his first essay about the year 
 1430, but he proceeded no further than to separate 
 letters cut in wood. He died ten years afterwards, 
 having first printed the Horarium, the Speculum 
 Belgicum, and two different editions of Donatusf. 
 The first Latin Bible, with metallic types, came 
 
 * De Naturd Deorum. 
 
 f History of Inventions, by Williams, London, 8vo. 1820. vol. ii'. 
 
 b u 
 
4< THE REFORMATION. 
 
 out in 1 450, and must have occupied at least seven 
 or eight years. From Europe printing was carried 
 to almost every part of Asia, Africa, and America. 
 After this slight preface we may proceed to the 
 second cause of the progress of knowledge, the 
 establishment of the Protestant religion. A mem- 
 ber of the catholic church was the instigator of 
 this most important revolution ; and the weakness 
 and intolerable weight of the priesthood and 
 its religious principles, more quickly contributed 
 to the destruction of its own body. The progress 
 of the new creed was, however, as violently op- 
 posed as the united force of religious zeal and 
 worldly interest could operate against what was 
 supposed to be little better than infidelity and ruin; 
 and much blood was shed in a cause, the advan- 
 tages of which, except in some political instances 
 connected with the advancement of learning, has 
 scarcely recompensed for the horrors of its intro- 
 duction ; every new system, however, obtains con- 
 verts, and, as persecution adds great influence to 
 faith, the persuasion was speedily propagated. 
 The Pope had been hitherto armed with the keys 
 of heaven, and the delegated divinity of St. Peter, 
 
SALE OF INDULGENCES. O 
 
 and the secular power was at hand, ready to assist 
 spiritual. He was an enemy before whom most 
 the retreated, either through policy or fear. His 
 dominions were ample, and his coffers were filled 
 by the devoted monarchs of Europe. A foreign in- 
 vasion of his rights, either in the field, or the 
 cabinet, would not have succeeded, even if it had 
 been attempted ; and it was accordingly reserved 
 for a member of the church of Rome, and one 
 subject to the papal supremacy, to diminish the 
 dignity and splendour of the holy See. 
 
 Leo X., in 1517, having occasion for a large 
 sum of money, either to prosecute a war against 
 the Turks, or for some more private purposes, 
 had recourse to the sale of indulgences, or pass- 
 ports into the other world, as a means of furnish- 
 ing himself with supplies. They were publicly 
 exposed for sale by auction, in the most indecent 
 and scandalous manner, in the shops, and even 
 in the places of public amusement, throughout 
 most of the countries where the catholic religion 
 prevailed, and were intrusted for circulation to the 
 Dominican monks in Germany, to the prejudice 
 of the Augustins, who considered this traffick as 
 
6 BIRTH OF LUTHER. 
 
 a peculiar privilege of their own order; such, 
 however, was the power of the clergy, and the 
 grossness of the credulity and delusion under 
 which the people laboured, that even this impo- 
 sition would only have excited slight murmurs, 
 had not the Augustins interfered, considering 
 themselves as individually injured. 
 
 Luther was one of those, whose history is no 
 less singular previous to the changes with 
 which he was connected. He was born in 
 Saxony, in the year 1483, the night before the 
 fast- day of Saint Martin, from which his chris- 
 tian name is derived. It is asserted by a catholic 
 writer, and was the common belief of the times, 
 that his mother conceived him from the embraces 
 of the devil, before she was married to his father, 
 though in what way she was impregnated, whether 
 in body, or in mind, is not asserted. Early filled 
 with a desire for the acquisition of knowledge, 
 and indefatigable activity in its pursuit, he was 
 sent to the college of Magdebourg; where he 
 passed the early part of his life. When his judg- 
 ment was, however, more matured, he turned his 
 attention to the jurisprudence of the empire. 
 
ORDER OF THE AUGUSTINS. / 
 
 Chance, which appears to be invariably and in- 
 conceivably connected with the most important 
 occurrences, and which baffles all the calculations 
 of probability or experience, caused him to em- 
 brace the profession of a monk, and the faith from 
 which he so soon dissented. Once, when walking 
 with a friend, a thunderbolt fell and destroyed 
 his companion. Luther was alarmed at an oc- 
 currence which science could not then explain ; 
 his doubts reposed on the easy pillow of belief 
 in a divine interposition, he forsook the study of 
 the law, for the contemplation of the good works 
 of the martyrs ; and, by dedicating himself to 
 God, and obeying the impulse of his fear, he 
 vainly imagined, that he was following an inspi- 
 ration from above. He accordingly entered into 
 the order of the Augustins, then in great repute 
 as godly men and hermits, in the town of Erfurt 
 in Thuringia, to the extreme surprise of all his 
 previous acquaintances, who could not account 
 for a conversion so sudden, Martin never having 
 been before remarkable for his piety. 'Having 
 passed the steps of the novitiate for this society, 
 he lived in it steadily and well for four years ; at 
 
8 LtJTHER MARRIES. 
 
 the end of which time he was called to the uni- 
 versity of Wittemberg, founded by the Duke 
 Frederic of Saxony, where he taught the public 
 classes for three years; and at this period, the 
 sale of the indulgences attracted his notice. 
 
 He soon, however, passed from the quicksand of 
 these abuses to an investigation of the still more 
 perilous shoals of the mysteries and doctrines of 
 the Romish faith. Saxony, Denmark and Sweden 
 embraced the new religion he disseminated, and 
 Zwingle* adding to the innovations of Luther, 
 brought over the greatest part of Switzerland. In 
 defiance of his previous vow of celibacy, and like 
 Luther, he married, whose wife was formerly a 
 nun, having been seduced from a convent by one 
 Leonard Roppen, and subsequently existing as a 
 common prostitute among the scholars of Wittem- 
 berg t- Like him, also, Zwingle abolished masses; 
 
 * The memory of Zwingle is still held in reverence by the in- 
 habitants of Zurich. His portrait adorns their library, although 
 the countenance bears much stronger expressions of ferocity 
 than devotion, to the judgment of a casual observer. 
 
 t Noramee Catherine de Bore, il en fit sa femme apres qu'elle 
 eut este tout ce temps, vivant a Wittemberg vagabonde parmy 
 les ecoliers, comme une asnesse." Histoire des Vies de Trois 
 Principaux Heretiques. lmprimee a Douay, 1616. 
 
LUTHER EXCOMMUNICATED. 9 
 
 for Luther had asserted, unlike the prophets of 
 old, that his reputed father the devil, had appeared 
 to him, and had proved that they were idola- 
 trous. Though such opinions did not individually 
 spring from the actual state of learning, yet the 
 boldness of his conjectures, and the energy of his 
 character excited investigation; and sometimes 
 truth is found in what originally appears to be 
 extravagance. The princes of Europe finally 
 availed themselves of the opportunity his doc- 
 trines gave, to seize on some of the ecclesiastical 
 possessions, and no longer enrich Rome at the 
 expense of their own dominions. 
 
 The Pope, in the first instance, might have 
 gained the innovator over to his interest ; but 
 he despised him, and in 1520, the audacious 
 propagator of the reformed worship was excom- 
 municated. Supported by Frederic Duke of 
 Saxony, and animated by hatred to the Pope, 
 he became an irreconcileable enemy to his faith 
 and his opinions. In 1536, Calvin*, who was a 
 
 * The fort of Calvin, in which he defended himself against 
 his enemies during the religious wars in Switzerland, is still to 
 be seen at Pregny, about two leagues from Geneva. Tt is the 
 property of Mr. Jacquier, a man deservedly respected, and of 
 a good Swiss family. 
 
10 CALVIN. 
 
 convert to Luther, and a clergyman of Noyon 
 in France, found himself obliged to leave his 
 country on account of his religious principles. 
 He retired to Geneva, and regulated those 
 of the inhabitants of that town. He in some 
 respects dissented from the tenets of Luther ; 
 almost entirely divesting religious adoration of all 
 ceremony, his system superseded that of the 
 original founder and was introduced into France, 
 Holland, and England. The opposition to its 
 reception, however, was very violent, and under 
 Francis II , who succeeded to the throne of 
 France at the age of sixteen years, began those 
 wars of religion, which were the greatest scourge 
 that kingdom ever experienced. These conflicts 
 raged with the utmost impetuosity under the suc- 
 ceeding reigns of Charles IX. and Henry III. 
 Catherine de Medicis, the mother and guardian 
 of Francis II., fomented the disturbances. In 
 ]561, under Charles IX., the Jesuits were esta- 
 blished, who subsequently became so formidable 
 a body. 
 
 During the glorious and romantic, but uncertain 
 life of Henry IV., the least attack or jest on the 
 
PROGRESS OF SUPERSTITION. II 
 
 opinions of the priests exposed the author to the 
 risk of the scaffold, or the stake ; and at this time 
 superstition, the unnatural daughter of Christia- 
 nity, traversed the world with a torch in one 
 hand and a dagger in the other, sacrificing all 
 who disputed her dominion, and leaving in her 
 train marks of ruin, madness, and desolation. 
 
 The disputes between the Catholics and Calvin- 
 ists led to the destruction of those who would not 
 embrace a party ; and the king, although a con- 
 queror, was not acknowledged by many of his 
 subjects on account of his religious opinions. An 
 absolution from the Pope, the establishment of a 
 convent in every province of his dominions, and 
 the strict fulfilment of the articles of the council 
 of Trent, were found to be the best means of recon- 
 ciliation. Under his government, literature was 
 respected, and those devoted to it were honoured; 
 for though the turbulence of the priests some- 
 times caused his displeasure, he treated all ranks 
 with justice; and all sects wfth toleration. The 
 moderation of his temper and the goodness of his 
 heart, may be collected from the following anec- 
 dote, and his gallantry from the letters of his 
 
12 ANECDOTE OP HENRY IV. 
 
 favourites*: " Soon after he had made himself 
 master of the throne of France, some of the ad- 
 verse factious party of the League, whom he had 
 pardoned, continued to threaten his life and abuse 
 his character ; but when it was proposed to 
 bring them to punishment, he said, * No ; give 
 them time, they are still angry |.' At length, 
 however, he fell a victim to the fanaticism of one 
 who considered he fulfilled his duty in sacrificing a 
 Huguenot, and the part of a martyr in assassinating 
 
 * The following is a letter of the famous Gabrielle D'Estrees 
 to the king. 
 
 " Paris, 25 Janvier, 1596. 
 
 " Je meurs de peur, rassures moi en me disant comment se 
 porte Le Pius Brave du monde. Je erains que son mal ne soit 
 grand, puisque autre chose ne devoit me priver de sa presence. 
 Dis m'en des nouvelles, mon cavalier, d'austant que tu scays 
 combien le moindre de tes maulx m'est mortel. Quoy que aujour- 
 d'huy j'ay recu deuxfois de vos nouvelles je ne saurois dormir 
 sans vous envoyer mille bonsoirs : car je ne suys pas douee d'une 
 ladre Constance. Je m'appelle la Princesse Constante, et je vis 
 sensible pour tout ce qui vous trouble ; insensible a tout ce qui 
 reste au monde." 
 
 The letters of the Marquise de Verneuil to her lover are still 
 more amorous : she makes use of the following notable expres- 
 sions. V 
 
 " Je ne vous parle ici que par soupirs, 6 mon roi, mon amant, 
 mon tout ; car pour mes autres plaintes secrettes, votre majeste 
 les peut sourdement entendre de ma pensee, puisque vous con- 
 noissez aussi bien mon ame que mon corps." See Vie Militaire 
 et Privee d 'Henry IV. d Paris, 1803. 
 
 f " Non" dit il " il faut attendre ils sont encore faches." 
 
LAWS AGAINST SORCERY. 13 
 
 a heretic. Henry was destroyed in a barbarous 
 age, amongst a still more barbarous nation, leaving 
 a name in the page of history which, like a beau- 
 tiful meteor playing along a stormy sky, appears 
 more vivid and brilliant from the surrounding- 
 darkness. Even his enlightened notions were, 
 however, unable to prevent the execution of 
 witches and magicians, and the processions and 
 miracles of the League had so ingrafted these 
 foolish superstitions on the minds of the people, 
 that as his predecessor was judged criminal for 
 his indifference, or rather mercy, to such unfortu- 
 nate wretches, he found himself compelled to put 
 the execution of the law into the hands of the 
 priests whenever an opportunity of punishment 
 occurred. 
 
 The primitive Christians may bring exam- 
 ples of martyrdom, or instances of heroic con- 
 tumacy in persecution and death ; but never 
 has a more intolerable cause for remonstrance 
 existed than the articles we peruse in the laws for 
 the prevention of sorcery even in more recent 
 centuries ; and the mind of the Christian revolts 
 at the white banners of his creed having been un- 
 
H LAWS AGAINST WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 furled to screen the ignorance and malice of the 
 self-denominated expounders of the Gospel. The 
 argument of the state of ignorance under which 
 mankind at that time laboured is here insufficient 
 and inconclusive ; and reflection, aided by reason, 
 has caused some to believe, that the doctrines of 
 a belief cannot be pure which lead to the de- 
 struction of those among whom it is introduced. 
 The example of the priesthood has explained the 
 paradox, that those who suffered tortures* with the 
 greatest apathy in the cause of their belief were 
 equally cruel to all dissenters in their own party. 
 Charges most ridiculous were considered as con- 
 
 * Should the reader wish for any further information on this 
 head, I may be permitted to refer him to the work of Gattonius, 
 de S.S. Martijrum Cruciatihus, Antverpics, 1670; Lipsius de Cruce, 
 A?nstelodami, 1670 ; and the works of Nicquetus and Bartho- 
 linus de Cruce Chrzsti, Amstelodami, 1670. In the first men- 
 tioned of these works he will find forty-three different modes 
 said to be employed by the infidels in torturing the martyrs. 
 Indeed, every variation that human ingenuity could invent, from 
 labour on the high roads to being clothed in red-hot shirts of 
 iron. One of the saints is represented about to be tied up in a 
 sack with a dog, a cock, a monkey, and a snake, and to be 
 thrown into a river with these agreeable companions. In Lip- 
 sius he will find, chap. 6., a droll picture of a man impaled. 
 The stake introduced through the rectum, and coming out of the 
 mouth, while the legs are in the grotesque attitudes of dancing. 
 
PROFESSION OF MAGIC. 15 
 
 elusive against the accused ; and Boguet, who in 
 1598 revised the criminal code relating to 
 witchcraft, does not hesitate to allow the same 
 degree of credit to the perjured witnesses against 
 the supposed magician, as to the just in his behalf. 
 Testimony of the son was also heard in evidence 
 against that of the father; those suspected of any 
 intercourse, either intellectual, or corporal, with 
 evil spirits, were put to the torture in order to ex- 
 tract the truth, or force a confession. Persons of 
 both sexes were diligently searched, in order to 
 detect the marks they were supposed to receive 
 from the devil as his slaves, which were always 
 imagined to exist imprinted on the most private 
 parts of their bodies. The Loups-Garoux, or those 
 who changed themselves into wild beasts, were 
 burned alive | and the Noueurs d'Aiguillettes, who 
 were supposed to deprive their victims of the pro- 
 creative powers bestowed on them by nature, were 
 first strangled and then consumed. The hypocrisy 
 of the monks assisted the delusion of the people* ; 
 and it may not be uninteresting to observe, that 
 
 * Notes on the DeviVs Sabbath. Garinet, Histoire de hx Mag&. 
 Paris, 1818, 8vo. 
 
16 STRUGGLES OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 the scenes for the nocturnal meetings of the ac- 
 cused with the devil, were laid near their own 
 convents. 
 
 No doubt can exist that some ignorant people 
 imagined themselves possessed by, and capable of 
 exercising, the powers of magic, and conceived 
 they had enjoyed familiar intercourses with the 
 devil. It is not impossible, according to the opi- 
 nion of one modern writer on magic*, but that 
 many of the monks have occasionally counterfeit- 
 ed the arch-fiend, by way of indulging their lust, 
 or beguiling hours of idleness and inactivity. 
 
 During the weak and impotent reign of Louis 
 XIII., the wars of religion were renewed with 
 much bitterness, and the effusion of blood only 
 served to exasperate the passions of the contending 
 parties. The catholic zealots bore with impatience, 
 and regarded with distrust, the liberty which the 
 Calvinists had obtained by the edict of Nantes, 
 and the others, with an equal spirit of opposition, 
 used all their powers in the assertion of their 
 privileges. The king had deprived them of some 
 ecclesiastical possessions at Beam; and, though 
 
 * Garinet, Histoire dela Magie. Paris, 1818, 8vo. 
 
PARDONS FOR DUELLING. 17 
 
 an equivalent was offered in his dominions, they 
 asserted their pretensions to the original property 
 (which had been in their possession for sixty 
 years), with the Bible and the sword as their 
 advocates. A plan was formed at La Rochelle 
 to change France into a Republic; and, with the 
 Duke de Rohan at their head, they obliged 
 Louis to accede to their demands, and by this 
 means appease the subjects whom he had the 
 right to command ; and the Calvinists ultimately 
 obtained the power of exercising liberty of con- 
 science without the fear of opposition. 
 
 Under this reign the passion for duelling was 
 carried to the greatest extent ; no less than 8,000 
 letters of pardon had been granted in about the 
 space of twenty years to the survivors in these 
 quarrels, the origin of which appears a custom 
 more difficult to trace to the foundation than any 
 of those we may refer to an age of barbarism. The 
 examples of this kind of respect paid to honour and 
 disregard for life, are rare among the ancients; but 
 the introduction of Christianity, or, more properly 
 speaking, the abuses arising from its introduction, 
 have given a degree of sanctity to the solemn 
 
18 DUELLING. 
 
 appeal which is made when a champion stakes his 
 existence in vindication of his cause. The opinions 
 of the world, which are even more arbitrary than 
 those of our religion, have given a still greater de- 
 gree of weight to this exhibition of courage, and 
 by degrees the survivor of the contest has been 
 considered as the innocent person. The custom is 
 descended to our times, with little of the injustice 
 abated, though it has lost, in the tradition, many 
 of its chivalrous attributes*. There are at pre- 
 sent no brave knights, who with pleasure risk 
 their precious lives, or limbs, for the honour of the 
 damsels they adore, to receive the reward of their 
 contests at the expense of the visionary treasure 
 they defend ; all is now settled with regard to the 
 fair sex, by the more powerful assistance of in- 
 terest, or inclination; there is no necessity for 
 subduing a giant to gain a mistress, and a drunken 
 friend is the modern cause of a too often fatal quar- 
 rel. There are always, however, to be found some 
 
 * See Sai^tt Palaye, and Dissertation sur la Chevalerie, par 
 Basnage; avec un Discours preliminaire, par Pierre Roques; 
 a Basle, 1740. In these works will be found many curious law? 
 relating to duelling. 
 
LAWS AGAINST DUELLING. 19 
 
 who are ready to aggravate animosities under the 
 name of honour, or satisfaction, though they should 
 terminate in the destruction of those to whom they 
 are indebted for half their existence, or support. 
 
 Henry II. had, at the commencement of his reign, 
 been witness to an engagement in which one of 
 his favourites was slain; and, touched with sorrow 
 for his loss, more than by a general and enlight- 
 ened view of the subject, he made an oath not to 
 allow others such arrangements in future, and 
 issued an ordinance for their prohibition ; which, 
 however, was regarded with little attention. 
 Henry IV., who himself was possessed of the 
 highest personal courage, never interfered, except 
 when obliged from necessity, or the publicity of 
 the business. In 1602, another law was promul- 
 gated to the effect of its abolition, and the severity 
 of Louis and his minister, Richelieu, in a great 
 measure extirpated an abuse which the influence of 
 humanity and reason, and the progress of know- 
 ledge may be alone supposed capable of entirely 
 correcting. 
 
 The ancient laws of honour were as fantastic as 
 their execution was barbarous ; and there appears 
 
 C2 
 
20 ANCIENT DUELLING. 
 
 to be a strange mixture of devotion, ferocity, and 
 superstition, in an engagement, the origin of which 
 reason did not dictate and cannot explain. Before 
 the combat, an oath was administered, that those 
 about to enter the lists would not avail themselves 
 of the assistance of the devil, or of necromancy, 
 and relied for success on the goodness of their 
 weapons and their cause ; and, to describe the ex- 
 cellence of an accomplished knight, it was said, 
 that no one better understood how to break a lance, 
 or kiss a lady. The crusades had redoubled the 
 heroism of the knights : a kind of enthusiasm had 
 mingled itself with ideas of religion and glory 
 which incited them to the most hazardous enter- 
 prises, and chivalry had so ennobled love that it 
 rendered it a passion purely heroic. In the 
 Roman de la Rose, it is affirmed, that the knights 
 were more estimable, and the ladies lived better 
 and more chastely on that account : 
 
 Les chevaliers mieux en valoient, 
 Les dames meilleures etoient 
 Et plus chastement en vivaient. 
 
 Far from regarding love as a criminal passion, 
 they associated it with the ideas and practices of 
 
DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 21 
 
 devotion. A troubadour of the thirteenth century 
 said that he burned tapers, and caused masses to 
 be said, for the success of his desires. The mis- 
 tress of the Lord of Croan, when upon her death- 
 bed, ready to receive the sacrament, called God 
 to witness, that Croan had never made a request 
 to her that her father might not have exacted. 
 " Not," said she, " that he slept not in my bed, 
 but in sooth, without misbehaviour, or the indul- 
 gence of evil thoughts*." Notwithstanding love 
 was not always pure, even in the times when 
 this passion was carried to its highest point of 
 heroism, it became insensibly debased. 
 
 In the fifteenth century, Eustace Deschamps 
 often complained, that luxury had effeminated the 
 knights; that they thought to please more by 
 their dress than by their exploits and virtues; and 
 that gallantry, as well as chivalry, had declined 
 in a Wondrous manner. Notwithstanding, in this 
 century they fought nation against nation for the 
 honour of the ladies; and, in 1402, seven French 
 knights engaged against seven English for a like 
 
 * " Non," dit-elle, " qu'il ne couchat en mon lit, mais afin 
 sans vilenie et sans mal y penser." 
 
W DECLINE OP GALLANTRY. 
 
 reason. In the end, all this heroism was eclipsed, 
 Brantome says, that in the sixteenth century love 
 was nothing more than libertinism : it was the age 
 of devices and amorous emblems. From this period 
 we hear no more of heroic loves. Devout loves 
 still existed when the general manners wore the 
 livery of devotion ; when lovers, by way of gal- 
 lantry, whipped themselves under the windows of 
 their mistresses. Men carried in their breviaries, 
 under the figure of the Virgin Mary, the portrait 
 of the women whom they loved, and the women 
 had that of their lovers, under the representation 
 of Christ, or some saint. 
 
 From the whole of this discussion, it appears, 
 that love was simple and tender in the tenth cen- 
 tury; severe and impassioned in the eleventh; 
 that it participated of the heroic and superstitious 
 enthusiasm of the three following centuries, and 
 sometimes elevated itself even to a virtue ; but 
 in the fifteenth century declined till it was almost 
 alwavs a vice, and scarcely ever a passion. In the 
 sixteenth century, the sentiments which mingled 
 with it were subtle and cold ; the ideas of piety 
 which were from time to time allied, instead of 
 
INSTITUTIONS OF FRANCE. 23 
 
 warming and ennobling as before, completed its 
 degradation by introducing all the meannesses of 
 superstition and hypocrisy. The other forms 
 which it has subsequently assumed, show that it 
 has constantly followed the modifications of so- 
 ciety. Thus love, in all times subject to fashion 
 (which seems to have so little empire over the 
 passions), has perpetually undergone the same 
 variations as exterior manners and customs*. 
 
 After this digression, I proceed to mention an 
 institution, most excellent in itself, and most 
 honourable to France. The establishment of 
 the Academy at Paris, in 1636, was the work 
 of Richelieu, who founded it in spite of the 
 opposition of the king and the parliament ; and 
 it was not till the following year, that the latter 
 gave a reluctant approval to its continuance. 
 The exertions of the members, however, were 
 limited to the embellishment and augmentation 
 of the French language. All discussions of 
 natural history or disquisitions on subjects of 
 philosophy were expressly forbidden. In time 
 however, these prohibitions gave way, and the 
 
 * See Fosbroke, on Monachism. 4 to, London, 1817. 
 
24 
 
 THE OPHILE DE VIAND. 
 
 society enlightened the ideas, and became the 
 ornament of the nation among whom it was esta- 
 blished. 
 
 Some gleams of intellectual brightness had now 
 begun to appear ; and the progress of the tine 
 arts, which were at present much cultivated, was 
 attended by the dissemination of knowledge over 
 the face of Europe. During this period, Males- 
 herbes and Corneille, in a great degree, formed the 
 poetry of their countrymen. Descartes had, by 
 a new mode of reasoning, opened the way to truth; 
 and Galileo, in Italy, had shown the movement of 
 the earth round the sun. He was, however, im- 
 prisoned for having studied the stars; and the 
 parliament of Paris forbade, under pain of death, 
 any one to teach maxims which were contrary to 
 those of Aristotle. 
 
 The prosecution of Th^ophile de Viand and the 
 condemnation of Urbain Grandier, the curate of 
 Loudon, which occurred about the same time, are 
 lasting marks of the malevolence of the Jesuits, and 
 the ignorance and vengeance of the court of France. 
 
 Theophile de Viand was the most fashionable 
 wit of the age. Although he had no office at 
 
ACCUSED OF ATHEISM. 25 
 
 court, he was well received there, and lived in 
 habits of intimacy with its members. The young 
 king was pleased when he conversed with, or 
 listened to him ; and this favour, which added 
 nothing to his fortune, was the cause of his ruin. 
 The Jesuit Gaussin was his enemy, and, as con- 
 fessor to the king, whispered destruction in the 
 ear of his penitent. Th^ophile was accused of 
 atheism, and the judge of the chatelet condemned 
 him to be burnt alive. By a precipitate flight he 
 escaped from his enemies, and the execution was 
 performed in effigy. He was finally, however, 
 seized by the lieutenant of the police (who was in 
 the pay of his persecutors) on the borders of France, 
 and plunged into the same dungeon which had 
 been allotted toRavaillac, the assassin of Henry IV. 
 During the preparations for his trial, the Jesuits let 
 loose their vengeance against the poet. Spies, to 
 find out what he had never said, and preachers, to 
 declaim against what he had never committed, were 
 employed in every coffee-house and every church. 
 The holy father Garasse printed a sermon accusing 
 him of the only crime which an appeal to his honour 
 could not clear, and of atheism ; and his colleague, 
 
26 
 
 DE VIANDS DEATH, 
 
 Guerin, preached what the other had written*. 
 Neither their malice nor their power, however, 
 were capable of procuring his condemnation, and 
 witnesses came forward to prove his strict observ- 
 ance of the duties imposed upon good catholics. 
 The Duke of Montmorency received in the arms 
 of his family this victim to the malicious persecu- 
 tion of perverted religious principles ; where he 
 died, soon after his reception, from the injuries he 
 had experienced, and the sufferings he had en- 
 dured previous to his acquittal f. 
 
 * The following is a specimen of the style of the orator, given 
 by Duvernet : 
 
 " Lisez mes freres," leur criait-il en prechant, " lisez le reverend 
 pere Garasse. Je dis que vous le lisiez et que vous n'y man- 
 quiez pas. C'est un tres-bon livre; vous y verrez ces paroles. 
 1 Maudit sois-tu Theophile, maudit soit l'esprit qui t'a diete tes 
 pensees, maudit soit la main qui les a ecrites; malheureux le 
 libraire qui les a imprimes, malheureux ceux qui les ont lues, 
 malheureux ceux qui t'ont jamais connu, et beni soit M. le Pre- 
 mier President, et beni soit M. le Procureur General, qui ont 
 purge Paris de cette peste. Je dirai d'apres le reverend pere 
 Garasse, que tu es un veau. Que dis-je ? D'un veau la chair 
 en est bonne rotie, la chair en est bonne bouillie. De sa peau 
 on en couvre des livres; mais la tienne mechant n'est bonne qu'a 
 etre grillee. Aussi le seras-tu demain. Tu t'es moque des 
 moines, et les moines se moqueront de toi.' " 
 
 * Duvernet, Notes a la Vie de Voltaire ; page 120. Edit, de 
 Geneve, 1786. 
 
URBAIN GRANDIER. 27 
 
 The other trial, to which we are now 
 brought by the train of the subject, will for 
 ever cast a stain over the beginning of the se- 
 venteenth century ; it might almost be said over 
 the religion, the country, and the minister who 
 directed the proceedings. 
 
 The personal hatred and the policy of Richelieu, 
 condemned to the rack and the fire a priest, whose 
 greatest crime might, perhaps, be a levity of con- 
 duct amply atoned for by his talents and his piety. 
 
 Urbain Grandier, born of a respectable family, 
 and possessed of personal advantages and talents 
 not generally bestowed, had obtained great credit 
 as an orator at Loudon, of which he was the 
 curate. He soon excited the envy of his rivals : 
 civil and kind to his friends, he had not the policy 
 to conceal from his adversaries the pride which 
 the consciousness of superior abilities gives to 
 personal dislike. Being appointed to execute a 
 sentence of the law against a priest of the name 
 of Monnier, he caused it to be performed with 
 the greatest rigour. This man, joined with another 
 of the name of Mignon, against whom the curate 
 of Loudon had gained a law-suit, and who was the 
 
28 ACCUSATIONS AGAINST GRANDIER. 
 
 director of the convent of the Ursulines. The na- 
 tural passion which Grandier possessed for gal- 
 lantry, and the advantages of his address, enabled 
 him to obtain great favours from a young girl at 
 Loudon, a daughter to the procureur to the king. 
 It was in vain that a kind friend asserted, that he 
 was the father of a female infant newly born ; the 
 public was, in this case, proof against deceit, and 
 decided the accusation. 
 
 Trinquant, the father of the girl and uncle 
 to Mignon, was at the head of a league to which 
 the advocate of the king, who was the rival 
 of Grandier, joined himself. They bribed two 
 persons, who accused the curate of debauchery 
 in his own church with several young girls 
 and married women; the office for justice re- 
 ceived the complaint, and appointed an investi- 
 gation. Whilst the law-suit was conducting, 
 Grandier was insulted during the performance 
 of his sacerdotal duties by a man of the name of 
 Thibaut, who dared to offer him a blow. De- 
 spairing of obtaining justice in a country where 
 he had so many enemies, he proceeded to Paris, 
 in order to throw himself at the feet of the king 
 
HE OBTAINS ABSOLUTION. 29 
 
 and demand justice ; but, during his absence, they 
 obtained from the Bishop of Poictiers an order to 
 seize his body, dated the 22d of October, 1629. 
 Du Thibaut intrigued with such efficacy, that Gran- 
 dier was obliged to go to Paris ; at his arrival 
 he was thrown into a damp and unwholesome 
 dungeon, and the bishop of the diocese passed a 
 sentence the 3d of January, 1630, by which Gran- 
 dier was suspended from the exercise of his sacer- 
 dotal functions for the space of five years in any 
 part of France, and for ever at Loudon; he 
 was also ordered to fast on bread and water every 
 Friday for three months. His enemies were not 
 satisfied, and applied to the parliament, who re- 
 fused to interfere, and dismissed the matter to 
 the tribunal of Poictiers. The witnesses were 
 examined, but varied in their testimony, and 
 many confessed that they had been seduced 
 by money; the prosecution was declined, and 
 Grandier obtained an absolution from the Bishop 
 of Bourdeaux. Contrary to his advice, however, 
 he commenced an action against his accusers, and 
 Du Thibaut was condemned to several fines, and 
 publicly reprimanded 
 
30 INTRIGUES OF THE PRIESTS. 
 
 About this time, Moussaut, who was the direc- 
 tor of the convent of the Ursulines, died ; he was 
 replaced by Mignon. The young nuns of the 
 order ran about at night for their amusement or 
 pleasure, and complained that they were pos- 
 sessed ; the old ones believed in good earnest what 
 their juniors had asserted. Mignon knew the 
 truth ; but not losing sight, for a moment, of the op- 
 portunity for destroying his enemy, he counselled 
 these women to call for Grandier as their con- 
 fessor. The curate of Loudon refused to comply, 
 and it appears certain, that he never entered the 
 convent ; for when the members of it were con- 
 fronted with him in 1634, he was not recognised 
 by a single individual. Mignon accordingly began 
 to exorcise ; he made a visionary priest (who was 
 desirous of passing for a saint in the opinion of 
 the populace) a confidant in the business ; and, 
 in order to give greater publicity to the posses- 
 sion of the Ursulines, he walked in procession 
 with his parishioners at Loudon. The two im- 
 postors arranged the plot, and when they thought, 
 that the appearances of the possession were suf- 
 ficiently complete to be examined by those not 
 
INFAMOUS IMPOSTURE. 31 
 
 in the secret, they chose Granger, the curate of 
 Vesnier, a man of extraordinary impudence, to pro- 
 ceed and acquaint the magistrates. This ridiculous 
 interview took place on Monday the llth of 
 October, 1632, with two magistrates of Loudon. 
 They repaired to the convent to examine every 
 thing themselves ; Mignon, however, went there 
 before them, dressed in a surplice and a stole*. 
 He told them, that the evil spirits had been ex- 
 pelled ; that the devil, who had been in the su- 
 perior mother, was called Astaroth, and that of 
 the lay-sister, Zabulon ; but that at that time the 
 nuns were asleep. 
 
 As the magistrates were about to depart, it was 
 announced to them, that those bewitched were 
 again troubled ; they ascended with Mignon and 
 Granger into a chamber at the top of the house, 
 the superior and a lay-sister were in bed ; they 
 were surrounded by members of the community. 
 Manouri, a surgeon, was present, with Rosseau 
 the canon of Sainte Croix. At the sight of the 
 officers of justice, the superior, falling into strange 
 
 * A black band, with a cross upon it. 
 
32 FURTHER IMPOSTURE. 
 
 convulsions, uttering cries which resembled those 
 of a little pig, and making horrible grimaces, hid 
 her head under the bed-clothes. One of the sister- 
 hood was on her right hand and Mignon" on her 
 left ; he put his two fingers into her mouth, and 
 conjured the devil to walk out, in Latin. The 
 possessed answered very ill to his inquiries, but 
 pointed out Grandier as the author of her malady; 
 the lay-sister was not willing to answer, saying, 
 that the superior was the only one capable of so 
 doing. The magistrates having learnt, that the 
 matter had been already examined by Grognard, 
 the ecclesiastical judge, took notes and a written 
 account of the whole. 
 
 On Monday the 12th, they called Mignon in 
 private, and told him, that the possession was a 
 pious fraud, and that it was necessary to hinder 
 its progress ; he, however, maintained that it was 
 real. The design of the judges was to take more 
 exact informations ; they again visited the con- 
 vent, accompanied by the Sieur Iren^e. The 
 superior seemed convulsed with passion ; Barri 
 exorcised the demon, who replied, that he had 
 departed ; the lay-sister also assisted at the cere- 
 
INCREASE OF IMPOSTORS. 33 
 
 mony. Whilst they were reading the prayers of 
 exorcism, a great noise was heard in the com- 
 pany ; one of the assistants exclaimed, that she 
 had seen a male cat come down the chimney ; 
 they searched for him all over the room, and 
 found him at last under a bed, to which he had 
 run for safety ; they put him on the counterpane 
 of the one which held the superior ; Barri made 
 several signs of the cross over the animal, who, 
 however, was audacious enough to set up his 
 back in spite of the Holy Ghost ; he was recog- 
 nised as an inmate of the convent, and imagined 
 to be nothing less than a demon, or a magician. 
 Though all these impositions were badly planned, 
 Grandier feared the power of the conspiracy 
 which was proceeding against him, which had been 
 just reinforced by the father of Cardinal Richelieu, 
 against whom a publication had appeared during 
 the time of his disgrace, attributed to the pen of 
 Grandier. He accordingly obtained an order to 
 prevent any person slandering him ; this order is 
 of the 28th of October, 1632. 
 
 During the time that Grandier was exorcising 
 in Paris, the evil spirits were dispersed all over 
 
34 GRANDIER ARRESTED 
 
 the town of Loudon ; six of the girls, residing in it, 
 fancied themselves possessed, and others that 
 they were bewitched. In the town of Chinon, 
 the devil, like an old friend, encamped himself in 
 the body of two of the penitents of Barri. Lau- 
 bardement, a creature of the court, being informed 
 of this, arrived at Loudon the 6th December, 1632, 
 at eight o'clock at night, and communicated his 
 full powers of the court to some of the town's 
 people. The contemporary authors thus recount 
 the arrest of Grandier. 
 
 Guillaume Aubin, who had the jurisdiction 
 over the ecclesiastical concerns of the district, 
 was sent for by Laubardement ; who, after having 
 communicated to him the orders of the king, de- 
 sired him to seize Grandier. Aubin informed the 
 curate of Loudon of this secret. order, and clan- 
 destinely advised him to withdraw; but he did 
 not think it right to profit by these suggestions, 
 and was accordingly arrested one morning, on 
 his way to the church of Sainte Croix. Im- 
 mediately after he was taken, the royal seal was 
 affixed to all his property ; they found among his 
 papers the treatise composed on the celibacy of 
 
- AND IMPRISONED. 35 
 
 the priests, which he acknowledged to be written 
 by himself, but denied having any concern in 
 the authorship of two poems which were also 
 discovered. His mother in vain pleaded the 
 sentences of absolution of the Archbishop of 
 Bourdeaux; the inventory was finished the 31st 
 January, 1632. Pierre Fournier, who had ac- 
 cepted the office of lawyer to the crown, declined 
 acting almost immediately after his acceptation. 
 The case, however, proceeded ; but Laubardement 
 being apprehensive that the parliament would 
 interfere, obtained an order from the privy council 
 for its prevention ; he also threw Grandier into a 
 prison, which was rendered as frightful and miser- 
 able as possible, and to which was added the pre- 
 caution of passing bars of iron across the chim- 
 ney, for fear the devil should come to the assist- 
 ance and effect the escape of the magician ; a 
 woman of the name of Bontemps also watched 
 over him in his confinement, and notified each 
 day his actions. To give a better appearance to 
 the story of the possession, they distributed those 
 who were supposed to be bewitched into three 
 parties ; and, at the earnest request of Grandier, 
 
 D2 
 
36 MOCK EXAMINATION. 
 
 all apparent communication was broken off be- 
 tween the patients. Grandier wished, by an 
 innocent stratagem, to cause this monstrous edi- 
 fice of falsehood to fall of itself; he proposed to 
 Laubardement that four priests should be habited 
 in the way he was himself attired, and to ask of 
 those possessed which of the five was the magi- 
 cian; but this was refused. 
 
 On the 26th of April they proceeded to search 
 for the marks of the magician. Manouri, the 
 brother-in-law of one of those who pretended they 
 were possessed, entered the prison of Grandier, 
 caused a bandage to be passed over his eyes, and 
 pulled off all his garments. When he was desirous 
 of persuading those who surrounded him, that the 
 parts of the body marked by the devil were in- 
 sensible, he turned the probe he held in his hand 
 by one of the round ends, so that not being 
 able to pass through the flesh, it was driven 
 back into the hand of the surgeon ; but, when the 
 barbarous operator wished to shew, that the other 
 parts of the body were not enchanted, he turned 
 the instrument by the sharp end, and drove it in 
 as far as the bone of the unfortunate victim, whose 
 
JUGGLING PROCEEDINGS. 37 
 
 cries and groans were heard at a considerable dis- 
 tance. The devil was waiting the arrival of his 
 friend the Bishop of Poictiers to operate wonders. 
 On Saturday the 17th he gave a passover, com- 
 posed of the flesh of the heart of a child, taken at a 
 sabbath held at Orleans in 1631 ; and of the ashes 
 of a burnt host. This passover was presented to 
 the supposed magician ; he denied its existence ; 
 and he was allowed to exorcise. " I consider," 
 said he to the bishop, if that a magician cannot 
 possess a Christian without his own consent." 
 The exorcists exclaimed, that Grandier was a 
 heretic, and that he rejected a proposition received 
 in the catholic church, and approved by the Sor- 
 bonne. 
 
 After this discussion, they brought sister Cathe- 
 rine, who refused to answer his Greek, under pre- 
 tence that the host of the devil, which she had 
 eaten, did not permit her to speak. Grandier 
 put a question to her in the same language, but 
 all those present uttered loud cries, calling him 
 magician, and threatening to strangle him. " If 
 I am a magician," said he, " may the devil put a 
 mark on my forehead here, in the presence of 
 
38 OBSCENE ACCUSATIONS. 
 
 these magistrates of the king." The exorcists, to 
 the number of eight, imposed silence on the de- 
 mons ; a small furnace was brought, and the hosts 
 burnt. This scene of juggling ended, the nuns 
 took off their slippers, and threw them at the head 
 of Grandier, who was chanting the service. The 
 last day of June, one of those possessed, whom 
 they were exorcising, declared, with the greatest 
 effrontery, that Grandier had sent a thing which 
 modesty forbids the writer to describe, to se- 
 veral girls to make them conceive monsters, and 
 the true word for which she bellowed out with 
 the greatest impudence. The stupid exorciser 
 asked why the effect had not been produced ; she 
 replied, with a torrent of obscenities, such as are 
 never heard but in the lowest houses of prostitu- 
 tion. The public indignation was at its height ; 
 and, to stifle its murmurs, Laubardement was 
 obliged to publish an ordonnance forbidding any 
 one. of any class or condition soever, to speak ill 
 of these religious persons possessed with evil 
 spirits in Loudon, under a penalty of ten thou- 
 sand livres, or even a larger sum, as the nature 
 of the case deserved. This was dated the 2d of 
 
CONFESSIONS OP THE IMPOSTORS. 39 
 
 July, 1634. The subsequent course of the affair 
 clearly justified Grandier ; the sister Claire, agi- 
 tated with remorse, declared that all she had 
 asserted was false and a calumny, and that she 
 had done it at the suggestion of Mignon and the 
 others. Four days after, she continued steadfast 
 in the same statement, and was desirous of 
 making her escape. The sister Agnese with- 
 drew herself from the communion, and said she was 
 unworthy to receive her Saviour. Another also 
 declared that an innocent man was accused ; but 
 the exorcists asserted, that all which had been 
 uttered was at the suggestion of the devil, who 
 spoke falsehoods when they were favourable, and 
 truths when they were unfavourable, to Grandier. 
 The commission charged with the trial assembled at 
 the convent of the Carmelites the 26th of July, and 
 on the 27th named for recorders two enemies to 
 the curate of Loudon. The populace presented 
 petitions against the injustice of Laubardement, re- 
 questing that the curate might be tried by the par- 
 liament of Paris, or some other court. This, howr 
 ever, all the commissioners represented as an as- 
 sembly of the dregs of the people, not to be entitled 
 to any credit, and their address was unavailing. 
 
40 
 
 GRANDIERS DEFENCE, 
 
 Grandier, seeing that appeals in his favour were 
 useless, no longer hesitated in the certainty of 
 his destruction. It was undoubted, that he must 
 either be burnt as a sorcerer, or that all his 
 enemies would be submitted to the most heavy 
 punishments ; he nevertheless prepared his de- 
 fence. Being admitted before the judges, he thus 
 addressed them : " With the most profound hu- 
 mility I beseech you to consider with attention 
 what the prophet says in the eighty- second Psalm, 
 which contains a holy remonstrance for you to 
 exercise your duties with rectitude, since being 
 mortal men you will have to appear before the 
 Almighty God, sovereign judge of the world, to 
 render him an account of your administration. 
 This spirit of the Lord now addresses you ; the 
 Lord is Lord in the assembly of the judges. Do 
 justice to the poor, and help the aged and dis- 
 tressed, and deliver them from the hands of the 
 wicked. You are children of the Lord ; some 
 time or other you will die like men, and you, who 
 are now my hearers, will die like the rest." This 
 remonstrance produced no effect ; the commis- 
 sioners wished to cover their assassination under 
 the cloak of religion ; they ordered processions 
 
AND CONDEMNATION. 
 
 41 
 
 and public prayers, and called on Heaven to 
 enlighten them. 
 
 The 18th of August, the commissary judges 
 assembled at the convent of the Carmelites, and 
 gave judgment. The treatise of Grandier on the 
 Celibacy of Priests was ordered to be burnt with 
 him. Grandier heard with great resolution the 
 sentence of his condemnation, and thus ad- 
 dressed the judges : " Gentlemen, I call to wit- 
 ness God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, 
 and the holy Virgin, who are my sole advocates, 
 that I never have been a magician, and that I am 
 totally unacquainted with sorcery ; that I know 
 no other magic than that of the holy scriptures, 
 which I have always preached ; and that I have no 
 other belief, than that of our holy mother the catho- 
 lic, apostolic, and Roman church. I renounce the 
 devil, all his vanities, and all his works ; I acknow- 
 ledge my Saviour, and I pray to him, that the blood 
 of his cross may be meritorious to me and to you 
 my judges, I pray you to moderate my punish- 
 ment, and not to cast my soul into despair. 3 ' 
 Having thus spoken, he shed tears in abundance. 
 Laubardement, taking him aside, said, " If you 
 
42 THE TORTURE. 
 
 wish to moderate the rigour of your punishment, 
 declare your accomplices." " Being innocent/' re- 
 plied Grandier, " I have no accomplices.'' Hou- 
 main entreated him to depose against the magi- 
 cians ; but they could obtain from him nothing 
 further. According to the terms of the sentence 
 Grandier was put to the torture. 
 
 At Loudon, the custom was to lay two planks 
 together, and to bind between them the legs of 
 the criminal ; they then drove in wedges with 
 blows of a hammer, which broke the bones ; and 
 when the planks were untied, the splinters fell 
 upon the ground. They allotted Grandier two 
 wedges more than were generally given to the 
 greatest criminals. Laubardement was present at 
 the punishment. The monks exorcised the planks 
 and the wedges. The wretched Grandier several 
 times fainted away under the torture ; they made 
 him recover his senses by redoubling the blows : 
 when his legs were beaten together, so that the 
 marrow shewed itself, they took away the planks, 
 and cast him upon a hand-barrow. The Curate 
 did not allow a single imprecation to escape him, 
 protested his innocence, and accused no one. He 
 
THE TORTURE. 43 
 
 said, that he never had known this Elizabeth 
 Blanchard, very far from having any intercourse 
 with her. They from thence proceeded into the 
 Chamber of Council; he was put upon some 
 straw near the fire, and demanded an Augustine 
 priest to confess himself, which was refused. 
 He was delivered against his own will into 
 the hands of the exorcisers. They made the 
 people retire, who pressed round the spectacle. 
 The registrar of the commission remained near 
 him for the space of three hours, and Laubarde- 
 ment entreated him during this time to sign a 
 memorial he held in his hand, which Grandier 
 as constantly refused. 
 
 Towards five o'clock in the evening, the exe- 
 cutioners carried him away upon a sieve. He 
 declared to the lieutenant, who had the charge of 
 criminals at Orleans, that he was dying innocent, 
 and entreated him for his prayers to the just God 
 in his behalf. In spite of his sufferings his look 
 was tranquil, and his countenance collected. On 
 leaving the place of trial, they read over again 
 to him the articles of his accusation. When he ar- 
 rived before the church of Saint Pierre du Marche\ 
 
44 GRANDIER LED TO THE STAKE, 
 
 Laubardement ordered him to descend from the 
 cart. As he had lost the use of his limbs, he fell 
 prostrate with his face against the ground. He 
 waited with patience till they lifted him up again. 
 The father Grillau approached at this instant, and 
 mingled tears with his embrace, ft I bring you 
 the blessings of your mother, the church, and I 
 pray God to have mercy upon you, and to receive 
 you into his kingdom." G randier returned him 
 thanks for the pity his misfortunes had inspired, 
 and entreated him to serve his mother as a son. 
 The officer on guard solicited his pardon. " You 
 have not offended me, said Grandier, you are 
 obliged to fulfil the duties of your station." 
 
 They now approached the stake. The curate 
 of Loudon gazed on it without alarm. The execu- 
 tioner placed him in an iron girdle, causing him 
 to turn his back on the church of Sainte Croix. 
 The articles of impeachment were again read, 
 with his replies. Having finished, they asked 
 him, if he persisted in all he had uttered. He re- 
 plied that he did. The exorcisers, after having 
 made signs of the cross over the funeral pile, 
 were fearful, that he might profit by an indul- 
 
AND BURNED ALIVE. 45 
 
 gence which had sometimes been granted, and 
 which, in their opinion, mitigated the severity of 
 his tortures ; it was, that he should be hanged, 
 instead of burnt, and address the people before 
 his execution. As he was going to harangue them, 
 the exorcisers threw holy water on his face, and, 
 observing that he was making a second attempt, 
 they sent a monk to embrace their victim. The 
 curate of Loudon aware of this hypocrisy, ex- 
 claimed, " Behold a kiss of Judas." Enraged 
 by this observation, the clergy struck him on the 
 head with a crucifix of iron. He was obliged to 
 wait till they had finished a Salve and an Ave 
 Maria, to make a final protestation of his inno- 
 cence. The monks managed not to have him 
 strangled. Grandier, seeing the executioner with 
 a lighted torch in his hand, claimed the promise 
 of the judge. The father Lactance took some 
 flaming straw, and threw it on his face, exclaim- 
 ing, n Wilt thou not acknowledge thy sin, wretch, 
 and renounce the devil ?" " I never knew him," 
 replied Grandier, " and renounce him ; I hope for 
 the mercy of God." 
 
 Without waiting for the order of the civil officer, 
 
46 grandier's dying words. 
 
 the monks set fire to the pile. Grandier ex- 
 claimed, " Where is thy compassion, Father Lac- 
 tance ? There is a Judge in heaven, and I order 
 you to appear in his presence within a month." 
 Then, giving himself up to his Redeemer, he ex- 
 claimed, " Deus meus, ad te irigilo, miserere mei, 
 Deus, (My God, I have faith in thee, pity me, O 
 God.") 
 
 Perhaps some Christians might have relaxed 
 in their belief on an occasion so trying, or for- 
 saken their faith with their sufferings. Holy water 
 was then thrown in his face, for fear the populace 
 should hear his last words. The cry was to 
 strangle him, but the monks had tied the cord, 
 and the unfortunate curate of Loudon was burnt 
 alive. The place destined for the execution could 
 not contain the number of the curious. A flock of 
 doves alighted upon the dying embers ; the staffs 
 of the soldiery and the cries of the people could 
 not drive them away. A large fly fluttered round 
 the ashes of Grandier : the clergy exclaimed that 
 it was Beelzebub, who had come to seize the soul 
 of the magician. The father Lactance died a month 
 after Grandier, and the capuchin Tranquille ex- 
 
DEATH OF HIS PERSECUTORS. 47 
 
 pired about the same time in convulsions of the 
 satyriasis. The populace, instigated by their spi- 
 ritual leaders, invoked them as saints; every street- 
 porter was desirous of having a little bit of their 
 clothes. The father in God, Tranquille, would have 
 been buried naked, if a guard had not been placed 
 to prevent the depredations of the pious who sur- 
 rounded, and who, after having stripped off his 
 garments, would have cut the body itself. The 
 following epitaph was fixed on his tomb : " Here 
 lies the humble Father Tranquille, Capuchin 
 Preacher. The Demons, not being able any longer 
 to resist his courage in his employment of exor- 
 cist, have caused him to die by their persecu- 
 tions, instigated to this by the magicians, the last 
 day of May, 1633 *." 
 
 The above trialf contains the most circumstan- 
 
 * " Ci git l'humble Pere Tranquille, Capucin Predicateur, Les 
 Demons ne pouvant plus supporter son courage en son emploi 
 d'exorciste, Font fait mourir par leurs vexations, a ce portes par 
 les magiciens, le dernier de Mai, 1633." See Hist, de la Magie 
 par J. Garinet, p. 234. a Paris, 1818 
 
 f See the Histoire des Diables de Loudon, ou de la Possession 
 des Religieuses Ursulines, Amsterdam, 1716. The history of the 
 trials and atrocities of religious communities may be curious 
 
4*8 BIRTH OF LOUIS XIV. 
 
 tial details of the injustice, which it was in the 
 power of the clergy to inflict, at a time when su- 
 perstition confronted sense, and aggravated ma- 
 lice, and which still partially prevailed even under 
 the reign of Louis XIV. In latter years, the 
 instructions that the lower classes received have 
 enlightened their minds, and improved their views, 
 and no sabbath-meetings are now supposed to be 
 held, even in those places where the fear of the 
 devil still exists. 
 
 Louis XIV. was born in 1638. He ascend- 
 ed the throne amidst the dangers and weakness of 
 a minority, and began a reign which promoted 
 the nation and the power of the monarch to a 
 pitch of glory it never had before attained, 
 even under these unfavourable auspices. His 
 mother, Anne of Austria, by a sentence of the 
 parliament, had the absolute regency, established 
 by Louis XIII. The Prince de Conde' was 
 
 and interesting, but is so far unsatisfactory, as to make the 
 reader disgusted with the religion he ought to adore. One com- 
 fort for protestants is, that most of these abuses may be laid to 
 the charge of ignorant and intolerant, Catholics. 
 
ANECDOTE OF FANATICISM. 
 
 49 
 
 director, consented to every proposition from 
 the regent, and this was not the first time that 
 the wishes of a king have been disregarded after 
 his death. Present authority prevails easily over 
 a power which exists no longer. The queen 
 changed the council as she thought proper ; she 
 named Cardinal Mazarin the first minister, who 
 consequently became, (although he was a fo- 
 reigner,) master and conductor of the state. Ri- 
 chelieu had known him in Italy, during the war 
 of 1630. Being aware of his ability for di- 
 plomatic negotiations, he had brought him to 
 France, deeming him capable of assisting his own 
 administration, and of managing the affairs of the 
 nation. The Italian, prudent as he was, learned 
 by experience the danger of his situation in the 
 succession of his predecessor. 
 
 The following singular anecdote, as related at 
 this time, may serve to shew to what extent fanati- 
 cism was sometimes carried. Marshal de Gassion, 
 who would not marry because he thought life too 
 burthensome to communicate its evils to any 
 person, died a Calvinist, in 1647. A professor of 
 rhetoric had made some stanzas in his praise, and 
 
50 DEATH OF MAZARIN. 
 
 was going to pronounce them on a day advertised ; 
 but the university objected, thinking it improper 
 that a Protestant hero should be praised by a 
 Catholic professor. The poet addressed himself 
 to the chancellor, who approved the decision 
 of the university. At that time, a Marshal 
 Saxe might have saved France, without appear- 
 ing worthy of literary homage, a strange ano- 
 maly in the favours a state bestowed on those 
 who would die for its protection. 
 
 In 1661, Mazarin expired, like Richelieu, ex- 
 hausted by labour, before the age of sixty. He 
 was naturally as proud, haughty, and bold, as the 
 other was pliant, cunning, and cautious. He had 
 caused his seven nieces to have the best establish- 
 ments in Paris, and procured the Duchy of Nevers 
 for his nephew Mancini. His riches, which are 
 said to have amounted to nearly two hundred mil- 
 lions, are a proof of the avarice of which he was 
 accused. " Alas ! I must give up all," said 
 he, sighing, when the physician informed him he 
 was past recovery. The wants of the state ren- 
 dered the opulence of the minister too odious not 
 to be cavilled at by the judgment of the public. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE KING. 51 
 
 Nevertheless, the rich abbeys accumulated on his 
 head, besides the episcopacy of Metz, were its 
 principal causes. Agitated with remorse at the 
 end of his life, he made an offer of all his property 
 to the king, who, however, would not accept it, 
 (as the other had very probably foreseen,) and 
 appeared as if he really regretted him sincerely, 
 though impatient of exercising his own authority. 
 The time had arrived when affairs in France were 
 to undergo another change. Two powerful minis- 
 ters had for some time governed with supreme com- 
 mand, without, however, rendering their subjects 
 happy. Divided between their own interests and 
 those of the nation, in the advancement of its glory, 
 they had left it poorer and less flourishing than it 
 was under Henry IV. ; but Louis soon convinced 
 them of the power a king possesses, who joins with 
 noble sentiments the penetration of an active spirit, 
 and steady application to business. In the first 
 council which was held, he declared that he 
 should see every thing, henceforth, done himself, 
 and prohibited any business to be transacted 
 without his orders. " The face of the theatre 
 changes/' said he : "I will have other principles 
 
 E 2 
 
52 CONCESSIONS OF THE POPE. 
 
 from those of the late cardinal in the management 
 of my state, and administration of my finances. 
 You know what my wishes are : it is now your 
 duty, gentlemen, to put them in execution." 
 
 Even a Pope was obliged to humble himself 
 before the young monarch. The footmen of the 
 Duke of Crequi, the French ambassador, had at- 
 tacked a few soldiers of the Corsican guard. 
 These disturbances very often occurred with 
 the French, at that time, whose petulance and 
 audacity often set all discipline at defiance. 
 The furious Corsicans attacked the house of the 
 ambassador, and killed several servants : they 
 even fired upon his person, and attacked his 
 carriage in the street. At this news the king de- 
 manded satisfaction from the head of the church. 
 The court of Rome wished to gain time in order 
 to settle matters, but the Monarch of the French 
 seized Avignon, as an easy mode of finishing the 
 dispute. Alexander VII. sent the Cardinal Chigi, 
 his nephew, to beg the king's pardon. The Cor- 
 sican guard was disbanded, and a pillar erected 
 in memory of the event. 
 
 Such vigour in affairs of little importance made 
 
DISPUTE WITH THE CLERGY. 53 
 
 the princes of Europe acquainted with what they 
 were to expect from a young king who was so 
 strict in his notions of honour. Nevertheless, 
 Pope Innocent XT., virtuous, but haughty and 
 inflexible, braved all the power of a monarch so 
 formidable. 
 
 It was long since a dispute had arisen con- 
 cerning the regale, a right peculiar to the king 
 of France (which runs back as far as the most re- 
 mote times), by which they gather the income of 
 the vacant episcopacies, and name others, during 
 the vacancy, to the benefits depending. Several 
 churches pretended they were exempt from 
 that right. Louis XIV. declared by an edict, that 
 the regale extended over all his kingdom. 
 The bishops of Alet and Pamiers, celebrated for 
 their opposition to the formulary concerning 
 Jansenius, alone dared to resist the royal 
 authority ; and it is singular, that they were 
 seconded by Innocent XL, although they had 
 been rebellious to the pope's decree. The 
 dispute became warm ; the general assembly of 
 the clergy took part with the court. The pope 
 having condemned their proceedings, they seized 
 
54 DECLARATIONS OF THE ASSEMBLY. 
 
 this occasion for examining the rights of the pope 
 himself. 
 
 The assembly signalized itself by the four 
 famous articles, in which the doctrine of the Gal- 
 lican church was exposed. They declared, 1st, 
 That the ecclesiastical power has no right over 
 the temporalities of princes. 2nd, That the gene- 
 ral council is superior to that of the pope, as was 
 decided by the council of Constance. 3rd, That 
 the customs and laws received in the Gallican 
 church ought to be maintained. 4th, That the 
 judgment of the sovereign pontiiF, in matters of 
 faith, is not infallible, except after the consent of 
 the church. 
 
 These truths (which common good sense, joined 
 to a moderate notion of antiquity, makes every 
 man feel, though not previously aware of,) ap- 
 peared, at that time, bold decisions. They were, at 
 Rome, looked upon as errors, and the Italian pre- 
 judices which had inspired the league were not en- 
 tirely suppressed over all the kingdom. This affair 
 caused much discussion ; but since then Europe is 
 changed. Innocent XI., more irritated than 
 ever, condemned the propositions of the clergy, 
 
OPPRESSION OF THE CALVINISTS. 55 
 
 and refused bulls to all the bishops named by 
 the king. 
 
 This obstinacy might have caused his destruc- 
 tion. They were already settling to establish in 
 France an independent patriarch ; but the religion 
 of the king prevented him from having recourse 
 to that extremity. At the time of those violent 
 quarrels with Innocent XL, Louis signalized him- 
 self in his zeal towards the Catholics by the de- 
 struction of Calvinism. After the taking of Ro- 
 chelle, the Calvinists, not having the power of 
 forming factions, enjoyed their privileges peace- 
 ably without troubling the government. Their 
 seditious spirit had humbled itself under the su- 
 preme authority. The monarch did not fear them, 
 and took advantage of their services : but the Ca* 
 tholics easily persuaded him that his glory and the 
 interest of the crown required the extinction of 
 all heresy; that he had the power over every 
 thing, and that they would give way to his wishes. 
 Being pleased with flattery, and having, besides, a 
 desire of being useful to religion, notwithstanding 
 his quarrel with the pope, he began by diminishing 
 the liberties of the protestants, the more he excited 
 their uneasiness and their murmurs, and soon 
 
56 
 
 DEATH OF COLBERT. 
 
 after had recourse to violence, which never in any 
 case equalled persuasion. 
 
 A declaration of 1680, in which orders were 
 contained to add to the number of the converted, 
 all children seven years of age, was a motive suf- 
 ficient for the parents to emigrate. 
 
 The mission of emissaries to the provinces, and 
 of distribution of money to the converts, not 
 proving successful, troops were despatched in 
 order to inspire terror. The chancellor, Letellier, 
 and Louvois, his son, were naturally inclined to 
 despotism. The death of Colbert, who had pro- 
 tected the Calvinists as citizens, left those two 
 ministers at leisure to follow their inclinations. 
 Louvois thus expressed himself in letters written 
 with his own hand : " His majesty is desirous 
 that the heaviest penalties be put in force 
 against those who are not willing to embrace his 
 religion, and those who have the false glory to 
 remain longest firm in their opinions, must be 
 driven to the last extremities * ;" imagining the 
 
 * " Sa Majeste veut qu'on fasse eprouver les dernieres rigueurs 
 a ceux qui ne voudront pas se faire de sa religion, et ceux 
 qui auront la fausse gloire de vouloir demeurer les Verniers 
 doivent &tre pousses a la derniere extremite." 
 
EDICT OF NANTES REPEALED. 57 
 
 opinion of the subject to depend on an order from 
 the court. 
 
 The troops who had the charge of putting this 
 mandate into execution, and above all the dragoons, 
 executed it with the greatest rigour. Europe 
 resounded with exaggerated accounts of their 
 cruelties. Among the protestants, the present 
 were compared to the persecutions of the ancient 
 church. Severity produced the usual effect ; 
 it suddenly 'changed the zeal of the Calvinists 
 into enthusiasm. They looked on their native 
 country as a second Babylon ; and the more 
 precautions were taken to hinder their flight, 
 the more they thought it their duty to escape. 
 At last, Louis XIV. repealed the famous edict of 
 Nantes, given by Henry IV., and approved by 
 Louis XIII. The protestants were not allowed 
 liberty of conscience. Their temples were de- 
 molished, and children torn from their parents, 
 to be educated in the catholic religion. 
 
 Prohibitions against leaving the kingdom, 
 guards stationed on the coasts and frontiers, 
 love borne to a native country, the ties of con- 
 sanguinity, the interests of fortune, were vain ; 
 
58 DEATH OF LOUIS XIV. 
 
 in short, nothing could impede men driven away 
 by despotism or despair. Thousands deserted, 
 and were received by Holland, England, and Ger- 
 many. They took with them immense sums of 
 money ; and, what was still more precious, indus- 
 try, and manufactures, the principal wealth of 
 the kingdom. In a short time, France lost about 
 five hundred thousand citizens : some writers have 
 exceeded this statement ; and such a loss is not 
 easy to recover even in a more populous country. 
 Louis XIV., when dying, enjoyed the same 
 natural vigour as during his life. The sentiments 
 of religion to which he was attached, supplied him 
 with strength. "Why do you weep ?" said he ; " is 
 it not time that I should decline ? you ought to have 
 been long since prepared to lose me ; have you 
 ever considered me as immortal*?" Let not, how- 
 ever, the memory of Louis XIV. be calculated from 
 the character which he left of himself in the lessons 
 which were transmitted to the young king, his suc- 
 cessor. Too violent an ardour for war, too great 
 
 * " Pourquoi pleurez-vous V " N'est-il pas temps que je 
 finisse? vous avez du depuis longtems vous preparer a me 
 perdre, m'avez-vous cru un immortel V* 
 
HIS CHARACTER. 59 
 
 an inclination to despotism, too much pride to- 
 wards his neighbours, too great a passion for 
 ostentatious and superfluous expenses, a certain 
 vanity in his conduct, supported by the excessive 
 praises of his flatterers, were his too evident 
 imperfections ; but, without these failings, what 
 services might he not have rendered to mankind ! 
 since they did not hinder him from doing so 
 many things equally useful and admirable ; and 
 from the poets and orators of his time he has 
 almost enjoyed the honours of a deification. 
 
 In suppressing their praises, all of which strict 
 philosophy might judge blameable, we still may 
 perceive in Louis XIV., a great man and a great 
 king. His private life was a model of decency. 
 He was, like many heroes, seduced by the charms 
 of pleasure, but he always honoured his wife ; 
 and, when he was informed of her death, in 1684, 
 he exclaimed, " This is the first sorrow she has 
 ever caused me* ;" perhaps the only instance on 
 record of such an exclamation on such an occasion. 
 
 He qualified, with an amiable politeness, the ma- 
 jesty of his person, his attention to propriety, and 
 
 * " Voila le premier chagrin qu'elle m'ait jamais donne." 
 
60 EDUCATION OF THE KING. 
 
 knew better than any other prince how to capti- 
 vate the heart of a listener with the force of a 
 word well applied. The Duchess of Burgundy, 
 when young, was jesting one day at supper upon 
 the ugliness of an officer who was present : " I 
 consider him," said the king, " one of the finest 
 men in my kingdom, for he is one of the bravest/' 
 The king certainly possessed more politeness, and 
 the lady scarcely as much sense, as are at present 
 to be found or expected from a monarch or a 
 beauty. 
 
 The education of Louis had been much neg- 
 lected ; and this is one of the greatest reproaches 
 upon the memory of Mazarin. No one, however, 
 felt more forcibly the importance of a careful 
 education of his own children. 
 
 Men illustrious for their virtues, talents, and 
 doctrines, such as Montansier, Beauvillier, Bos- 
 suet, Huet, and Fenelon, had the care of the most 
 important task of instructing the dauphin. It 
 may, perhaps, happen, that princes brought up 
 with less pomp and effeminacy, accustomed to see 
 men, instead of being praised by courtiers ; exer- 
 cised to the labour imposed by sovereignty, which 
 
MADAME DE MAINTENON. 61 
 
 is more than that incurred by any other condition 
 in life, will perform from their infancy the hard 
 apprenticeship of their duty. It was hardly 
 possible to suppose that Henry IV. came out of 
 the voluptuous court of Louis XIV. ; nevertheless 
 the Duke of Burgundy may deserve being cited 
 as a model to all princes, so much do the lessons 
 of wisdom triumph over the charms of vice. 
 
 Madame de Maintenon, a woman of wit and 
 merit, diverted Louis XIV. from foreign gal- 
 lantry, and succeeded so well in captivating his 
 heart, that he married her privately in 1686. The 
 devotion with which she had inspired him raised 
 her to fortune ; and her disinterestedness, both in 
 regard to herself and her family, was more amiable, 
 than consistent with a situation where every 
 thing was at her entire disposal. The king gave 
 her little, because she would not accept of more ; 
 she was so afflicted with low spirits, that it ought to 
 make all indifferent to the idle fancies of ambition, 
 and is a proof how little grandeur contributes 
 to comfort. She wrote to one of her friends: 
 " Do you not perceive that I am dying with me- 
 lancholy in a situation of which it would be dif- 
 
62 STATE OF THE FINANCES 
 
 fieult to imagine the advantages*." Perhaps this 
 proceeded in a certain degree from too much 
 devotion. She contributed much to the establish- 
 ment of Saint Cyr, for the education of two 
 hundred young ladies of noble families. This 
 establishment, and that of the Invalids, where 
 four thousand soldiers are rewarded for their 
 services, and comforted for their wounds, do more 
 honour to Louis XIV., than the magnificent palace 
 of Versailles, on which he spent so many millions. 
 Every thing was improved in France, and under 
 his reign the finest manufactories were esta- 
 blished. Commerce, which enriches all states, 
 became one of the principal branches of policy. 
 Agriculture, a yet more desirable branch, was 
 not so much encouraged ; and this is the reason 
 why the administration of Sully, according to some 
 writers, was preferable to that of Colbert; but 
 the last, with excellent principles, often found him- 
 self incapable for their execution. If Louis XIV. 
 left two milliards, six hundred millions, debts, 
 (at twenty-eight pounds the marc), instead of 
 
 * " Ne voyez-vous pas que je meurs de tristesse, dans une 
 fortune qu'on aurait eu peine a imaginer ?" 
 
AT THE KING'S DEATH. 63 
 
 Henry IV., who left a considerable sum in 
 the treasury; if he was obliged to have re- 
 course to the stewards of his revenues, whom 
 Henry IV. had luckily discharged ; this was the 
 inevitable consequence of a number of expenses 
 at court, and also the misfortunes of war. 
 
 The capitation-tax, established in 1695, 
 several heavy impositions, the alteration of the 
 coin, the invention of a multitude of odd ex- 
 pedients to accumulate money, (such as selling 
 a title of nobility for two thousand crowns, in 
 1696); all this caused an universal discontent 
 in the kingdom. Greater economy would have 
 spared the nation a number of misfortunes, and the 
 king the loss of the affection of his subjects. The 
 matters of political administration have excited 
 too much curiosity not to mention some details 
 on the subject. The rich manufactories of every 
 sort, multiplied by Colbert, are looked upon as 
 the greatest cause of its opulence; Sully, how- 
 ever, did not approve of them, and for this he 
 was often blamed. One of the principles of the 
 government of Louis was, that of resolving, after 
 affairs were decided upon, to execute them 
 
64 IMPROVEMENTS UNDER LOUIS XIV. 
 
 with courage. We may read in a writing of his 
 own hand : " The faults which I have committed, 
 and which have caused me an infinite degree of 
 trouble, were done through complaisance, and 
 through my giving way too easily to the advice 
 of other people. Nothing is more dangerous 
 than weakness, of any kind; when an error 
 has been committed, the fault must be re- 
 paired as soon as possible ; and no consideration 
 ought to prevent the execution, not even a good 
 intention." These are sentiments worthy of a 
 great king. In the first instance, Louis was de- 
 sirous of experiencing the advantages of friend- 
 ship, but he made a bad choice. " I have sought 
 for friends, and have only found intriguers. 
 Whenever I give away a vacant place, I make 
 one ungrateful and a hundred discontented*." 
 Those who envy the fate of kings ought to re- 
 flect on these expressions of a monarch. 
 
 The laws underwent a considerable alteration ; 
 Seguier, Lamoignon, Talon, Bignon, and Pussort, 
 
 * " J'ai cherche des amis," said he, " et je n'ai trouve que 
 des intrigans. Toutes les fois que je donne une place vacante, 
 je fais cent me contens et un ingrat." 
 
NAVY OF FRANCE. 65 
 
 were employed for that purpose in the year 
 1667. The uniforms of his regiments, the use 
 of the bayonet, the establishment of the grenadiers, 
 the artillery- school, the body of the engineers, the 
 regulation of the exercises of the troops, the in- 
 stitution of the order of Saint Louis, contributed 
 greatly to the improvement of the military art 
 an art equally useful and dangerous, which is 
 sometimes the safety of states, but always the de- 
 struction of mankind. The birth, the progress, and 
 the decline of the navy, may be observed in the 
 history of France. Experience has proved the 
 essential use of its existence; and is what the 
 Cardinal Fleuri could and ought to have done dur- 
 ing a peaceful administration ; his views, however, 
 were not so far extended. Although possess- 
 ing excellent sea-ports on both seas, and ad- 
 vantage for navigation, which no other mari- 
 time power can enjoy to the same degree, 
 France found herself unable to defend her com- 
 merce and her colonies ; this bad fortune has, 
 however, served to make her acquainted with her 
 best interests. 
 
 What contributed likewise to immortalize the 
 
m 
 
 LITERARY INSTITUTIONS. 
 
 reign of Louis XIV. was the flourishing degree to 
 which letters and sciences attained during his 
 reign, and under his protection. The establish- 
 ments, and the rewards for literature, did not 
 cost a hundred thousand crowns : yet talents 
 began to shew themselves, and master-pieces ap- 
 peared of every description ; the century of Au- 
 gustus seemed to be revived. Corneille, Racine 
 and Moliere endeavoured to eclipse the glory of 
 the Grecian theatre ; La Fontaine surpassed for- 
 mer models in grace and elegance. Despr^aux 
 gave rules for imitation and good taste in poetry : 
 a sublime eloquence appeared in Bossuet ; Bour- 
 daloue reunited the strength of good argument 
 to the depth of evangelic truth. Fenelon, by the 
 charms of his style, rendered rigid lessons of 
 morality agreeable. The French language, rude 
 and imperfect till that time, soon acquired per- 
 fection. A number of good writers used it, even 
 on subjects the knowledge of which the learned 
 seemed to have reserved to themselves : and as 
 each produced works, the body of the nation was 
 enlightened. 
 
 Three literary academies re-assembled in Paris, 
 
MEN OF LETTERS. 67 
 
 such genius as was born to improve taste, and 
 the sciences. The man of letters was re- 
 spected, when he did not disgrace himself by a 
 misapplication of his talents; the more so, be- 
 cause it conduced to the glory and happiness of 
 society. Knowledge and politeness were disse- 
 minated in every province; pedantry was con- 
 fined to the schools. Had it not been for the 
 arrt burlesque of Despreaux, the parliament, 
 deceived by false reports, was about to renew the 
 prohibition of teaching any philosophy contrary 
 to that of the peripatetics. Such is the influence 
 of old established prejudices ; self-love, interest, 
 and weakness, change them into principles ; and 
 the fear of novelty, carried to too great a degree, 
 makes them prevail over useful truths, which time 
 has not put to trial. But as soon as a road is 
 opened to good studies, the progress of philo- 
 sophy necessarily follows that of taste. 
 
 France, after having had good poets, produced 
 excellent philosophers. Fontenelle was one of 
 the most illustrious, and his example has raised 
 competitors who have rivalled their master. 
 
 Whilst, however, men of letters were engaged 
 
 Fa 
 
68 ECCLESIASTICAL DISPUTES 
 
 with the peaceful cultivation of their minds, the 
 state was sometimes troubled by theological quar- 
 rels. That of the question occasioned by the 
 mystical extravagances of a devoutee, Madame 
 Guyon, caused the disgrace of the celebrated bi- 
 shop of Cambray. The piety of Fenelon was misled 
 by a false system of spirituality ; wishing to rec- 
 tify her idle fancies, by the true love of God, 
 he inadvertently added to the scandal. The 
 bishop of Meaux, who had been his disciple, 
 jealous perhaps of his reputation (for great 
 men have their weaknesses), denounced him to 
 the king as an innovator. The affair was re- 
 ferred to Rome. The Maxims of the Saints* was 
 condemned : it had been written by the bishop. 
 Far from defending himself after the judgment, as 
 he had done at the beginning of the dispute, he 
 did not hesitate in subscribing to his own con- 
 demnation. Retiring to his diocese, and re- 
 gretted at court, above all by his worthy scholar, 
 he gave up his episcopal functions for literary 
 pursuits. 
 
 If all the theologians had had the same docility 
 
 * Maximes des Saints. 
 
WITH THE JESUITS. 69 
 
 as Fenelon, Jansenism would have been for a long 
 while forgotten. Five propositions taken out of a 
 Latin book of Jansenius, the bishop of Ypres, " On 
 Pardon,' and condemned by Innocent XI. in 1653, 
 gave rise to dissensions in the French church, which 
 caused much scandal. It was concerning a mys- 
 tery, which reason can neither conceive nor ex- 
 plain. The spirit of party was more free in ob- 
 scurity. The Jesuits, the zealous defenders of the 
 secret of Rome, and of their science moyenne, 
 found adversaries as formidable for their talents 
 in writing good French, as for the extent of their 
 learning. The famous Arnaud, a deep genius, 
 violent and inflexible, cried down these casuists 
 with his ordinary vehemence. The ridicule which 
 Pascal affixed to them, in his Provincial Letters*, 
 made an impression which will never be forgotten. 
 They adopted measures for pacifying the quarrel. 
 The writers of Port Royal, and their partisans, 
 rejected the five propositions, without agreeing 
 that they were in Jansenius. This point of fact, 
 though indifferent to religion, again excited 
 animosities and discord. It was necessary to 
 
 * " Lettres Provocates." 
 
70 INTRIGUES OF 
 
 sign a formulary from Rome, in which the fact was 
 formally declared. Those who objected to it 
 were considered as guilty. The nuns of Port 
 Royal protested in vain, that, not understanding 
 Latin, they could not testify, that Jansenius had 
 inserted in his work the doctrines which they 
 were required to condemn. Their obstinacy irri- 
 tated Louis XIV. ; advised by the famous Pere de 
 la Chaise, he ordered their order to be abolished, 
 themselves dispersed, and their house demolished. 
 The P. Quesnel of the Oratoire had published 
 his Moral Reflections on the New Testament. This 
 book was also the cause of fresh troubles. The 
 Cardinal of Noailles, archbishop of Paris, more 
 remarkable for his rank than for his talents, had 
 approved it, when bishop of Chalons, because 
 he thought it calculated to inspire Christian vir- 
 tues. This was enough to cause his being dis- 
 missed from court. Father Le Tellier, a treache- 
 rous and vindictive man, having become confessor 
 to the King, in 1709, and being an impetuous 
 theologian, who regarded nothing, and whose 
 credit could crush every thing, who was in some 
 respects the master of the clergy in France, 
 
THE KING'S CONFESSOR. 71 
 
 opposed Quesnel, and those he suspected to be 
 favourable to Jansenism, and animated the Jesuits 
 with an inveterate hatred. He partially inspired 
 Louis XIV. with his own sentiments, who weak- 
 ened by age, and not having sufficient penetration 
 to foresee that, by exasperating the minds of those 
 who were violent and obstinate, he should per- 
 petuate a dispute which prudence might extin- 
 guish, the monarch demanded from Pope Clement 
 the condemnation of Quesnel. An hundred and 
 one of his propositions sent from France were 
 censured, in 1713, by the famous bull Unige?iitus. 
 Some of them appeared to be correct and rea- 
 sonable, and above all the following : (" The 
 fear of an unjust excommunication ought not to 
 impede the performance of a duty*'') became 
 a pretence for a thousand claims. If the author 
 had attached a bad sense to it, its apologists would 
 not own it : they excused themselves by saying, 
 how are we to know the meaning of another ? 
 
 Louis gave orders for the acceptance of the bull . 
 Forty bishops agreed to the proposition, explain- 
 
 * La crainte d'une excommunication injuste ne doit pas 
 empecher de faire son devoir. 
 
72 EFFECTS OF THE REIGN 
 
 ing the parts which they considered as requiring 
 illustration ; but the Cardinal of Noailles and a 
 few others, together with the multitude, rose 
 against the decision of the Pope, which they 
 regarded as the work of the Jesuits. The letters 
 of secret imprisonment, and the actions of the 
 impetuous Le Tellier animated their spirits. The 
 king died during the time of those ecclesiastical 
 quarrels, which another century witnessed dege- 
 nerating into a civil war, and agitating the king- 
 dom, notwithstanding the moderation of a mo- 
 narch, the friend to peace, and desirous of its 
 preservation. 
 
 The Catholic church laments this discord, the 
 incredulous triumph, the wise are surprised to see 
 fellow-creatures tearing each other to pieces, in- 
 stead of uniting through the spirit of charity; and 
 philosophers have thought, that in disputing less on 
 opinions, and in practising more the moral duties 
 than they do, they would both become better citi- 
 zens and better Christians. But the spirit of party 
 is always blind ; the object by which it is in- 
 flamed, conceals the importance of other consi- 
 derations, and regards little the approbation of 
 
OF LOUIS XIV. 73 
 
 moderate men* as long as it is applauded by the 
 factious and turbulent, whose daily praises, how- 
 ever, are contradicted by the public voice. 
 
 It must be allowed, that under Louis XIV. 
 the French nation was formed anew, and superior 
 in many respects to the ancient. Manners,customs, 
 tastes, and opinions changed, and this revolution 
 was general throughout all the states. Those of 
 high rank, softened down by luxury, attached 
 to the prince through interest or affection, ceased 
 to be reformers, and became courtiers, consecrating 
 to the service of the crown that ambition which 
 formerly rendered them so dangerous. The nobi- 
 lity joined to the merits of bravery that of good 
 sense, of urbanity, of mildness ; and what was lost 
 by the subtilty of pleasures, was compensated by 
 the culture of the social qualities. The clergy 
 punished the prejudices which were contrary to 
 the independence of the sovereign ; and notwith- 
 standing a remnant of former abuses, too difficult 
 to be at once extinguished, the ecclesiastical mi- 
 nistry was rendered rather more respectable. 
 Magistrates, such as d'Aguesseau, were worthy of 
 reforming the laws : and lastly, honest men of every 
 
7i EFFECTS OF THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIT. 
 
 description learnt to live and to reason freely ; 
 the people acquired industry and talents; and 
 France became the centre of good taste, talents, 
 society and pleasure. If follies were still to be 
 found, it is a proof that society always preserves 
 vices, even in advancing towards truth and virtue. 
 The example of a virtuous and enlightened king is 
 most capable of producing fortunate changes in 
 a kingdom. 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 VOLTAIRE, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The progress which had been made in philo- 
 sophy and letters, during the reign of Louis XIV., 
 together with the discoveries of Newton, and 
 other men of science in foreign countries, burst the 
 strong fetters of ignorance and doubt, which had 
 long enslaved the world. The old rules of the 
 stage, had been revived by Corneille and Racine, 
 and the ancient connexion of time, place, and action, 
 which had gradually fallen into disuse among the 
 moderns, were again illustrated and brought into 
 practice by these celebrated tragic writers; by 
 which the drama was advanced to a state of per- 
 fection which it had never till then attained. 
 
 The influence of superstition and ignorance, 
 however, still prevailed : and it was to remove 
 
76 BIRTH OF VOLTAIRE. 
 
 those evils of vice and hypocrisy, to which the 
 former gave rise, that the subject of these pages 
 dedicated his life, his fortune, and his talents. 
 The success of his efforts justified the boldness of 
 the attempt, and shewed the world the superiority 
 of intellect over the advantages of rank and for- 
 tune. I Power may command services, and riches 
 may obtain distinction ; but the writings of the 
 philosopher will influence the actions of those yet 
 unborn, when the ostentation or profusion of the 
 powerful and the wealthy are unappreciated or 
 forgotten^] They will only be recollected from the 
 traditions of venal praise, or just censure ; but the 
 words of wisdom become sweeter from the lips of 
 antiquity, and will be listened to in distant ages. 
 
 The 20th of February, 1694, gave birth to Fran- 
 cois Marie Arouet, afterwards so celebrated under 
 the name of Voltaire. For some time he laboured 
 under an indisposition so severe, that he was not 
 expected to live, and was therefore baptized in 
 private. The ceremony was, however, publicly 
 repeated on the 22d of November, in the same 
 year, at the church of Saint Andre-des-Arts, in 
 
 Paris, It it rather singular that Voltaire, Fonte- 
 
HIS FAMILY. 77 
 
 nelle, and our historian Gibbon, all of whom have 
 obtained great celebrity, and arrived at an ad- 
 vanced age, should have come into the world 
 feeble and sickly. 
 
 Voltaire's father was treasurer to the Chamber 
 of Accounts. His mother's maiden name was 
 Marguerite Daumant. They were both of good 
 families of Poitou. Some men of letters, subse- 
 quently jealous of his talents, or his birth, have 
 asserted that his father was of low extraction, and 
 employed in tending flocks ; and, that afterwards 
 coming to Paris, he was engaged as a porter to a 
 lawyer, from which office he subsequently rose to 
 that of conveyancer. This appears to have been 
 unfounded. Some of his ancestors had credit for 
 wit and poetical talents, as far back as the end of 
 the fifteenth century. And the two towns of 
 Loudon and Saint Leu, paid their rustic honours to 
 these favourites of the Muses. 
 
 Even as an infant, young Arouet attracted ad- 
 miration by the boldness of his genius, and the ori- 
 ginality of his remarks. The Abbe" de Chateau Neuf, 
 who was his godfather, had the charge of his edu- 
 cation. This man had, early in life, either from 
 
78 STRONG MEMORY, AND 
 
 thoughtlessness or ambition, assumed the ecclesi- 
 astical robe; but disappointed by the restraint, and 
 disgusted at the hypocrisy of his institution, he 
 preferred the enjoyment of liberty to the chance 
 of sacerdotal dignities, and resigned his fortune 
 with his gown. No one who forsakes the church, 
 looks back with complacency on its members ; 
 from enthusiasm to infidelity there is often but 
 one step, and perhaps the asperity of the Abbe s 
 remarks upon his own order, influenced the sati- 
 rical vein of his godson. The Abbe was fond of 
 his charge. Infancy is the period when kind- 
 ness makes the greatest impression ; and young 
 Arouet loved him like a father. Instructions from 
 those we love are most readily imbibed. Be- 
 fore he was three years old he could repeat most 
 of the Fables of La-Fontaine, and all the Moisade. 
 In the literary infancy of a great philosopher, the 
 biographer is seldom able to fix upon the subject 
 which gives the first turn to his genius ; but in 
 the boldness of this poem, and the originality of 
 its sentiments, may, perhaps, be traced the ori- 
 gin of the future incredulity and scepticism of Vol- 
 taire. Often confined to a sick bed, he was anxi- 
 
EARLY DISPLAY OF TALENT. 79 
 
 ously watched over by the Abbe ; and the empty 
 origin of the religious dogmas, and solemnities of 
 every country, were mutually discussed and dis- 
 puted. The opinions which are received as rules of 
 conduct when those we most love are no more, and 
 the prejudices which are ingrafted in our child- 
 hood, and preserved in spite of the means of con- 
 viction of after-life, furnished them with arguments 
 and conversation, which beguiled many a tedious 
 hour. The sick boy balanced in the infant scale 
 of his mental faculties, the scepticism of Epicurus 
 and the philosophy of Lucretius, contrasted with 
 the purer precepts of revealed religion. Like Pindar, 
 he is said to have lisped verses from his cradle ; 
 and an early competition with an elder brother, 
 whom he excelled, gave him a taste for, and prac- 
 tise in, their composition. In a letter to Madame 
 du Chatelet, written long afterwards, he observes 
 that, from early infancy, he was in the habit of re- 
 peating to himself the lines of Cicero, on the con- 
 solation and advantages of literary acquirement. 
 
 At the age of ten years he was sent to the 
 college of Louis le Grand. It was conducted by 
 the Jesuits, and was one of the best that Paris 
 afforded. They encouraged emulation among 
 
80 CONDUCT OF THE JESUITS. 
 
 their students, and the distribution of prizes re- 
 warded the successful efforts of competition. 
 This was the time at which the celebrity of the 
 order was at its greatest height, and the abuse of 
 their power alone proved the instrument of its des- 
 truction. If they had confined their views to the 
 instruction of the youth of the country to which 
 they belonged, or the sending of their emissaries 
 to China or Tonquin, their order might have 
 existed even at this moment. And our regret is 
 the greater, when we consider the talents of those 
 who composed it, and the ample means they had 
 of serving their country. The ambition and the 
 misconduct of the members caused the destruc- 
 tion of the body*. 
 
 Here, while the rest of the scholars were amus- 
 ing themselves with the childish sports that 
 accorded with their age, young Arouet used to 
 leave them to join the society of the Professors 
 Tournamine and Poree. By the latter of these 
 he was pronounced to be devoured by the desire 
 of celebrity, and to be destined, sooner or later, 
 
 * The dissolution of the Jesuits in France was principally 
 occasioned by a company of merchants of that order having 
 undertaken pecuniary engagements which they were unable to 
 fulfil 
 
GENIUS OF VOLTAIRE. 81 
 
 to be the apostle of Deism in France. The pre- 
 diction was verified by the success and tendency 
 of his maturer compositions. Happy in being 
 born to an independent fortune, he had not to 
 contend with misery through the lower ranks of 
 degraded merit, until he arrived at distinction ; 
 and the fire of his genius was never damped by 
 subserviency to the opinions of a patron. Bold 
 in his researches, and unfettered in his circum- 
 stances, he ranged the mazes of Literature ; and 
 that daring spirit which presumed to scan the 
 Divinity, beamed with a steady light. The 
 advantages which he derived from good so- 
 ciety refined the train of his ideas, and the 
 expression of his sentiments ; and among the 
 courtiers of Louis XIV. he acquired those graces 
 of delicate humour and easy expression, by which 
 his writings are so much distinguished. Most of 
 those who were his friends at college remained so 
 to his death; and almost all who imbibed his 
 opinions of religion early in life, retained them in 
 a more advanced age. Duvernet mentions, that 
 he has a profession of faith of one of the oldest of 
 his associates, which, before his death, was com- 
 
82 VOLTAIRE'S STUDIES. 
 
 mittecl to his charge, and seems to have been 
 purely deistical. 
 
 Two sorts of study, such as during the pre- 
 sent attachment to ancient learning, have been 
 ittle thought of as proper for the attention of stu- 
 dents, occupied many of bis hours, and much of his 
 meditation. Of this class were the history of the 
 great men then existing, and modern politics. 
 
 Perhaps these pursuits may be too much neg- 
 lected at public colleges. The virtues and ac- 
 tions of the dead are seldom brought before the 
 mind, except in the magnifying mirror of ancient 
 history : but the abilities, or failings, of contempo- 
 raries form a lesson, valuable from its contrast 
 with modern theories. Young Voltaire studied 
 these things with attention, and shewed himself 
 interested in the revolutions of persons in power. 
 He loved to learn what was passing in the state, 
 and to reason on the occurrences and political 
 events of the day ; and the ordinary subject of 
 his conversation was the consideration of the great 
 interests of Europe. After finishing his studies, 
 he, for the first time, saw the author of the 
 Molsade. It was the day of the distribution of 
 
HE IS INTRODUCED TO ROUSSEAU. 83 
 
 the prizes. Voltaire received several, and Rous- 
 seau expressed himself desirous of his acquaint- 
 ance. He was brought forward blushing with pride, 
 and elated by hope, and was presented to one 
 whose writings he had so long admired. There is 
 no period at which the contemplation of great abi- 
 lities strike more forcibly, than when beheld in 
 youth. Similarity of pursuit, with great disparity 
 of age, is rarely attended by that extreme jea- 
 lousy, which disturbs the brighter parts of reci- 
 procal intellectual enjoyment. It is under such 
 circumstances that the sight of a celebrated man 
 produces the earnest desire of imitation, unmixed 
 with envy. The contemplation of those, who are 
 eminently great, is more striking, or more beau- 
 tiful, when beheld at a distance ; for, in works 
 of nature, as in those of art, the brightest produc- 
 tions are best appreciated, when the whole is con- 
 sidered, without relation to its minuter parts ; and 
 posthumous celebrity, or antiquity, puts genius, 
 as well as beauty, beyond the venom of criticism. 
 On leaving college, Voltaire found his godfather, 
 the Abbe de Chateau Neuf, an inmate at home. 
 The abbe had been the last lover of Ninon de 
 
 G2 
 
84 NINON DE L'ENCLOS. 
 
 L'Enclos ; and had, at her request, composed a 
 treatise on the Music of the Ancients. He intro- 
 duced his godson to this beauty, who left him by 
 will her principles of religious independence, and 
 two thousand livres to buy books. She was at 
 this time in her 90th year, living in the Rue des 
 Tournelles, near the Bastille, at Paris. Those 
 who composed her society were called les Oiseaux 
 des Tournelles ; and the verses of Mr. Charleval, 
 on his admission, are worthy of recollection. 
 
 Je ne suis plus oiseau des champs, 
 Mais de ces oiseaux des Tournelles, 
 Qui sans choix de saisons nouvelles 
 Se parlent d'amour en tous temps, 
 Et qui plaignent les tourterelles 
 De ne se baiser qu* au printemps. 
 
 Being an only child, her mother had, from her 
 infancy intended to place her in a convent, but 
 her father, a man of the world, and addicted to 
 pleasure, interfered, and Ninon, who, at twelve 
 years old, had read all Montaigne, could not be 
 persuaded to spend much time over the Litany. 
 The death of both her parents soon afterwards 
 left her independent, and free in the pursuit of 
 what her inclinations prompted ; and, at the age 
 of fifteen, she preferred the gratification of her 
 
HER CONDUCT TO HER CHILDREN. 85 
 
 passions, and the sacrifice of her character, to the 
 restraints of a more pure connexion. Courted 
 for her fortune, her wit, and her beauty, she re- 
 jected many suitors, and determined to exercise 
 through life the liberty of loving, unbiassed and 
 unrestrained, the objects of her own choice. One 
 part of her domestic economy, however, deserves 
 the greatest praise. She sacrificed the pleasure 
 which a parent derives from the society of her 
 offspring to their welfare in life, and contrived 
 that her children should never be exposed to the 
 contempt of the world, or made acquainted with 
 the circumstance of their birth. She was aware 
 that the only refuge the virtue of a daughter has 
 from the indiscretion, or misconduct, of her mother, 
 is what forgetfulness may deduce from time- 
 She was also aware, that the conduct of a son in 
 after-life is more guided by the tender care of a 
 female parent, than the compulsive influence of a 
 father ; and that those can best estimate its bene 
 fits, whom misfortune has deprived of an oppor- 
 ounity of enjoying its advantages. 
 
 The commands of a father are like the sentences 
 of a judge, which are respected and feared; but 
 
86 NINON DE L'ENCLOS. 
 
 the appeal to the advice, or approbation, of a 
 mother is closely interwoven with her own happi- 
 ness, her own pride, and her son's confidence. 
 As Ninon advanced in life, she determined to pluck 
 the roses of pleasure, without its thorns. She con- 
 ceived it foolish to testify an exclusive attachment 
 to any single object, and sensuality assumed the 
 place of more fixed love, or platonic affection. 
 Sensible of the charms of virtue, though indif- 
 ferent to its support, she talked like Socrates, 
 while she acted like Lais ; and the dignity of her 
 demeanour in public, made her a favourite with 
 the most modest of her sex. So much confidence 
 was placed in her honour, that many of the nobi- 
 lity trusted her as their steward, and her abode 
 was always frequented by the learned and the 
 gay. She preserved her charms till within a few 
 years of her death, and was at this time in high 
 favour with the fashionable world, on account of 
 having refused an invitation to court from her old 
 friend Madame de Maintenon, on condition of 
 her becoming a devotee*. The French nobility 
 
 * The reader will find some more very interesting details 
 concerning Ninon de L'Enclos, in a French work, called Europe 
 Illustre. 4to edit. Art. Ninon. 
 
ROUSSEAU AND SAURIN. 87 
 
 were at that time characterized by ignorance, into- 
 lerance, and superstition. Absence from mass 
 was considered criminal in a courtier; and the 
 success of Marlborough and Eugene were attri- 
 buted to a judgment from heaven on the heresies 
 of the French general, who was in consequence 
 disgraced ; but the societies of Paris, in aversion 
 to the austerities of Versailles, carried their love 
 of pleasure even to licentiousness. 
 
 Voltaire's father wished him to make choice of a 
 profession, but he replied he only wished for ex- 
 istence as a man of letters. At this time the lite- 
 rary world were divided between Rousseau and 
 Saurin, the latter of whom had been imprisoned 
 for a libel attributed to the former. The testi- 
 mony of a witness, who avowed himself as having 
 been suborned, caused the banishment of Rousseau. 
 Voltaire seconded the zeal of his friends in a sub- 
 scription, and contributed, as much as lay in his 
 power, to the support of a person whom he con- 
 sidered as persecuted. About this time he was 
 himself celebrated as a man of wit. His society 
 was courted by all ranks, and one day, when at 
 table with the Prince of Conde, he observed, 
 
88 
 
 ANECDOTES 
 
 " We are here all Princes, or Poets ;" whence he 
 was called, in jest, " Le familier des Princes/ 
 When old Arouet saw his son in societies so much 
 beyond his rank and fortune, he was alarmed for 
 his welfare and his prudence ; and at the time he 
 thought him pursuing his intended profession of 
 the law, he found him writing a tragedy. A spirit 
 of revenge had also sometime before suggested a 
 small satire to him in verse, after the manner of 
 Rousseau. He had been a candidate for a prize 
 of the French academy. The theme proposed 
 was that of the decoration altar of Notre Dame, 
 by Louis XIV. ; and the first serious attempt in 
 verse of the author of the Pucelle was Devotion. 
 His exertions, however, were unsuccessful, and 
 the glory of the contest was assigned to the Abbe 
 du Jarri. The defeat cannot be regarded as de- 
 grading, when the ages of the two candidates are 
 considered. Young Arouet was in his sixteenth 
 year, and the Abbe in his sixty-fifth ; and the two 
 opening lines of the prize ode stamped the seal of 
 ridicule on the composition. Lamotte, who was 
 the judge, was more influenced by the years than 
 the merit of the two competitors. 
 
OF VOLTAIRE. 89 
 
 The satire which Arouet wrote, was entitled 
 " Le Bourbier," and brought him into sad dis 
 grace ; he was turned out of his father's house, 
 and the family dispute ended by the son being 
 banished to the Marquis de Chateauneuf, the 
 French Ambassador in Holland, whom he served 
 in the capacity of a page. (Lepan mentions two 
 anecdotes, or rather adventures, of the youthful 
 poet at this period). 
 
 Once a lady of fashion, whose verses he used 
 to correct, gave him a hundred Louis. As the 
 young man, delighted at having so large a sum of 
 money in his possession, was passing through the 
 street of Saint Denis, a carriage, with horses, and 
 appropriate liveries, was selling by auction ; he 
 made a bidding, and they all fell to his lot, by 
 which he was lightened of the burden of his money. 
 He then hired servants, put them into livery, and 
 in this style visited all his friends. Alas ! one 
 day of happiness ends like another. After having 
 dined in town, when he arrived at his father's 
 house he could find no place for his equipage. 
 He dismissed the coachman and servants, and 
 consulted with the porter of the house. They 
 
90 ANECDOTES 
 
 agreed to secure the carriage by a chain in the 
 street; and the two horses were put into the mas- 
 ter's stable, which was very small, and already 
 had one inhabitant. The rack became a cause of 
 dispute between the two intruders and the old 
 resident. The father of the family was awakened 
 by the noise at three o'clock in the morning, and 
 being informed of the cause, went up into his son's 
 room, and in a violent passion turned him out of 
 the house. The difficulty was how to dispose of 
 the coach and horses. The porter sent them to 
 Fleurot, his son, a boy of fifteen, who drove them 
 to a wheelwright's, where they were sold for half 
 their original cost. On another occasion the 
 young poet going home too late, found the door 
 shut. His father, tired with his late hours, and 
 perhaps ill-disposed towards him on account of his 
 works, (probably " Le Bourbier,") had ordered 
 the keys of the house to be deposited with him- 
 self, so that the porter could not admit his son. 
 Arouet had recourse to the seats which were in 
 the court-yard : as soon as he had lodged himself 
 he fell fast asleep. Two counsellors who arrived at 
 the house early in the morning, saw young Arouet 
 
OF VOLTAIRE. 91 
 
 in this situation, and determined to play him a 
 trick : they carried him to the coffee-house of 
 the Croix de Malte, on the Quai Neuf. When 
 he awoke, and found himself in the middle of 
 the room, exposed to the jests of those who 
 were at breakfast, his surprise and confusion may 
 be easily conceived. 
 
 Whilst with the Marquis of Chateauneuf, he 
 formed an attachment to the daughter of Madame 
 du Noyer, a woman who did not bear the most 
 respectable character. She conducted a scan- 
 dalous and libellous journal, which gained her a 
 subsistence, and only attracted notice for its im- 
 pudence. She had had two daughters by a former 
 marriage. The eldest was married to a Mr. de 
 Constantin. The younger was still unmarried, 
 and it was with her Voltaire formed his attach- 
 ment. The mother for some time favoured the 
 intimacy ; but at last, disapproving of it, she com- 
 plained to the ambassador, and the young poet, 
 having transgressed his orders, in again visiting 
 his mistress, was sent back to his parents. He 
 attempted to carry on an intercourse with her 
 through the means of male attire. The young lady 
 
92 LOVE AFFAIR. 
 
 consented to his wishes, and, if he enjoyed his 
 mistress, it was under the unnatural complexion 
 of another sex. 
 
 The mother, having obtained possession of his 
 letters, published her own folly and her daughter's 
 dishonour. In one of these, of which there are 
 fourteen, she mentions that the young poet had 
 gained great credit for the composition of satirical 
 verses, and that he was in repute as a wit. She 
 also quotes the satire upon Lamotte, and expresses 
 her fears for the consequences of his attack upon 
 a member of the academy, and a general favourite. 
 
 We do not perceive in the letters to his mis- 
 tress the strong feelings of passion which his sub- 
 sequent compositions or his tragedies display ; 
 for few can paint this sort of affection well who 
 are themselves strongly interested. Love must 
 be subdued before we can anatomize its workings, 
 as the light of day must be submitted to the crystal 
 before we can detect the colours of the rainbow. 
 Youth soon gets over disappointments of this na- 
 ture ; which, although more strongly felt at this 
 period of life than at any other, are short-lived in 
 proportion to their intensity. But, whilst he forgot 
 
FORBIDDEN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE. 93 
 
 his attachment, he did not hesitate to use every 
 art in his power to save an amiable young woman 
 from the influence of an intriguing mother. The 
 attempt at that time failed ; but he had the satis- 
 faction of being useful to her subsequently as the 
 Baroness of Vinterfeld. 
 
 Voltaire's father, finding him resolute in his 
 prosecution of poetical studies, forbad him the 
 house, and bound him as clerk to an attorney of 
 the name of Alain, in the rue Percee near the 
 Place Maubert. Here he formed an intimacy with 
 Thiriot, who continued his friend through life ; 
 and perhaps there is no circumstance which has 
 done so much honour to his character as this con- 
 nexion. A matrimonial alliance is generally formed 
 for mutual convenience : the pure passion of 
 love is debased by that of interest ; but sincere 
 friendship is a reciprocal interchange of benefits 
 unmixed with any sordid consideration of advan- 
 tage or requital. 
 
 M. Caumartin, a friend of the family, feeling 
 compassion for his son in his present irksome 
 situation, also cultivated his acquaintance. He 
 had been intimate with the most celebrated men 
 
94 THE HENRIADE. 
 
 under the reign of Louis XIV., and was extremely 
 fond of relating anecdotes concerning Henry IV. 
 and Sully. 
 
 Voltaire returned from his chateau of Saint 
 Ange, and was occupied with the project of 
 writing an epic poem, the hero of which should 
 be Henry IV., before (to use his own words) he 
 knew what an epic poem was. Thus, the house of 
 Saint Ange may be called the cradle of the Henriade. 
 The enthusiasm which Louis XIV. had excited 
 in France during forty years, had so accustomed 
 his subjects to think of none but himself, that 
 they had almost forgotten Henry IV. ; at least 
 they only thought of him in the hour of distress. 
 When a nation is in distress they regret the 
 loss of a good king; for the recollection of a 
 benefit is generally most lively when those on 
 whom it is conferred have the least power of re- 
 turn; and a friend is seldom so warm as when 
 he needs the assistance of another. 
 
 Rather before this time, Louis XIV. had ex- 
 pired, and a number of libels appeared, defama- 
 tory of the existing government : among the rest, 
 the verses of " Je les ai vu" which were attributed 
 
VOLTAIRE UNJUSTLY IMPRISONED. 95 
 
 to young Arouet. From the presumptive and in- 
 ternal evidence against him, he was imprisoned, 
 being then about two-and-twenty. The poem 
 ended with the following line : " I have been wit- 
 ness to all these evils and I am not twenty*. It 
 proved, however, to be the work of a bad writer 
 of the name of Le Brun, and is almost a literal 
 copy of what had been previously composed by 
 the Abb6 Regnier at the king's death. 
 
 This imprisonment lasted a year ; he ob- 
 serves in a letter to Mr. de Genouville : Hos 
 Lebrun versiculos fecit, tulit alter honores. His in- 
 nocence was at last asserted, and at his liberation 
 he was remunerated for the injustice and incon- 
 veniences he had experienced ; he observed to the 
 Regent " that he thanked him for having provided 
 him with food, but hoped he would not hereafter 
 trouble himself concerning his lodging." It was 
 in the Bastille that he corrected the tragedy of 
 (Edipus, which was, in part, composed and writ- 
 ten when he was in his nineteenth year. On 
 emerging from his imprisonment, he changed his 
 name to Voltaire. In a collection of letters, en- 
 
 * J'ai vu tout ces maux et je n'ai pas vingt ans. 
 
96 TRAGEDY OF (EDI PUS. 
 
 titled Juvenilia, there is one addressed to Made* 
 moiselle Dunoyer, the same person he had known 
 in Holland, which is signed " Voltaire/' and has 
 the following postscript : " Be not surprised, my 
 dear, at the change of my name, ; I have been so 
 unhappy with the other, that I wish to try a new 
 one." The tragedy of (Edipus was performed for 
 the first time towards the close of the year 1718; 
 the dedication is to Madame the wife of the Re- 
 gent ; Du Fresne, a celebrated actor of the same 
 age as the author, played the part of (Edipus, and 
 Mademoiselle Desmesnes was Jocasta. It was at 
 first unsuccessful, because the author had not in- 
 troduced the passion of love in so frightful a 
 story ; but he at last gave way to the prejudices 
 of the times, re-modelled it, and it was subse- 
 quently performed forty-five successive nights. 
 It was printed in the same year of its representa- 
 tion, and La Motte predicted the future greatness 
 of the rival of Racine and Corneille. The Abbe* 
 Chaulieu made a bad epigram on the occasion, 
 calling in question La Motte's poetry and his 
 judgment. The result, however, proved the con- 
 trary; and shews that the highest talents often 
 
COMPLIMENTED BY ROUSSEAU. 1)7 
 
 meet with the same repulses as insolent medio- 
 crity. The greatest difficulty the author must 
 have experienced in the composition of a tragedy, 
 which had been before treated of by Sophocles 
 and Corneille, and approved of in both, was the 
 want of novelty. He has the credit, however, of 
 having produced a master-piece ; and Rousseau, 
 who had not as yet considered him in the light of 
 an enemy, paid him the highest compliment. 
 " This young Frenchman," said he. " at the age 
 of twenty years, has borne the palm away from 
 the Greek poet of eighty." Great part of the 
 tragedy is borrowed from Sophocles, and is pro- 
 fessed to be written on the same plan. He ex- 
 cuses the plagiarisms from the example of Racine, 
 and quotes the saying of Moliere, when he stole 
 whole scenes from Cyrano de Bergerac ; that "the 
 writing was good and worthy of himself, and 
 therefore he had borrowed it." 
 
 As the life of Moliere is one of the most inte- 
 resting; as, in relation to so great a dramatist, 
 pronounced by Voltaire to be the best comic poet 
 that ever existed in any nation, and that of one 
 who, after the example of Corneille in tragedy, 
 
98 JEAN BAPTISTE POQUELIN. 
 
 had rescued comedy from chaos, we may be per- 
 mitted to make a digression in its favour. 
 
 Jean Baptiste Poquelin was born in 1620; his 
 family was ancient, and had served the king as 
 upholsterers. His grandfather was one of the few 
 who, by nature, loved the stage, and he often 
 took the little Poquelin to the Hotel Bourgogne, 
 where plays were performed, and whence the 
 genius of his grandson for dramatic compo- 
 sitions took its origin. When he was a few years 
 older, they sent him to the college of Aumont, in 
 order that he might be educated for the bar. 
 Here he contracted a friendship with Bernier, 
 who was subsequently famous for his voyages ; 
 Chapelle the poet ; and Cyrano de Bergerac, with 
 whose work he made so free. From Gassendi, 
 the Epicurean, he gained the habit of reasoning 
 with accuracy and method. He had not quite 
 finished his studies, when Louis XIII. died. The 
 taste for the theatre which had been introduced 
 by Cardinal Richelieu, was favoured by Anne of 
 Austria ; and, assuming the name of Moliere, he 
 placed himself at the head of one of the bands 
 of actors, known under the denomination of 
 
LIFE OF MOLIERE. 
 
 99 
 
 " L'illustre The&tre." During the disturbances 
 which ensued in France, Moliere was a tranquil, 
 though not indifferent, spectator; and from 
 the excesses which were then committed, he 
 gleaned much of his future knowledge in por- 
 traying the ridiculous in the human cha- 
 racter. 
 
 When, however, peace was established, he re- 
 commenced his performances, and attached him- 
 self to Madame Bejard, a good actress, with 
 whom he lived, and who came from Languedoc. 
 Her conduct, however, rendered him unhappy ; 
 he was always tormented with jealousy, owing 
 to the levity of conduct of his mistress ; and his 
 own experience is said to have furnished him 
 with colours to paint the broils of domestic life. 
 A mutual taste for the theatre, and a mutual 
 interest kept them together, and they went to 
 Lyons, where the husband performed in his first 
 piece of " L'Etourdi." The inhabitants of the 
 place had taste to appreciate, and candour enough 
 to reward his talents; and a rival theatre was 
 quickly abandoned. This play, although inferior 
 to those which succeeded, still shews great 
 
 H 3 
 
100 LITERARY PRODUCTIONS OF MOLIERE. 
 
 powers of natural and scenic dialogue, which he 
 afterwards carried to such perfection. 
 
 After having performed some time at Lyons, 
 he proceeded to Languedoc, where a general 
 meeting of the state was held. The Prince de 
 Conti, who had known Moliere at college, was 
 charged with the commission from the king; 
 before him was performed Depit Amoureux ; and 
 the effect it had was so great, that the prince 
 offered the author the place of private secretary. 
 Molire's engagements, however, prevented his 
 acceptation; and, after travelling about for some 
 time, he was finally brought to Paris, at the re- 
 quest of Louis XIV. He made his first appear- 
 ance in the hall of the guards in the old Louvre, 
 which had been decorated for the occasion. 
 Success attended him here, although he was 
 satirized by the comedians of the Hotel de Bour- 
 gogne, who had, till then, been in undisturbed 
 possession of the public favour ; the court took 
 his part, and Moliere soon convinced them they 
 were right in their decision. It was here he 
 produced his comedy, Des Facheux. About this 
 time his mistress, Madame Bejard, brought home 
 
ANECDOTE OF RAISIN. 101 
 
 a daughter she had had before her intimacy 
 with Moliere, by a gentleman of considerable 
 property of Auvergne. This young girl eventually 
 became his wife ; the love with which she in- 
 spired him, appears to have been the strongest 
 he ever felt ; and, several years afterwards, having 
 given him some strong grounds for complaint, and 
 it being observed to him that she was capricious, 
 he replied, " Yes, I admit it, but every thing be- 
 comes the fair, we suffer all things from the fair.'' 
 
 The Ecole des Femmes, published at this 
 time involved him in discussions with a host of 
 critics ; but, amidst the troubles of controversy, 
 he neglected no occasion that occurred of shewing 
 his goodness of heart to those in distress. On 
 one of these occasions, he discovered the talents 
 of Baron, whose abilities subsequently rendered 
 him so much service. 
 
 Raisin, an organist of Troyes, practised a sin- 
 gular method of procuring a livelihood. He car- 
 ried about a box which played different tunes at 
 the command of the exhibitor's voice. Louis XIV. 
 was desirous of seeing it, and Raisin was or- 
 dered to exhibit before the queen; she being 
 
102 RAISIN EMPLOYED BY MOLIERE. 
 
 terrified at so unaccountable a phenomenon, the 
 box was ordered to be opened, when, to the 
 surprise of all present, out walked a child only 
 five years old, and of a most prepossessing ap- 
 pearance. He was of course caressed by all the 
 courtiers; and, Raisin, profiting by the opportu- 
 nity, and pleading the chance of his being reduced 
 to poverty from the discovery of his secret, was 
 allowed to establish a theatre for boys ; this was 
 the first thing of the kind ever known in Paris. 
 Young Baron acted in this company, and evinced 
 great indications of future eminence. Moliere, 
 remarking his abilities, engaged him in his ser- 
 vice, and felt for him the most tender regard. 
 
 In 1664, his Tartufe was presented during 
 the time of a magnificent fete at Versailles ; but 
 the bigotry of the King was scandalized at the 
 exposure of the hypocrisy of a Catholic, and 
 the play was forbidden to be repeated. The 
 favours from the court, however, and the pub- 
 lication of the Misantrope, on which he founded 
 his reputation, consoled him for the failure of 
 the Tartufe, and for the disturbances which hap- 
 pened in his family. The difference of age be- 
 
DEATH OF MOLIERE. 103 
 
 tween himself and his wife gave rise to the 
 rumour of his marriage being incestuous ; but a 
 comparison of dates now sets this point at rest. He 
 did not know Madame Bejard till 1652, and mar- 
 ried her daughter in 1662. The Malade Imaginaire 
 was the last of Moliere's works ; it was composed 
 during the intervals of ease he experienced, whilst 
 labouring under a pulmonary complaint. At the 
 representation he burst a blood-vessel, while in the 
 act of pronouncing the word " Juro." He was 
 conveyed home, and expired on the 17th of Febru- 
 ary, in the year 1673, at the age of fifty-three years. 
 His friends, to the number of one hundred, foK 
 lowed his body to the tomb. Some opposition 
 was made to his interment ; his wife exclaimed : 
 " What ! do they deny the rights of sepulture to 
 one who, in Greece, would have merited altars*?" 
 But, alas ! ancient priests practised piety, the 
 moderns teach it ; a command from the King was 
 found necessary to gain permission for his inter- 
 ment in holy ground. Madame Moliere after- 
 wards married Guerin, an indifferent actor. 
 
 H Quoi Ton refuse la sepulture a celui qui dans la Grece 
 eut merite des autels." 
 
104 LITERARY SUCCESS OF MOLIERE. 
 
 * It is now time that I should return to the 
 subject of young Arouet. The candour of La- 
 motte in allowing the merit of (Edipus, will 
 ever be mentioned to his credit; for he was then 
 at the head of the republic of letters, and he had 
 reason to fear that he should soon see himself 
 surpassed. Jealousy may condemn with faint 
 praise, or a civil sneer, and few who dedicate 
 their lives to literature, can bear the praises of a 
 rival with indifference, or contempt. In this, as 
 in every other, pursuit, in which men most de- 
 light, they are most anxious to excel all others, 
 and can least bear the advances of a compe- 
 titor. The author of (Edipus had been hitherto 
 only known to the public as the author of some 
 light compositions in verse, so that few were 
 jealous of his abilities, or his fame ; but the suc- 
 cess of the tragedy gained him enemies, and the 
 two famous lines 
 
 " Nos pretres ne sont pas ce qu'un vain peuple pense, 
 Notre credulite fait toute leur science," 
 
 were the watch- word for a war, which even his 
 
 * See La Vie de Moliere precedant sea (Euvres, par Petitot. 
 
REMARKS ON THE JESUITS. 105 
 
 death could not extinguish, and which still rages 
 against the recollection, or approval, of his prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 If ever the deadliness of envy, or malice, en- 
 tirely occupied the human breast, its excess has 
 been found among the clergy ; and when their pri- 
 vate interests were concerned, they were as violent 
 against each other, as against the impious indivi- 
 dual who presumed to scan their mysteries ; and 
 priests, like women, are seldom satisfied but with 
 the extermination of the object of their hatred. They 
 feel the weakness of their cause, and dread a retort 
 whilst they strike the blow. The reputation of 
 the Jesuits gave them the united influence of 
 temporal and spiritual power ; as patrons of lite- 
 rature, their views were extended to the remotest 
 quarters of the globe ; and the common belief, 
 both among the laity and their own body, was 
 that Jesus Christ himself would conduct them 
 into Paradise, let their enormities be ever so ex- 
 travagant. The political influence of their institu- 
 tion was now, however, rather upon the decline ; 
 but there were still priests and fanaticism enough 
 in France to alarm the boldest writer. The lives 
 
106 DUPLICITY OF GIRARD. 
 
 of many of the followers of Christ were a scandal 
 to their order, and afforded good subjects for the 
 satirist, or the critic. The trial of Baptiste Girard, 
 for the seduction and supposed enchantment of 
 the novice Catherine Cadiere, as late as the year 
 1731, strikes the reader with horror and disgust at 
 the profligacy and ignorance of the parties. The 
 woman whom he had debauched, was persecuted 
 with all the bitterness of malice and religious zeal. 
 The duplicity of the Jesuit for some time protected 
 him against facts, which did not admit of pallia- 
 tion, and a subsequent absolution from the church 
 of Rome mitigated the final punishment due to his 
 crimes. A smile of scorn, or pity, nevertheless 
 must be forced from the religious, as well as from 
 those of more free opinions, when they read, 
 " That cautious as the Father Girard might be in 
 his advances, he was one day surprised in the act 
 of kissing his penitent across the grating of the 
 convent*." 
 
 A host of inferior authors, fearing that the world 
 
 of fashion should treat Voltaire with too much 
 
 * Quelque precaution que prit Gerard, il fut surpris un jour 
 me dormant un baiser a travers les grilles du couvent." 
 
REMARKS ON SATIRE. 107 
 
 equality, wrote libels on his birth, and the change 
 of his name ; and, when we find censure at- 
 tack parents, or a name, it must be on the rack 
 of invention. Among civilized nations, it is con- 
 sidered unjust and cruel to satirize in the child 
 the infirmities, follies, or misfortunes of the parent, 
 and such malignity seldom molests a man of lite- 
 rature, but from a conviction, that it can never 
 extinguish his personal fame. It proceeds gene- 
 rally from a hireling author, or from some little, 
 low, contemptible, and foolish man, of a bad dis- 
 position, with imaginary talents, who has neither 
 sufficient courage nor good-nature to suppress 
 the paltry venom of his own conceptions*. A 
 
 # The only proper use of satire is to expose vices and reform 
 abuses ; it may be given by the Muse, but must be guided by 
 the Gods ; and the great master of poetry has some excellent 
 sentiments, which all must approve, contained in the following- 
 verses : 
 
 Curst be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, 
 
 Which tends to make one worthy man my foe. 
 
 Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, 
 
 Or from the soft -eyed virgin steal a tear. 
 
 But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, 
 
 Insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress ; 
 
 Who has the vanity to call you friend, 
 
 Yet wants the honour injur'd to defend ; 
 
 Who 
 
108 REMARKS ON SATIRE. 
 
 libel is the natural offspring of a weak head and 
 corrupt heart, and is sometimes to be found still 
 emanating even from a christian teacher, or pro- 
 testant clergyman of the present century. 
 
 High birth, unattended by riches, or by talents, 
 much as it may adorn a drawing-room, or add to 
 the splendour of a court, and conduce to the good 
 reception of the possessor among persons of 
 the same rank, attracts little notice and little envy 
 from others ; but money, or wit, pays heavier 
 tribute to censure, than the social qualities of the 
 owner, whoever he may be, can redeem. 1 1 He 
 who occupies a situation independent of the world, 
 is regarded with distrust both by his superiors 
 and inferiors ; they hate, because they envy him ; 
 and the lips that flatter his foibles, proclaim to 
 the world the follies of his unguarded confidence. 
 Eminence of every description has this cup of 
 
 Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, 
 And, if he lie not, must at least betray. 
 Who reads but with a lust to misapply, 
 Makes Satire a lampoon, and Fiction lie. 
 
 A lash like mine no honest man shall dread, 
 But all such babbling blockheads in his stead. 
 
 Pope's Prologue to the Imitations of Horace. 
 
REMARKS ON SATIRE. 109 
 
 bitterness ; history relates tha the head of Jesus 
 was crowned with thorns. Yet, while we bow to 
 the rod of fate, we must hesitate to what divinity 
 to ascribe the attributes of our existence. The 
 fire of youth, like the freedom of an impetuous 
 horse, may spring indignant from the spur of in- 
 justice ; even that is less felt the longer we live, 
 and the more it is used ; and, at last, we fall into 
 a quiet and indifferent scepticism as to what 
 others say, or feel, or think. The clergy may 
 boast that insensibility is the precious fruit of 
 piety and devotion, the unprotected can tell 
 envy, malice, and persecution, to be evils incident 
 to humanity. 
 
no 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 During the applauses and criticisms to which 
 (Edipus gave rise, a still more violent disturbance 
 was occasioned in Paris by the appearance of an 
 outrageous libel on the Regent, entitled, " Les 
 Philippiques," and which was attributed to the 
 same pen. The trifling reputation of La Grange 
 Chancel, the real author, hindered all suspicion 
 from falling in the right quarter; and the 
 youthful composer of (Edipus was obliged to 
 bear the undivided weight of a storm, which at 
 first threatened to prove his destruction. Its 
 violence, however, by degrees, subsided. An at- 
 tack upon one high in office is seldom attended 
 with so much danger as that on a private indi- 
 vidual ; and the Regent mitigated the punishment 
 of perpetual imprisonment, to the milder penalty 
 of banishment from Paris, with a choice of free 
 residence elsewhere. Many persons offered an 
 
RECALL OF VOLTAIRE. Ill 
 
 asylum to one who had already acquired so much 
 celebrity from the persecutions he had undergone, 
 and the Chateau of Sully was fixed upon for his 
 residence, having the combined advantages of an 
 extensive library, and of being the resort of the 
 highest ranks in society ; he was also at that time 
 engaged in the Henriade, of which Maximilian de 
 Bethune was one of the principal characters, to 
 whose family the house belonged. This work he 
 was pressed to finish ; but the success of (Edipus, 
 and his love for Melpomene, had intoxicated him, 
 and he wished to re-appear at Paris with a new 
 tragedy. In the midst of dissipation, occasional 
 study, and the enjoyments of love, he produced 
 Artemira, which was first represented in the 
 year 1720. This tragedy is in plot the same as 
 Mariamne, and formed evidently on the model of 
 Racine. A mistress of Voltaire's played the part 
 of Artemira. It had little success at the time; 
 but procured the recall of the author to Paris, from 
 whence he had been banished. On his return, he, 
 no doubt, experienced the pleasure which an exile 
 feels in again visiting his native country which he 
 loves ; but this enjoyment was only of short con- 
 tinuance. The death of M. de Genonville, one of 
 
112 LIFE OF RICHELIEU. 
 
 his most intimate friends, plunged him into the 
 deepest distress. He was a member of the Par- 
 liament of Paris, possessed of talents which pro- 
 mised much, and a character for friendship which 
 is rarely equalled. An acquaintance with a man 
 of this description is valuable, his friendship ines- 
 timable ; and a person who has in exile and dis- 
 grace experienced the advice and assistance of 
 such a man, will lament, with more than common 
 grief, a loss he never can expect to replace. The 
 intimacy of Voltaire with the enemies of the Re- 
 gent, the Duke de Richelieu, and the Baron of 
 Goertz, caused him to be regarded with a suspi- 
 cious eye. Indeed, it was through this connexion 
 that the libel of Les Philippiques was laid to his 
 charge. 
 
 Louis Duplessis, Duke of Richelieu, was born 
 at Paris in 1696. His brilliant qualities and 
 his vices shewed themselves in his infancy ; and, 
 before the age of one-and-twenty, he had been 
 twice in the Bastille, on account of his gallantry, 
 and a conspiracy against the government. His 
 successes with women, a duel attended with pub- 
 licity, and good fortune in war, conspired to ren- 
 der him an object of emulation with his contem- 
 
THE DUKE OF FRONSAC. 
 
 113 
 
 poraries ; but he does not appear to have possessed 
 much generosity of character, and the gratifica- 
 tion of vanity was the reward he looked to for his 
 labours ; a reward which generally perverts every 
 action and every sentiment. When he first ap- 
 peared at court, he bore the name of the Duke of 
 Fronsac, and it is thus that Madame de Maintenon 
 speaks of him, in a letter to his father, at his en- 
 trance into life : i{ I am delighted, my dear duke, 
 to have to tell you, that the Duke of Fronsac suc- 
 ceeds very well at Marly. Never has a young 
 man entered the world with more advantage ; he 
 pleases the king and the whole court; every 
 thing that he does, he does well ; he dances 
 gracefully, and plays decently, he is an admira- 
 ble horseman, he is polite, he is neither bashful 
 nor presuming, but he is respectful; he jests, and 
 his conversation is excellent ; in short, he is want- 
 ing in no good quality. The Duchess of Bur- 
 gundy pays great attention to your son*." 
 
 " * Je suis ravie, mon cher due, d'avoir a vous dire que M. le 
 Due de Fronsac reussit tres-bien a Marly. Jamais jeune 
 homme n'est entre plus agreablement dans le monde ; il plait au 
 roi et a toute la cour ; il fait bien tout ce qu'il fait ; il danse tres- 
 bien, il joue honnetement ; il est a cheval a merveille ; il est poli, 
 
 1 
 
114 
 
 BARON DE GOERTZ. 
 
 He was at this time two-and-twenty years of 
 age, younger than Voltaire, but a friend of his, and 
 one for whom he afterwards shewed as much re- 
 gard as the selfish nature of his disposition would 
 admit. 
 
 The Baron de Goertz was prime-minister of 
 Charles XII. ; the wars in which that king was 
 engaged so drained the finances of his country, that 
 the minister was obliged to augment the copper 
 currency of the kingdom, and to bear the whole 
 weight of the resentment of a people, who did 
 not dare openly to express the hatred they bore 
 their monarch. A tax, which he was desirous 
 of levying on the church, contributed to render him 
 still more odious. The clergy, who too often iden- 
 tified their own cause with that of religion, publicly 
 accused him of Atheism, because he wanted 
 to lay them under contributions. The new pieces 
 had the stamp of some heathen divinities ; they 
 took occasion to call them the gods of the Baron 
 de Goertz. He was a man of talent and character, 
 
 il n'est point timide, ni hardi ; mais il est respectueux, ilraille, 
 il est de tres-bonne conversation ; enfin rien ne lui manque . 
 Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne a une grande attention 
 pour Monsieur votre fils." 
 
MARCHIONESS OF VILLARS. 115 
 
 which bore some resemblance to that of Cardinal 
 Alberoni, with whom he had formerly planned the 
 overthrow of all Europe. Part of the scheme, it 
 has been said, was intrusted to his associate. 
 
 Once, when Voltaire was holding up the train 
 of the high-priest during the representation of 
 (Edipus, the Marchioness of Villars inquired who 
 he was, and on being informed he was the au- 
 thor, she was introduced to him. Having ob- 
 tained permission to visit at her house, he con- 
 ceived a passion for her, and this appears to have 
 been one of the most durable he ever felt ; indeed 
 he never spoke of it but with sentiments of 
 the greatest remorse, and for some time it pre- 
 vented his application to literary studies; the pro- 
 secution of which had become necessary to his 
 happiness*. On his return from his house at 
 
 * This anecdote I have taken as related by Condorcet, though 
 some, who acquiesce in the sentiments of the Wife of Bath, wil 
 hesitate in their belief when they read 
 
 " Love rarely haunts the breast where learning lies, 
 And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise ; 
 Those play the scholars who can't play the men, 
 And use that weapon which is left- their pen." 
 
 On this subject, as well as some others of equal delicacy, the 
 ladies must be allowed the sovereign right of decision. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 rousseau's criticism. 
 
 Vauvillars, he lodged at the house of the President 
 de Berniere, who had been intimate with Mr. de 
 Genonville, his deceased friend. It was at this 
 time, that Madame de Rupelmonde, the daughter 
 of the Marshal d'Albyre, had proposed to him 
 the excursion into Holland. 
 
 At Brussels he met Jean Baptiste Rousseau, 
 with whom he was desirous of conversing, and 
 whose works he admired. The two authors 
 consulted each other regarding their respective 
 compositions. Voltaire's Epistle to Urania was 
 written at this time, and submitted to the criti- 
 cism of Rousseau, who pretended to be dis- 
 gusted with its impiety. The authors met 
 friends, but parted irreconcilable enemies; Rous- 
 seau poured forth a torrent of abuse against Vol- 
 taire, which lasted for fifteen years ; but his 
 patience was at last tired ; forbearance is apt to 
 be fatigued by exercise; and when we read of the 
 severity with which he treated one who had be- 
 come an object of pity, even with his rivals, we 
 cannot help observing, with regret, that, among 
 human creatures, incapability of retort, often ag- 
 gravates the malice of the oppressor. 
 
I 
 
 EPISTLE TO URANIA. 117 
 
 Rousseau's disavowal on his death-bed of the 
 infamous couplets attributed to him, and which 
 were the cause of his banishment, finally persuaded 
 those of his innocence whose hearts had been long 
 touched by his misfortunes. His talents, for some 
 time, struggled against his disgrace ; but the long 
 continuance of his exile distorted his imagination, 
 and, although he was one of those who had encou- 
 raged the rising talents of Voltaire, he could not 
 support the blaze of his elevated glory. Another 
 aggravation of the quarrel, is also said to have 
 arisen, from Voltaire telling his friend, that his Ode 
 to Posterity would never reach its destination. 
 The Epistle to Urania was not published till 
 1736. The persecutions of the time rendered 
 subterfuge necessary ; the author was obliged to 
 disavow his work, and attribute it to the Abbe 
 Chaulieu. 
 
 This species of concealment may be allowed in 
 literary compositions, and could not have the 
 tendency of hurting the Abbess character as a 
 Christian and a scholar ; and I cannot help agree- 
 ing with Condorcet in this opinion, though I 
 should not be disposed to acquiesce in the other 
 so strongly reprobated by Mr. Lepan that those 
 
118 
 
 CRUELTY OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 vices which caused the destruction of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah are only reckoned criminal from the 
 influence of superstition*. 
 
 The clergy were,, and always have been, more 
 eager for the temporal punishment of a heretic 
 than his eternal damnation. Those who discussed 
 the opinions which they maintained, and were alone 
 supposed able to defend them, were persecuted 
 with all the bitterness of insatiable malice and 
 perverted zeal ; and thus the pure stream of unity 
 and brotherly love which springs from the Gospel, 
 like the waters from a high mountain, whose head 
 is concealed by clouds, becomes disturbed and con- 
 taminated in its course through the human heart. 
 It is rather singular, that, among those men, the 
 practice of moderation should fall so far short of 
 the precept, and that they should be so desirous 
 of mingling together divine and human things, a 
 practice from which every good Christian ought 
 to abstain. 
 
 On Voltaire's return from Holland, the abode 
 which he fixed on was at Maisons, situated upon the 
 banks of the Seine and the forest of St. Germain. 
 It had been built by Mansard, subsequently a 
 
 * Preface Jo the Life of Voltaire, p. 10, 8vo., 1817. Paris. 
 
 
THE PADLOCK. 119 
 
 famous architect, who, when only a simple mason, 
 had shewn indications of genius. It belonged to 
 the President Desmaisons. 
 
 Before he had long resided there, he was at- 
 tacked by the small-pox. Mademoiselle Couv- 
 reur, a celebrated actress, was going to read the 
 tragedy of Marianne when the first symptoms of 
 the disease appeared. She attended her sick 
 patient with the fondest assiduity and attention, 
 until an express which was sent for his friend 
 Thiriot had returned. The complaint was rather 
 obstinate, but at last gave way to the combined 
 powers of emetics and lemonade ; and in about 
 a month, Voltaire returned, in a feeble state, to 
 Paris. 
 
 He had hardly entered the carriage and set out 
 on his journey, when a violent fire broke out, and 
 burnt down a wing of the house he had quitted, 
 and the apartments he had so lately occupied. 
 
 On his recovery, he published The Padlock*, 
 which had been written when he was in his two- 
 and-twentieth year. It was composed on the oc- 
 casion of the love he bore to a married lady, 
 
 Le Cadenas. 
 
120 
 
 TRAGEDY OF MARIAMNE. 
 
 whose husband had taken the strange precaution 
 of securing her honour and his own credit by this 
 invention, a custom much approved of in Spain, 
 where the heat of the climate is reported to have 
 such an influence on the constitution as to cause 
 a fainting fit in an Iberian beauty, even from the 
 glance of a stranger passing before her window. 
 
 On his return to Paris, Voltaire wished to heal 
 the wounds of self-love which the failure of Arte- 
 mira had inflicted ; and, in ] 724, Mariamne was 
 acted for the first time. 
 
 Like (Edipus, it was obliged to undergo some 
 alterations before it suited the public taste, and 
 was then played for forty nights successively. 
 The story and plot are much the same as what 
 we collect from history. Mariamne, the wife of 
 Herod, is beheaded by his orders. This is the 
 same Herod whom Josephus mentions as ordering 
 some of the most illustrious of his subjects to be 
 executed at the moment of his decease, in order 
 that all Judea might be in tears on the day of 
 his death, a new and rather an artificial mode of 
 exciting sorrow. The same sanguinary character 
 is preserved on the stage; and the tragedy is 
 
THE HENRIADE, PRINTED IN LONDON. 121 
 
 much on the same plan with Artemira ; but the 
 plot is more simple and the poetry more beautiful. 
 
 Rousseau, jealous of its success, wrote from 
 Brussels that it was literary plagiarism ; and, in 
 a spirit of opposition, dressed up the Mariamne of 
 Tristan a-fresh ; but it could not be acted by the 
 players nor sold by the booksellers. 
 
 About this time, the public was in expectation 
 of the Henriade. Before it was put to press, the 
 author submitted it to the examination of some 
 of his literary friends, among whom was the Pre- 
 sident Hainault. Each judge found some fault; 
 and Voltaire, seeing the impossibility of altering 
 the passages without destroying its most material 
 beauties, and enraged at their observations, in a 
 moment of anger threw it into the fire, from which 
 it was rescued by the president. Rather before 
 the publication of Mariamne, however, its first 
 edition appeared under the title of The Poem of 
 the League. It was printed in London ; but the 
 author had not sufficient time at his disposal to 
 dedicate to the completion of the work, and it 
 was therefore full of omissions and errors. The 
 Abbe Desfontaines soon after published some 
 
122 l'abbe' des fontanes. 
 
 copies, in which he supplied the deficiencies with 
 his own poetry, which, however, had only the 
 effect of making himself ridiculous, and enraging 
 the author. Thiriot, who interfered, made up the 
 quarrel, and a short peace took place. When, a 
 few days after, however, the Abbe was seized and 
 confined in the Bicetre, for a crime which then 
 endangered his life, Voltaire, through the interest 
 of the Marquis de Prie, procured his release ; and 
 the late prisoner, in the grateful feelings of safety, 
 wrote him a letter beginning with the words, " I 
 owe you my liberty and life ;?? which was, how- 
 ever, succeeded by a libel on his late benefactor. 
 Thiriot saw it and threw it into the fire. The 
 Abbe immediately joined Rousseau in tormenting 
 the person to whom he owed such obligations; 
 for gratitude is a weaker passion than envy. 
 
 The small comedy of rindiscret, notwithstand- 
 ing its success, added but little to the author's 
 glory ; and one of those adventures, which rarely 
 occur in polished society, forced him into a pro- 
 found retreat. Voltaire made it his study, and 
 considered it as desirable, to be intimate with 
 those high in rank, and of fortune superior to his 
 
THE CPIEVALIER DE ROHAN. 123 
 
 own; and it is rarely that the company of the 
 rich and the powerful does not exact its share 
 of danger, or dependance; the truth of which 
 assertion is shown by the effects which he ex- 
 perienced from it. Either by the publication 
 of some verses, or a witty repartee, he had 
 given offence to the Chevalier de Rohan, who 
 caused him to be publicly caned, by his ser- 
 vants, at the door of the Duke de Sully's house, 
 where he was engaged to dinner. 
 
 The Chevalier de Rohan, here mentioned, had 
 neither in his character, or sentiments, any of 
 those qualities which formerly had distinguished 
 his illustrious house. His character was stained 
 with the imputation of cowardice and usurious 
 practices ; and some libellous verses were made on 
 his marriage*. A couplet, or a wager, cannot be 
 considered as proofs of a fact, or a probability ; 
 but they, nevertheless, shew the opinions of the 
 
 * Sans offenser votre sagesse, 
 Vous le pouvez belle Comtesse 
 Faire cocu ce vieux fripon ; 
 Votre propre honneur l'ordonne, 
 II ne vous ferait qu'un poltron 
 Couchez avec un honn&te homme. 
 
124 VOLTAIRE SENT TO THE BASTILLE. 
 
 times. A woman's dignity, too, is often selfish ; 
 and some marry a rich husband, whom they 
 despise, to intrigue with a less-endowed lover*. 
 
 The author of the Henriade wished to wipe 
 away this stain on his honour with the blood 
 of his enemy, and solicited the Duke de Sully's 
 protection and advice. The verses beginning 
 with " Sans avoir Vart de feindre" and addressed 
 to the Marquise de Prie, the duke's mistress, 
 made her turn a deaf ear to his solicitations. 
 He retired into the country, and after having 
 taken some lessons from a fencing-master, de- 
 manded satisfaction from the chevalier. De 
 Rohan took no further notice of the matter, or 
 his challenge, than by procuring his confine- 
 ment in the Bastille for six months. Perhaps 
 the secret and hidden malice of the human heart, 
 which exists in every breast, hindered the Duke 
 de Sully from interesting himself in the cause 
 of a friend, because he was a rival. 
 
 * The lines of Pope, on Sir Balaam's Daughter, are not in- 
 applicable 
 
 " His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife ; 
 She bears a coronet and pox for life." 
 
POPE AND VOLTAIRE. 125 
 
 /"At the expiration of the term of his imprison- 
 ment, Voltaire found that his friends had deserted 
 him, and that his honour had suffered ; and, being- 
 unable to rouse the justice of the government 
 of France, he forsook his native country and 
 revenge, for England and republicanism. Here, 
 like Alcibiades among the Spartans, he admired 
 every thing, and studied every thing ; he traced 
 and investigated the proximate and the remote 
 causes of the liberty of the nation, and compared 
 it with the different constitution and pompous 
 slavery of France. He applied to philosophy 
 and the arts, and respected the opinions, while 
 he admired the freedom of religious disquisitions 
 which the English enjoy. Pope, generally al- 
 lowed to be the greatest poet and genius that 
 has appeared in this country, from the time in 
 which he lived to the present day, was one with 
 whom Voltaire made his first acquaintance. At 
 the outset, however, their interviews were very 
 much embarrassed. Pope expressed himself 
 with the greatest difficulty in French; and the 
 other, who was but little acquainted with the 
 peculiarities of the English language, could not 
 
126 THE ENGLISH HENRIADE. 
 
 make himself understood ; he accordingly retired 
 to a neighbouring village, and did not return to 
 London until he had acquired the requisite fa- 
 cility of expression*. He then entered into the 
 society of the learned and the gay ; attained the 
 power of composition in the language of the 
 people among whom he lived, and neglected 
 nothing that might hereafter be useful to his 
 own country. In the year 1726, he published 
 a genuine edition of the Henriade, in quarto, in 
 London, with a flattering dedication to the queen. 
 It was published by subscription. 
 
 Thiriot, who had the charge of the English 
 contributions in Paris, had already received 
 twenty-four; when, on a day of the Feast of Pente- 
 cost, and while he was at prayers in a church, 
 some thieves stole the money. 1 he subscribers, 
 
 * Dr. Johnson's account of their intimacy is, however, dif- 
 ferent ; he says that, " he had been entertained by Pope at his 
 table, where he talked with so much grossness, that Mr. Pope 
 was driven from the room. Pope discovered by a trial, that 
 he was a spy from the court, and never considered him as a 
 man worthy of any confidence." Life of Pope. 
 
 This faint deception and ill-conduct is not noticed by any 
 other biographer ; and the high character of Dr. Johnson for 
 veracity alone induces me to give it its present place. 
 
THE HENRIADE. 127 
 
 however, lost nothing in consequence of this mis- 
 fortune. The conditions of the work were ful- 
 filled, and Voltaire wrote to his friend, that this 
 accident would perhaps incline him not to attend 
 mass, but that it would never prevent his 
 loving him, and feeling gratitude for his friend- 
 ship. The poem describes the civil wars of 
 France, during part of the sixteenth century ; the 
 massacre of Saint Bartholomew ; the death of 
 Charles IX. and Henry III., and the leaders of 
 the different factions of the League ; and con- 
 cludes with the triumphant entry of Henry IV. 
 into Paris. 
 
 The first edition of this work, so favourable to 
 toleration, appeared just as the Duke de Bourbon 
 had renewed the fatal edict of Louis XIV. against 
 the Protestants. It was the first true epic poem 
 that had ever been written in France. The style 
 and moral are admirable ; and the incidents and 
 plots natural ; none of the sentiments, or cha- 
 racters, are overdrawn, or too highly coloured ; 
 and when the supernatural agency of spirit is 
 introduced, it is always done with the greatest 
 appearance of simplicity. Though the poet may 
 
128 THE IIENRIADE. 
 
 have copied the great masters of antiquity, yet 
 the imitation, according to the opinion of the 
 King of Prussia, maintains the spirit of ori- 
 ginality ; and the seventh canto of the Henriade 
 may hold an equal place with the descent of 
 Ulysses to the infernal regions. A spirit of 
 tolerance for religious opinions is every where 
 inculcated, and the work is worthy of being 
 dedicated to the queen of the English nation. 
 The description of England, during the reign of 
 Elizabeth, cannot fail of being interesting to the 
 British reader, or the admirers of fine poetry, 
 although his countrymen occasionally object to 
 the monotony of the verses. 
 
 Though this poem was not condemned, yet the 
 author could not obtain permission to have it printed 
 in France; and when some private copies were cir- 
 culated in Paris, the clergy wished to seize them, 
 and were desirous of passing an ecclesiastical cen- 
 sure upon the work itself, as containing the errors 
 of the Semi-Pelagians. At court, it was said, that 
 no one could publish a work, complimentary to the 
 Admiral de Coligny, without being an utterer of 
 sedition ; but, in spite of all this opposition, the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF BOLINGBROKR 129 
 
 Henriade had the greatest success, and has been 
 translated into many of the modern languages. 
 It has also attracted more notice, and been more 
 criticised than any of the other works of the au- 
 thor ; for his enemies were always on the alert ; 
 and private animosities, in this case as in most 
 others, guided the judgment pronounced. The 
 opinion of an anonymous writer on the compo- 
 sitions of another, affords an ample and secure 
 opportunity of exercising private malice ; and a 
 traitorous hand may stab unseen, and undetected, 
 to the heart of a benefactor. 
 
 Voltaire, determined to propagate the prin- 
 ciples he had acquired in England, and to weaken 
 the fanaticism of the catholics, by the dissemina- 
 tion of the philosophy of Bolingbroke among his 
 own countrymen. His ideas do not, however, 
 seem to have suggested, or approved of, a 
 political revolution ; and, though smarting under 
 his late grievances, and admiring a free govern- 
 ment, he only combated those prejudices which 
 seemed to him to be the most frequent causes of 
 the effusion of human blood. Perceiving the 
 slight effect, which religious discussions had, 
 
130 MONTESQUIEU. 
 
 either on the morals, or the conduct of the 
 English people, he thought that the same freedom 
 might be introduced into France without any 
 more serious detriment. He did not, however, 
 reflect, that a nation of Catholics, in whom 
 bigotry is blended with a sense of duty, can never 
 be converted ; and that, if the authority of Saint 
 Peter, that link of their persuasion, which unites 
 heaven and earth, is once questioned, or cancelled, 
 their religion falls to the ground. The French 
 revolution shews what papists are without re- 
 ligion, and without a leader. 
 
 Liberal subscriptions among the English enabled 
 Voltaire to live in a manner worthy of his cha- 
 racter. About the same time, Montesquieu 
 visited this country, in order to observe its 
 manners and its laws, and this coincidence 
 opened a new communication between the two 
 rival nations. In the preceding century, 
 Charles II. had, by his example, induced us, in 
 some measure, to adopt the arts and manners of 
 France ; and the literature of Louis XIV. was 
 a model for that of England. France, in- 
 deed, had only borrowed some discoveries in 
 
LOCKE, NEWTON, &C. 131 
 
 mathematics from their neighbours, and Voltaire 
 and Montesquieu were the first who recom- 
 mended to their countrymen the study and imi- 
 tation of their rivals. Locke and Newton were 
 now no more ; but their spirit was infused into 
 their successors, and the philosophy of Shaftes- 
 bury, embellished by the versification of Pope, 
 and commented on by Bolingbroke, had given 
 rise to a spirit of Deism. This, however, was 
 counterbalanced by the mild and pacific morality, 
 equally exempt from intolerance and supersti- 
 tion which was found in the pages of the Spec- 
 tator and the Guardian; and Swift, who could so 
 well combine the powers of sarcasm with logic, 
 had only directed the venom of his arrows against 
 the catholics. The attacks of Wollaston, Collins, 
 and Tyndal, against revelation, were slowly pro- 
 pagated, for the English, attached to their com- 
 mercial, or political interests, were neither changed 
 nor frightened by the disputes of the philoso- 
 phers; every thing followed its usual course; 
 the clergy had not occasion to apply to the 
 magistracy for support in the exercise of their 
 authority ; and the Deists caused less disturbance 
 
132 Voltaire's return to paris. 
 
 in this country than the peaceful but eccentric 
 Quakers. 
 
 After a residence of three years in England, the 
 voice of friendship, or perhaps of the minister, 
 recalled Voltaire to Paris. He yielded to its 
 entreaties, and more especially to that natural 
 and spontaneous instinct which always recalls us 
 with pleasure to the place of our birth, and which 
 has its charms in spite of whatever injustice, or 
 inconveniences, we may have there experienced. 
 The theorist may speculate in his closet, or the 
 politician may devise schemes for the more per- 
 fect government of the kingdom from which he 
 is an exile ; but the heart of the father and the 
 friend will overflow at the mention of the welfare 
 of that land, in which he spent the earlier part 
 of a life, which may have been subsequently 
 varied by good, or evil : where he first estimated 
 the blessings of those to whom he looked up with 
 gratitude and with awe, before he could compre- 
 hend the attributes of a superior Being, and to 
 those early recollections which promised bright 
 days of future happiness with those who have 
 been subsequently separated by distance, or by 
 death. 
 
HIS LIFE OF CHARLES XII. 133 
 
 Before Voltaire quitted England, he published 
 two essays, one upon our civil wars, and another 
 on epic poetry; these two works were in 
 English ; and if he owed homage to a nation, by 
 whom he had been received in the most favour- 
 able manner, and where he had enjoyed the 
 liberty of writing and speaking with entire 
 freedom, it must be allowed, that he has ex- 
 pressed it in a manner which a native would not 
 consider the most complimentary. On his return 
 to Paris he found it distracted by leaders of 
 factions, intrigues, and every kind of unjustifiable 
 proceedings. The clergy, as is generally the 
 case on such occasions, contributed as much as 
 they were able, to foment these disturbances. 
 He accordingly retired to the faubourg Saint 
 Marceau, where he lived in the most complete 
 seclusion, and was occupied on the Life of 
 Charles XII. , a work which has been considered 
 by some as a master-piece of history, and by 
 others, with the testimony of Madame de Genlis 
 at their head, as a mere romance, When it first 
 appeared it passed through twenty editions in 
 the space of a. year. Voltaire was new in the 
 
134 TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS. 
 
 enjoyment of free and unembarrassed circum- 
 stances. Few things add so much to the enjoy- 
 ment of literary fame, or the prosecution of lite- 
 rary acquirements, as independence. He owed 
 his, principally to the London edition of the 
 Henriade ; to fortunate speculations in the public 
 funds ; and, to the death of his father. The last, 
 though not the most amiable, yet the most secret 
 and sincere, wish of an expectant son. 
 
 Although m Plutus had conspired with Mer- 
 cury," to enrich him, yet his easy circumstances, 
 never diverted him from the advancement of his 
 fame, or his compositions. The tragedy of 
 Brutus was the first-fruit and offspring of his 
 journey into England, and the attention he had 
 paid to the English Constitution. It was repre- 
 sented in 1736. 
 
 It is a strange circumstance, that a tragedy 
 which has been generally read, much admired, 
 and translated into many different languages, 
 should have been only performed six times, and 
 not much applauded by the audience. The minds 
 of the French were indifferent to bold expressions 
 of freedom ; to touch their hearts, it was neces- 
 
M0LIERE AND RACINE. 135 
 
 sary to flatter the national vanity ; the sentiments 
 of republicanism, and those occurrences on the 
 stage which note its blessings and its existence, 
 and which, among an English audience, excite 
 the passions of pity, or of horror, fell unheeded 
 and unnoticed by Parisian hearers ; indeed, 
 they were generally turned into ridicule by the 
 spectators ; they never could bear the least ap- 
 proximation to the lofty, irregular, and, some- 
 times inconsistent, imagination of Shakspeare ; 
 and whatever was contrary to their customs they 
 treated with disdain. 
 
 The fastidiousness of their taste required the 
 greatest harmony of expression and action ; and 
 the sentiments and acclamations of the hero on 
 the stage were obliged to keep pace with the feel- 
 ings of the audience. On our theatre, the ghost 
 of Banquo, and the witches, do not diminish the 
 interest or magnificence of the tragedy of Mac- 
 beth ; but these imaginary characters would have 
 alarmed the ladies, and frightened the gentlemen, 
 on a foreign stage. Moliere introduced good 
 comedy to a country where it had hitherto been 
 unknown. Racine taught his hearers the art of 
 
136 FLEURY AND FONTENELLE. 
 
 expressing true and delicate sentiments in the 
 least artificial manner ; and their taste had been 
 formed on the even beauties and the strict correct- 
 ness of the imagery of their countrymen. It was 
 after the Death of Ccesar had been acted, that Fon- 
 tenelle told Voltaire he did not consider his genius 
 proper for tragedy, and that his style was too 
 bold, pompous, and splendid. " If so," replied 
 he, " I will go and study your pastorals." 
 
 The Cardinal Fleury did not extend the favour- 
 able disposition of Louis XIV. to literature ; but, 
 though, not approved of, it was tolerated as a 
 means of withdrawing the attention of the people 
 from the intrigues of office, and leaving the minis- 
 ters of state at ease and leisure to prosecute their 
 political speculations. Fontenelle, too, who was 
 beloved by the old cardinal, contributed to quiet 
 his mind on those points ; and, although he was 
 rather fearful of Montesquieu, when he applied 
 for a place at the French academy, as he had 
 satirized him in his Persian Letters, yet time and 
 persuasion at last induced him to adopt the opi- 
 nion, that, when a prosecuted man forgets his 
 injuries, the state ought to remit the causes of 
 
CHARACTER OF DE BOSE. 137 
 
 complaint ; and Montesquieu was incorporated in 
 their assembly. Voltaire thought that this ex- 
 ample of lenity suited his case also, and he aspired 
 to the same honour ; but De Bose, the president, 
 exclaimed, that he should never be admitted into 
 that august assembly. This De Bose, whose name 
 has since ended as it began, was a man who had 
 succeeded in life because he had not sufficient 
 talents to excite either envy, or fear. He criticised 
 new publications, and usurped the magistracy over 
 those to whom the power, or avarice, of the rich 
 had left nothing but the exercise of their talents. 
 Thus we see that in France at that period, as in 
 the present day, genius was made subservient to 
 money, and that men of learning were obliged to 
 cringe to the rich and powerful, at the expense of 
 truth and feeling, in order to procure a subsis- 
 tence. The progress of a man's fame, however 
 great his abilities, is very tardy and insupportably 
 galling, unless fanned with the approving breath 
 of those to whom chance, more frequently than 
 justice, has given the dispensations of the goods 
 of the world. Posthumous reputation is the 
 poorest kind of success to one who, like our poets, 
 
138 DEATH OF CiESAR. 
 
 Savage and Chatterton, are obliged to beg their 
 bread from the hands of charity. The conviction, 
 that a writer may improve the minds, and com- 
 mand the esteem of succeeding generations, is a 
 pleasing and stimulating reflection to one sur- 
 rounded with plenty, and in the sunshine of pros- 
 perity, but must only add a keener pang to the 
 distressed and languishing mind of the father, or 
 husband, who is toiling without success for his 
 own provision, or for that of his family. 
 
 The Death of Ccesar followed Brutus ; when it 
 was announced, that the court found fault with the 
 republican maxims it contained, and it was never 
 printed. In the arrangement of his works, the 
 facts of history were detailed with impartiality 
 and truth ; but the bold sentiments of freedom, 
 under a government which was tyrannical in its 
 constitution, and pusillanimous from its adminis- 
 tration, could never be tolerated. In addition to 
 these objections, the piece was also in three acts, 
 and destitute of that sweet passion, love, and of 
 those sweet creatures, women. Such glaring de- 
 ficiencies caused censure, and the moral of the 
 subject was too strong for the effeminate minds 
 
VOLTAIRE LEAVES PARIS. 139 
 
 of the French of that day. Plays of this sort are 
 no doubt destitute of the more tranquil affections, 
 and less felt by an audience, because the general 
 interest, which is that of the state, rather than of 
 the individual, comes less home to every breast ; 
 but they form fine lessons for the minds of the 
 young; and the energy of a nation may in some 
 degree be estimated by its taste in theatrical 
 representations. Voltaire tried to improve and 
 reform that national turn which his countrymen 
 had for the stage ; to this effect he laboured with 
 ardour; and the applauses of his friends were 
 the first fruits of success in his undertaking. 
 
 The lines written on the death of Mademoiselle 
 de Couvreur were again the cause of his being 
 obliged to leave Paris; he had loudly rebuked 
 a nation which had refused the rites of decent 
 interment to an actress, because she died excom* 
 municated. The monks being supreme judges 
 over wizards and actors, all of whom were sup- 
 posed by them to be friends, or servants of the 
 devil, they could not tolerate the boldness of a 
 writer who disputed half their empire ; and, al- 
 though absence disarms persecution, and time 
 weakens the bitterness even of religious malice, 
 
140 LETTRES PHILOSOPHIQUES. 
 
 he was sensible, that nothing but some strong 
 literary efforts, or some great theatrical success, 
 could shield him from the attacks of fanaticism. 
 Concealed in a village of Normandy, where he 
 passed himself off for an English baron, and under 
 an English name, his enemies thought him living 
 near Canterbury. When the Lettres Philosophiques 
 appeared, the trumpet of excommunication was 
 again sounded, and the work of the author was 
 judged worthy only of the fire. Voltaire did not 
 care for the orders of the keeper of the seals regard- 
 ing the publication of La Mort de Caesar, and went 
 to Montjeu to assist at the wedding of the Due de 
 Richelieu, who said he had taken it into his head 
 to marry. Mr. Lepan here makes the following 
 reflections : One cannot help being surprised at 
 seeing the son of a notary, an estimable man, but 
 one who had lived in a retired manner, and al- 
 ways remained within his sphere, become familiar 
 with the most distinguished societies, and also 
 intimate with princes and kings. No doubt he 
 was much indebted for it to the fertility of his 
 wit; but he was still more so to the boldness of his 
 disposition. 
 
 At Montjeu, Voltaire heard of the publication 
 
COMTE DARGENTAL. 141 
 
 of the Lettres Philosophiques. The parliament 
 having the examination of that work, the author 
 wrote to the Comte d'Argental, a counsellor of 
 that court : " It is said, that after having been my 
 patron, you are going to be my judge. In that 
 case, I flatter myself the Presidents Hainault and 
 Ronjaut, and les Berthier, will join you to render 
 a judgment, by which it will be said that Rabelais, 
 Montaigne, the author of the Lettres Persannes, 
 Boyle, Locke, and myself, shall be reputed men of 
 respectability, and discharged free of costs of 
 law/' This hope, however, was disappointed. 
 A letter of imprisonment* was directed against 
 him, and his work burnt by the hand of the exe- 
 cutioner. Informed of the sentence by the Comte 
 d'Argental, he left Montjeu, and retired to Lorraine, 
 which belonged still to the dukes of that name ; 
 from thence he went to Philipsbourg, the camp 
 of the Duke de Richelieu. 
 
 Mr. Lepan mentions, that Jore, after having 
 remitted two copies of the Lettres Philosophiques, 
 to their author, had refused a hundred louis for 
 a hundred copies of those letters, which he had 
 
 * Lettre-de- Cachet. 
 
142 PERSECUTION OF JORE. 
 
 printed only on the assurance, that permission had 
 been verbally granted. It did not appear probable 
 that he had been imposed upon ; however, an 
 edition issued to the public, had the imprint, 
 Chez Jore, d Rouen. That unfortunate printer 
 was arrested and conveyed to the Bastille, where 
 he remained fourteen days, and obtained his li- 
 berty, after having proved he had no impressions 
 similar to the edition which had been printed : 
 But unluckily his own was seized a few days 
 after, and he was made a bankrupt, by a judg- 
 ment of the council, in the month of Sep- 
 tember, and declared incapable of ever being 
 again a printer or a bookseller. Thus, this 
 unfortunate father of a family was imprisoned 
 and totally ruined, by the tyranny of the times. 
 Jore, in the Memoirs he had printed on this 
 subject, pretended he had been arrested and 
 seized on the denunciation of Voltaire. As to 
 the edition circulated, the author of that work, 
 in his letter of the 25th March, 1736, owns 
 it was done by a bookseller, to whom he had 
 intrusted it, for the purpose of binding one of 
 the two copies, which Jore had remitted to 
 
voltaire's return to paris. 143 
 
 him. " But it cannot be supposed," again ob- 
 serves Mr. Lepan, " that Voltaire was not aware 
 that an edition was preparing, as Condorcet pre- 
 tends, when we read in one of his letters, " in 
 spite of my repeated prayers, at least as to what 
 regards the thoughts of Pascal, that letter has 
 been added to the others." 
 
 When the edition was completed, he returned to 
 Paris, and lived with Madame de Martel, who gave 
 him an apartment in her house, in the Rue Long- 
 Port, where he thought himself better concealed 
 than in any house of his own. He here announced 
 a new tragedy, which was expected with great 
 earnestness, and in some degree averted the storm. 
 The author of a drama is under the protection of 
 those who, either for instruction, or amusement, re- 
 sort to the theatres; and he can convey the opinions 
 of the times, and the state of his own feelings, 
 through the medium of fictitious characters. The 
 representations of the stage form a means of 
 communication between men who labour after the 
 acquirement of knowledge, or are engaged in the 
 pursuit of pleasure ; and a fine play often pro- 
 duces as good feelings, or as much moral amelio- 
 
144 REFLECTIONS UPON THE STAGE. 
 
 ration of character, and is often listened to with 
 as much attention, as the finest pulpit eloquence. 
 The nearer examples of courage in the support of 
 virtue, or constancy and firmness in distress, are 
 brought before our eyes, while the tyranny of 
 worldly opinions is triumphing or trampling over 
 the endurance of philosophy, or fortitude, the 
 more we can reconcile its influence to our own 
 case ; and, even if we go back to antiquity for ex- 
 amples, there are few who will not allow the un- 
 conquerable spirit of Cato in Utica, whose mind 
 could never be enslaved, although the universe 
 was sinking beneath the powerful grasp of a suc- 
 cessful rival, when brought before our view in the 
 glowing colours of modern genius, to be as strik- 
 ing as the most tranquil death-bed scene of the 
 most pious christian, commented on by holy 
 writers, or approved by sanctified discourse. 
 
 The impulse, or intoxication, of the mind is in 
 both cases the same ; and an elevated and con- 
 strained courage can alone support a great danger, 
 or great loss. Our lives pass away in moments 
 uncounted, and often not calculated ; we are sel- 
 dom prepared to combat with affliction; and if the 
 
REFLECTIONS UPON THE STAGE. 145 
 
 precepts of philosophy, or a more christian faith, 
 diminish the pangs we feel for the absence of a 
 friend who perishes; The feelings of affection die 
 away with those of indifference, and we gain, like 
 the Phrygian king, who turned all he touched into 
 gold, a great treasure at a greater loss. Our plea- 
 sures and our griefs are so far selfish. The with- 
 drawing the society of a favourite renders our circle 
 of enjoyment more limited, and few would wish to 
 spare, or throw away, any of the felicity this world 
 affords. On the stage, we have none of the mean- 
 ness, or disgusting occurrences, of real life, which 
 in some degree attend the execution of every pious 
 duty, from the bed-chamber to the sepulchre ; and 
 the ingratitude of children strikes with horror and 
 surprise, when drawn even from the records of 
 society, unenlightened by divine grace : for, 
 although the progress of civilization has added to 
 our wants, and the propagation of Christianity has 
 giveunew and perhaps better feelings to our minds, 
 it is undetermined whether the intolerant spirit of 
 the Jews is not yet still emanating from the writ- 
 ings, or festering in the minds, of those who ex- 
 pound the doctrines of an all-righteous Messiah. 
 
116 TRAGEDIES OF ERYPHILE, 
 
 In order, therefore, to attempt to shelter himself 
 from the malevolence of the clergy, by ensuring 
 the approbation of the public, Voltaire produced 
 Eryphile, which, although applauded, did not com- 
 pletely succeed. He therefore withdrew it, and 
 in eighteen days, Zara was finished. This is the 
 most happy specimen of his own peculiar genius, 
 and one of the most successful of his works. For- 
 saking the track of those whom he had imitated 
 and followed, he maintained a new course. It was 
 called the Christian Tragedy, and was often played 
 in preference to Corneille's Polyeucte. It has been 
 since translated, and exhibited on the English 
 stage, and is throughout every scene the tragedy 
 of the feeling and virtuous heart. 
 
 The distress and tears of the heroine, and the 
 trials she undergoes, between duty and pleasure, 
 at the time her heart beats with desire, form a more 
 brilliant subject for the fancy of the poet, than 
 even the emotions of subdued passions. All that 
 the nature of the story afforded, the au- 
 thor has studiously improved; and in all ages, 
 and all countries, the sacrifice of Zara will be wept 
 for by the young, and recollected by the old. 
 
ZARA AND ADELAIDE. 147 
 
 The versification of the play is so tender, and yet 
 so natural, that the lines appear to have been 
 conceived, and not composed ; a facilit}' by which 
 the poetry of Voltaire is peculiarly distinguished. 
 He bears the appearance of thinking in verse, 
 more than any writer with whom we are ac- 
 quainted ; and it is difficult to conceive how the 
 measure and the rhyme are preserved, in com- 
 positions which betray so little art. In the whole 
 play there are but few lines which the critic will 
 condemn, while there are many hundreds that 
 good taste must applaud, Fontenelle and La 
 Motte persuaded Madame Tencin, one of the 
 literary ladies of Paris at that time, to request 
 Voltaire not to apply his talents to the theatre, 
 but to dedicate himself to other kinds of writing, 
 for which he seemed more fitted. The reply he 
 made to this fine request was by producing Zara. 
 Thus we see the clandestine mode in which ma- 
 lice and envy shew themselves, though they never 
 change ; and this advice was only given when the 
 author had put his genius for tragedy beyond all 
 dispute. 
 
 In 1734, Adelaide was represented without any 
 
 L2 
 
148 INTERESTING ANECDOTE 
 
 success. It afterwards re-appeared as the Duke 
 de Foix, in 1762, with alterations ; and again, in 
 1765, under its original title, with great applause. 
 It contains more stage-effect than any of his tra- 
 gedies. The story is not founded in fiction. A 
 Duke de Bretagne, in 1387, ordered a Nobleman 
 ofBavalan to assassinate the high-constable of 
 Clisson. The next day, he told the duke that 
 his orders had been executed, who, struck 
 with the horror of the crime, gave way to feelings 
 of the most violent despair. His friend for some 
 time allowed him to indulge his remorse and re- 
 pentance, and then relieved him by the assurance 
 that he loved him too much to obey his orders. On 
 its first representation in Paris, when Vendome 
 asked the affecting question of" Art thou content, 
 Couci *?" the audience drowned the rest of the 
 play with the cries of Coussi, Coussi. 
 
 Voltaire, in a letter to one of his friends at 
 Paris, tells the following story : " A rich banker of 
 Paris having been requested to compose a march 
 for one of the regiments of Charles XII., applied 
 to the musician Mouret for his assistance. The 
 
 * Es-tu content, Couci ? 
 
COMMUNICATED TO A FRIEND. 149 
 
 march was played at the banker's house, in the 
 presence of his friends and all the best judges, 
 It was decided by them to be execrable ; Mouret 
 withdrew his music, but inserted it in an opera on 
 the eve of representation. The banker and his 
 friends went to the performance, and the march 
 was very much applauded. ' Oh/ said they to 
 Mouret, ' this is just what we wanted. Why did 
 you not give us a piece in that style V ' Gentle- 
 men/ replied the musician, ' it is the same t had 
 the honour of repeating before you." He then pro- 
 ceeds to observe, that truth and good taste are only 
 confirmed by time, and that this reflection ought 
 to humble the wit of all journalists : that they 
 ought to be slow in judging or condemning, when 
 they are uncertain of the opinion of the public. 
 The great success of Zara on the stage, shewed 
 the author how necessary it was, that love should 
 be conspicuous in a piece ; and in making the 
 ground-work of Adelaide entirely consist of this 
 passion, he flattered the taste of his countrymen, 
 and their vanity in making the heroes of it French- 
 men. 
 
150 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Perhaps the publication of the Temple of Taste, 
 in which both the living and the dead are criti- 
 cised with too much levity, may have impeded 
 the success of the first representation of Adelaide, 
 for private resentment often distorts the under- 
 standing of the critic, and both works made their 
 appearance at the same period. It was on this 
 subject, that those enmities took place between 
 the Abbe Desfontaines* and Voltaire, which caused 
 so many troubles to the latter. It is only neces- 
 sary to mention at present that Desfontaines criti- 
 cised freely the judgments exposed in the Temple 
 
 * u L'histoire de PAbbe Desfontaines etoit celle d'un homme 
 qui, ayant un doux penchant pour les plaisirs de Sodome et de 
 Gomorrhe, avait et6 condamne au supplice pour avoir seduit de 
 pauvres petits ramoneurs, et qui ne fut arrache des mains du 
 bourreau, que par le zele ardent, infatigable, et les soins gene- 
 reux de Voltaire. Pour prix d'un tel service vous croyez que 
 Desfontaines ne fut qu'ingrat ? bagatelle ! il calomnia son 
 liberateur." 
 
CRITIQUE ON ADELAIDE. 151 
 
 of Taste, which displeased the author, who was 
 also tormented on the same account by the keeper 
 of the Seals. He wrote on that subject to his 
 friend Thiriot, " I am not yet quite settled ; I was 
 about finishing my nest, and have great fear of 
 being driven from it for ever." Voltaire asserts 
 that Adelaide underwent no alterations as the Duke 
 de Foix ; but in this he flatters his vanity at the 
 expense of truth ; for we have a proof in the vari- 
 ous readings collected after his death, that he must 
 have devoted a very considerable portion of his 
 time to its revision before he would allow its re- 
 petition. In its new form of the Duke de Foix, it 
 contains more beauty of arrangement and 
 execution. There was, however, sufficient tragi- 
 cal interest and tragical beauty in Adelaide, to 
 have preserved it from the fate it experienced, 
 had not the audience been influenced by the 
 party spirit of men writhing under the lash of 
 satire. 
 
 The weapon of retort strikes keener in proportion 
 to the ability of the possessor ; but a rod may be 
 prepared for the back of fools, even by an inferior 
 pen, and a host of enemies be defied and defeated, 
 
152 SATIRE ON ADELAIDE. 
 
 by an imperfect stanza. Sensibility to an attack 
 of this kind is the greatest triumph the author can 
 obtain. Prudence, therefore, as well as pride, 
 ought to suggest disregard, or indifference, which 
 will leave the writer to be punished by what Dr. 
 Johnson considers as the most painful of all re- 
 flections, the recollection of a crime perpetrated 
 in vain. 
 
 The Duke de Foix was acted in 1762, when 
 Voltaire was at Berlin, and was tolerably well 
 received, though not with complete success. 
 Le Kain, the famous actor, introduced it under the 
 name of Amelia, on the French stage. It subse- 
 quently took its old name of Adelaide. Some lines, 
 written on it, shew it was not held in very great 
 esteem in those days*. 
 
 The Temple of Taste caused Voltaire more ene- 
 mies than any thing he ever wrote ; for time has, in 
 
 * Adelaide du Guesclin, 
 Renait sous le nom d'Amelie ; 
 L'auteur croit que par son Genie 
 Et les graces de la Gaussin, 
 Elle paroJtra rajeunie. 
 C'est une vieille recrepie 
 Sous les parures de Berlin, 
 Qui vient mourir dans sa patrie. 
 
REFLECTIONS ON VANITY. 153 
 
 a great degree, verified the sentiments and opi- 
 nions of the author. When an author judges his 
 contemporaries, he incurs the hatred of all those who 
 admire their works, and there are few who have not 
 some idol whose image they consider as defaced 
 by a work of criticism. Their own vanity too suf- 
 fers inj proportion ; and vanity is one of the most 
 powerful of human frailties. It is more tender 
 even than our honour, or our religion ; because, 
 when, attacked, we ourselves suffer in our own 
 secret good opinion, whereas honour and religion, 
 though undoubtedly the strongest principles of 
 many, are yet by many more put on to enable 
 them to pass current through the world, like the 
 stamp upon a coin, which gives it relative value 
 in the country to which it belongs. They are 
 also the marks to make others judge of us as we 
 wish, and, like learning, are most valuable when 
 nothing else remains ; for it generally happens, 
 that those who care the most for what they 
 call their honour, are possessed of fewest 
 things to render life desirable ; but it is es- 
 sential to the well-being and happiness of every 
 one, that their vanity should keep pace with the 
 
154* DESCARTES AND PASCAL. 
 
 good esteem they wish others to have of them ; 
 and, in every age, in every country, from the mo- 
 narch to the clown, and from the courtier in the 
 drawing-room surrounded by rank and beauty, to 
 the philosopher, or the hermit who spends his life 
 in retirement and study, it is the same feeling 
 which incites them in the same pursuit. It is the 
 basis of love, that most fantastic but most power- 
 ful passion, which can never be fully felt but once, 
 and when once felt, can never be forgotten. 
 
 Voltaire had, during his retirement, conceived 
 the happy plan of making his countrymen ac- 
 quainted with the manners, the morals, and the 
 philosophy of the English nation. With this in- 
 tention he published some letters combating the 
 opinions of Descartes and Pascal ; the two great 
 authorities of the preceding century. 
 
 The assumption of Locke's hypothesis, that God 
 has the power, in case he had the inclination, of 
 imparting to matter the faculty of thinking, 
 alarmed every party possessed of an opinion ; and 
 his strictures on the thoughts of Pascal were said 
 to betray a masked attempt at destroying the fun- 
 damental principles of the christian religion. 
 
LETTERS ON THE ENGLISH NATION. 155 
 
 The doctrine of Descartes respecting innate 
 ideas was refuted by Locke, a writer with whom 
 the French were at that time very little acquainted ; 
 and the Jansenists, who respected the opinions of 
 Pascal as much as those of Saint Augustin, and 
 were exasperated when they saw a poet sit in 
 judgment on their champion, cried aloud for 
 redress. The letters were accordingly con- 
 demned in the usual manner. Voltaire had re- 
 course to the mean expedients of the treachery of 
 friends, and the falsification of his manuscripts, to 
 excuse the boldness of his remarks. The Keeper 
 of the Seals, however, Chauvelin, and even the 
 Cardinal de Fleury himself, protected him, per- 
 haps from a secret admiration of his talents, or 
 from conviction ; and a visit the author made to 
 Philipsbourg, averted the storm. He ended by 
 returning laughing at his own fears, and again 
 throwing down the gauntlet of religious disquisi- 
 tion. The Letters on the English Nation have, 
 however, the merit of rendering one of the greatest 
 services to France, that it was in the power of an 
 individual to bestow the introduction of inocu- 
 lation. The numerous experiments made among 
 
156 newton's system and 
 
 the eastern nations, and the English, regarding 
 the small pox, were there detailed with the greatest 
 perspicuity and plainness ; and, although super- 
 stition opposed scruples to this, as to all other 
 useful innovations, the opinions of some physi- 
 cians agreed with those of the author. We may 
 also consider, as their due, one of the en- 
 terprises which did most honour to the adminis- 
 tration of the Cardinal de Fleury, to the eighteenth 
 century, and to the dissemination of knowledge. 
 In France the system of Newton had gained many 
 partisans amongst young persons of distinguished 
 and promising talents for the sciences. Voltaire 
 encouraged them to speak more openly. Clairant, 
 Maupertuis, and La Condamine, shook the sys- 
 tem of Descartes ; while d'Aguesseau, and some 
 other old philosophers, defended opinions which 
 they had adopted in their youth. The Cardinal 
 de Fleury, prompted by the Comte de Maurepas, 
 was desirous of verifying one of the most impor- 
 tant hypotheses of Newton, viz. : the method by 
 which he had determined the figure of the earth. 
 It was proposed to undertake an expedition to 
 measure a degree near the pole, and one near the 
 
CALCULATIONS ESTABLISHED. 157 
 
 equator. Maupertuis, Clairant, Camus, and Le- 
 monnier, were sent to Torneo in Sweden, upon 
 the confines of Lapland ; and La Condamine, 
 Bouguer, and Godin, to Peru. The last set off 
 in the month of May, 1735, the others a year 
 afterwards. Their experiments confirmed the 
 calculations of Newton, who had determined with 
 as much exactitude, in an English library, the 
 figure of this globe, as if he had visited the polar 
 circle, or had enjoyed a complete view of the 
 universe from the summit of the mountain of 
 Chimboraco. Four years were allowed for the 
 performance of this voyage, but the time it occu- 
 pied was prolonged to ten. La Condamine, and 
 his fellow-travellers, evinced an inflexible ardour 
 in completing the object they had in view; and 
 their return home was hailed like that of trium- 
 phant warriors to their native country. Indeed, 
 allowing for the ignorance of the greater part of a 
 population who could not estimate their services, 
 but will always shout at the sound of a drum, or 
 trumpet, they were more warmly received, and 
 with more justice ; at least as far as adventurers 
 in a cause useful to society are superior to those 
 
158 EPISTLE TO URANIA. 
 
 who risk their lives for popular glory, or gain, a 
 still more empty reputation. 
 
 It was to Fontenelle that his countrymen 
 were indebted for their acquaintance with 
 the manners of a class of men who passed 
 their lives in seclusion and quiet ; and his E'loge 
 des Savans excited as much interest as The 
 Lives of Plutarch. The Letters on the English Nation, 
 also, censure the too free imitation of the style of 
 Shakspeare;the author being fearful that the French 
 writers would copy his gross violations of good 
 taste ; for, although posterity has given due 
 honours to the fame of our poet, that, as well as 
 antiquity, have spread a veil over his absurdities. 
 If, however, much of the overcharged and false 
 imagery of that author passes for the sublime, his 
 genius and his errors form an sera in the annals of 
 literature, and what would be disapproved of in a 
 copyist, is held in veneration in the original. The 
 barbarous style of Otway is ridiculed, and Con- 
 greve is, perhaps, justly preferred to our other 
 writers of Comedy. 
 
 Soon after the return of Voltaire from Philips- 
 bourg, the Epistle to Urania, which had been, till 
 
MAID OF ORLEANS. 159 
 
 that time, kept secret, was published ; and the 
 indiscretion with which some of his friends re- 
 peated fragments from the Maid of Orleans, was 
 the cause of a fresh alarm. The keeper of the 
 seals, who had formerly screened him from in- 
 justice, threatened to confine him in the worst 
 and deepest of state prisons, if any part of the 
 poem made its appearance ; and Condorcet as- 
 serts, that it was during these tempestuous 
 times, that the lieutenant of police, Herault, one 
 day said to Voltaire, " Write what you will, you 
 never can overturn the Christian religion. " The 
 poet replied, " We shall see." It was the 
 same magistrate that he one day asked, What 
 punishment would be inflicted on one who should 
 forge false letters of imprisonment*? The answer 
 was, " They would be hanged ; that will be but 
 right ; let us hope that those who sign the true 
 will be served in the same way." 
 
 The great circulation of the Maid of Orleans, is 
 a proof of the degeneracy of the times, though, 
 perhaps, not of the corruption of taste. During 
 
 * Lettres-de-Cachet. 
 
1G0 voltaire's residence at cirey. 
 
 the regency, this work was much in vogue ; and, 
 although it was not printed till 1762, young per- 
 sons of both sexes knew it by heart from sur- 
 reptitious copies. Although it may be acknow- 
 ledged as a master-piece of the author's against 
 the superstition of the times, and a most perfect 
 specimen of satirical composition, yet, in re- 
 moving a superstructure of priestcraft, he has de- 
 faced the altar of religion. 
 
 We now come to a period in his life which 
 has generally been considered as the most 
 extraordinary ; it is without precedent in any 
 other country, or in any other century, with 
 respect to a person who had deservedly obtained 
 so much fame as an author, and is a kind of 
 anomaly which French manners are alone ca- 
 pable of reconciling : it was his residence with 
 Madame du Chatelet, at Cirey. According to 
 his own account, wearied with the persecutions 
 which his works excited ; disgusted with the in- 
 solence and vanity of other writers; disappointed, 
 perhaps, in his intercourse with the great; and 
 smarting under the criticisms of his contempo- 
 raries; he thought it necessary to change his 
 
VOLTAIRE GOES TO HOLLAND. 161 
 
 mode of life. The fortune which descended to 
 him from his father, and which had been sub- 
 sequently increased, was ample. Thus, to the 
 advantages of possessing wealth, he added that 
 of being indebted for it to himself, and its use, 
 although it could not defeat envy, secured him 
 the means of escaping from unjust oppression. 
 Ancient philosophers praised poverty, because 
 they made a merit of necessity, or because 
 riches led to confiscation ; and their limited inter- 
 course with foreign countries rendered the secret 
 conveyance of property dangerous and uncertain. 
 Their dealings were mostly confined to their own 
 cities, and their own countrymen ; and the 
 transfer of money was attended with trouble 
 and inconvenience. Their climate also subjected 
 them to fewer real wants, and the luxury of the 
 wealthy approached more to riot and debauchery, 
 than to convenience and comfort. Voltaire ef- 
 fected this change, not by marriage, but by enter- 
 ing into a strict intimacy with a married woman 
 of high rank and great beauty, and retiring to 
 her house upon the frontiers of Champagne and 
 Lorraine. From thence he travelled into Hoi- 
 
162 EMILIE DE BRETEUIL. 
 
 land ; but finally returned to Cirey in the month 
 of June, 1736, (under the promise of protection 
 from the Due de Richelieu and the keeper of the 
 seals,) where he resided, more or less, domes- 
 ticated with her for the space of fifteen years. 
 
 Emilie de Breteuil, Marquise du Chatelet, was 
 born in 1706; she was the daughter of the Baron 
 de Breteuil, master of the ceremonies of the court 
 of Louis XIV. Her beauty appears to have been 
 very great ; and tradition has exalted her wit and 
 learning ; as these gifts are not often united, 
 she who possesses them is sure to be sought after 
 and admired. When young, Emilie married the 
 Marquis du Chatelet Lomont, a lieutenant-gene- 
 ral of the French forces, and of a distinguished fa- 
 mily. She then applied to the ancient and modern 
 authors, and to mathematics. She did not, like 
 most of her sex, confine herself to the cultivation of 
 those accomplishments which give lovers pleasure 
 before marriage, and annoy them afterwards ; for 
 her first publication was an essay on Leibnitz, en- 
 tituled, " Institutions de Physique," addressed to her 
 son, whom she was educating. The ideas of the 
 German school, however, soon appeared to her 
 
HER CHARACTER 163 
 
 as visionary, and she quitted them for those of 
 Newton, whose Elements she translated, and upon 
 which she commented. This work possessed 
 merit ; for it was printed after her death, and re- 
 vised by Clairant ; who rendered it worthy both 
 of the author and the critic. 
 
 There are few women, of any temperament, who 
 are not addicted to some vice, or to some pleasure. 
 Though the Marquise du Chatelet loved celebrity 
 and literature by profession, these were, even with 
 her, secondary passions to intrigue and gambling. 
 The former rendered her unfaithful to her husband, 
 and afterwards to her lover ; and the latter dis- 
 turbed their mutual peace by embarrassing their 
 fortune. No woman, however, united the power 
 of pursuing dissipation and study at the same 
 time, with so much success ; and beholders saw 
 with astonishment the commentatrix of Newton, 
 after leaving a card-table, instruct, and converse 
 with the learned and the gay. Her attach- 
 ment to Voltaire added to the happiness of his 
 life ; and, though she occasionally provoked his 
 jealousy, he loved her the better when it passed 
 away ; for, if any thing real, or which exists in 
 
 M 2 
 
164i CONSORT OF GEORGE II. 
 
 this world, can at all approach to the representa- 
 tions of poetical love, or imaginary affection, it is 
 a connexion of this nature, unmixed with interest, 
 and unfettered by restraint. The sanctity of ma- 
 trimony and the awful virtue of an amiable wife, 
 spread a veil over the raptures of enjoyment which 
 it would be worse than sacrilege to pollute by in- 
 vestigation ; but secret and stolen pleasures are 
 remembered with fervency and devotion, when 
 the others are obliterated and forgotten. 
 
 It is doubtful whether a woman who abandons 
 the duties of her station in life for the prosecution 
 of the sciences is not blameable, even if she suc- 
 ceeds : but the same powers of mind which lead 
 her to the knowledge of truth, teach her what 
 it is requisite for her to perform in her family. 
 The wife of George II., and the queen of England, 
 who was the mediatrix between the two greatest 
 metaphysicians in Europe, Clarke and Leibnitz, 
 and was able to judge between them, never de- 
 scended from the dignity or duties of her station ; 
 and learning may be as proud of the patronage of 
 beauty as the protection of a monarch. 
 
 Congeniality of pursuit also contributed to 
 
DESCRIPTION" OF CIREY. 165 
 
 render the friendship of the two philosophers 
 more pure, and their love more lasting. Their 
 retreat was embellished with gardens and an ex- 
 tensive library. A museum of natural history 
 and other curiosities were added. The apart- 
 ments of the lady of the house and her friend, were 
 as splendid and as elegant as money and good 
 taste could conspire to render them, according to 
 the description given, in 1738, by a person who 
 was an inmate, and for some time a friend of the 
 inhabitants of Cirey*. 
 
 " I had only had a transient view of his apart- 
 ments; but he now made me stop, and admire 
 them, and here I have preserved their description: 
 
 " The little wing they occupy is so connected 
 with the rest of the mansion, that the entrance is 
 at the lower part of the great stair-case. There is a 
 small ante-chamber, and you then proceed to the 
 main apartment, which is also not large, but low, 
 and hung with crimson velvet, which is the winter 
 furniture. There are a few compartments of 
 tapestry, and several in the ceiling in which 
 handsome pictures are framed : there, are also, 
 
 * Madame de Graffigny. 
 
166 DESCRIPTION OF CIREY. 
 
 looking-glasses, beautiful corners of china var- 
 nish, porcelains, Mahomedan priests, and an in- 
 finite number of things of that nature, dear and 
 far-fetched; every thing, indeed, which ingenuity- 
 has been able to invent. The floor is of the most 
 delicate cleanliness. There is a ring-case in the 
 room, in which are twelve rings of engraved 
 stones, besides two diamonds. From hence you 
 proceed to the small gallery, which is between 
 thirty and forty feet long ; between its windows 
 are two very fine statues of Venus, and of the Far- 
 nesian Hercules. The other side of the windows 
 is divided into closets, one for holding books, and 
 the other for instruments of natural philosophy. 
 Between them is a stove in the wall, to warm the 
 apartment, before which is placed an unfinished 
 Cupid on a large pedestal, which will, when com- 
 plete, hide the appearance of the furnace. " The 
 gallery is wainscotted and varnished over with 
 light yellow, and abundantly supplied with writ- 
 ing-desks, tables, and every thing requisite. 
 Further on is a room not yet finished ; the folding 
 screens are the same ; it is in the best taste, and 
 abundantly furnished ; there is a door in the 
 
DESCRIPTION OF CIREY. 167 
 
 middle which leads into the garden, where there 
 is a very pretty grotto. 
 
 This concludes the description of the rooms occu- 
 pied by Voltaire those of Madame duChatelet are 
 equally luxurious ; her room is wainscotted, and 
 varnished light yellow, with strings of light blue, a 
 niche, the same framed with Indian papers. The 
 bed is of watered blue, and everything is so much 
 varied, that even the basket for the dog is blue and 
 yellow. The wood of the elbow-chairs, writing- 
 desks, corners, looking-glasses, and silver frames, 
 are all of a most admirable beauty. A most 
 splendid glass-door leads to the library, which is 
 as yet unfinished, the carving is as fine as that 
 of a snuff-box, and is intended to be ornamented 
 with looking-glasses and pictures by Paul Vero- 
 nese. At one corner, there is a small closet, the 
 ceiling of which is blue, and was painted and 
 varnished by a scholar of Martin ; it has a singu- 
 lar entrance through a window, and a terrace 
 from which there is a remarkably fine prospect. 
 The bathing-chambers also correspond with the 
 rest of the apartments in elegance and taste. The 
 remainder of the house, however, is badly contriv- 
 
168 MAUPERTUIS AND ALGAROTTI 
 
 ed, without any regard to cleanliness, or comfort." 
 Most of the philosophers then in France spent 
 some time at Cirey ; among the rest, Mau- 
 pertuis, whose enmity was afterwards so fatal 
 to its inhabitant. Madame du Chatelet learnt 
 English, and was able to read Pope and Locke at 
 the end of three months ; she acquired Italian as 
 speedily; and when Algarotti visited them, he 
 ibund her knowledge of the language to be of use 
 to him in his work of " Newtonianismo per le Dame." 
 But ambition, the ruling passion of the philoso- 
 pher, pursued him even in this retreat; and he 
 lived with a friend who was more desirous of his 
 enjoying happiness than capable of producing it 
 herself. 
 
 Secluded in his mode of existence, without 
 the kind of society to which he had been habitu- 
 ated, and of which he was so fond ; and, above all, 
 without repose of mind, he gave himself up to 
 those studies which have rendered his name fa- 
 mous in so many different places and so many 
 different ways. In order that he might be as 
 completely as possible abstracted from worldly 
 concerns, he intrusted them to the care of a very 
 
SYSTEM OF DESCARTES. 169 
 
 intelligent priest, who, although a Jansenist, was 
 a philosopher; his name was Moussinot, of the 
 convent of Saint Mery, a man of good property, 
 simple and virtuous in his way of life, and devoted 
 with equal fidelity to his conventual and eccle- 
 siastical duties, and to those of friendship; he 
 was equally trusted by his own brotherhood, and 
 by his more enlightened client. 
 
 Whether it was that Voltaire wished to shew 
 the versatility of his genius, or that he was se- 
 duced by the hope of excelling those mathemati- 
 cians, whose labours and calculations he had 
 learnt to appreciate and understand, he followed 
 and shared in the studies of Madame du Chatelet ; 
 armed himself with the compass and the teles- 
 cope ; questioned the authorities and deductions 
 of Clairant and Bernoulli, flattered his enemy 
 Maupertuis, obtained an introduction to the Aca- 
 demy of Sciences, and wrote the elements of 
 Newton. 
 
 At this time, the system of Descartes prevailed; 
 a few young geometricians alone had the courage 
 to dissent ; and there was no work existing in the 
 French language that illustrated the grand dis- 
 coveries which had been made in England. The 
 
170 voltaire's elements of newton. 
 
 Chancellor d'Aguesseau was a Cartesian, because 
 the system had been fashionable in his youth ; and 
 refused the author a privilege for the publication 
 of his performance. His respect for ancient cus- 
 toms impeded his activity, and narrowed his views 
 of legislation ; and his death caused France to 
 regret that his great virtues had slumbered in 
 inactivity, and that his rare qualities had been 
 lost to the world. He would not suffer the novel 
 of Cleveland to be printed, except on condition 
 that the author would change his religion. The 
 work of Voltaire was, however, useful, as it con- 
 tributed to render the philosophy of Newton as 
 intelligible to those who were not proficients in 
 the higher branches of geometry, as the nature of 
 the subject would admit. The sentiments in the 
 work are just, and presented in a forcible and 
 vigorous manner ; and, as the author always con- 
 demned the introduction of pleasantry on philo- 
 sophical topics, of which Fontenelle has given the 
 example, his writings are not embellished with 
 any ornaments foreign to the subject. When the 
 work appeared, it was useful even to some phi- 
 losophers; and the objections raised against it 
 shew how little Newton was at that time under- 
 
PANEGYRIC ON DESCARTES. 171 
 
 stood. He gives due praise to all those whose 
 writings he criticised, and respects the genius of 
 Descartes and Leibnitz. 
 
 The good which Descartes has done to man- 
 kind, and the service he has rendered, by de- 
 livering the human mind from the yoke of 
 authority (as Newton and Locke had cured it of 
 the passion for systems) are entitled to the 
 greatest thanks and the greatest praise. Vol- 
 taire had the courage to attack their opinions, 
 when those of Leibnitz prevailed in Germany 
 and the north, and those of Descartes in his 
 native country. He was, soon after, a candidate 
 for the prize given by the academy of sciences, 
 on the nature of fire and the propagation of heat; 
 and he assumed this appropriate motto : 
 
 " Ignis ubique latet naturam amplectitur omnem 
 Cuncta parit, renovat, dividit, unit, alit." 
 
 Madame du Chatelet was also engaged in the 
 competition; but the prize was adjudged to 
 Euler. The formula, which Euler had added to 
 his essay, on the rapidity with which sound 
 is conveyed, which Newton had sought for in 
 vain, and which addition is very superior to the 
 
172 ESSAY OF VOLTAIRE. 
 
 original work, seems to have decided the judges 
 in his favour. The essays, however, of Madame 
 du Chatelet and Voltaire are those in which we 
 find experiments accurately made and distinctly 
 explained; and, although the prize was not 
 awarded them, the academicians ordered their 
 works to be printed at the end of those which 
 they approved. Madame du Chatelet maintained 
 the existence of a central fire, an opinion capable 
 of being supported in many instances ; but which, 
 in these times, philosophers have admitted with 
 too great eagerness, and have not sufficiently exa- 
 mined ; it being very convenient for any system 
 to have so great a quantity of caloric always at 
 command. Voltaire's essay contains a number of 
 observations, which possess novelty, and is writ- 
 ten in a modest and philosophical style ; fearful of 
 making any affirmation which is not supported by 
 the senses and calculation. Its errors are those 
 of the state of knowledge of the times in which 
 it was written, although it has departed from 
 that which was then in vogue, among the mem- 
 bers of the academy. 
 The dispute on the measure of forces at that time 
 
HIS ALZIRE, ZULIME, &C. 1?3 
 
 occupied mathematicians. Voltaire, in a memorial 
 presented to, and approved of, by the academy, 
 opposed Descartes and Newton against Leibnitz. 
 His success, however, in prosecuting the sciences 
 was not equal to his wishes; and, after having 
 employed some years in experimental philosophy, 
 he consulted Clairant relative to his progress, 
 who had the frankness to tell him that, even 
 after obstinate labour, he might only expect to 
 arrive at mediocrity in the business he had un- 
 dertaken ; and that he would most probably 
 throw away much time, which might be better em- 
 ployed in the cultivation of poetry and ethics. 
 He followed the advice of his friend, and re- 
 turned to those studies to which his inclina- 
 tion incessantly prompted. We are indebted to 
 his residence at Cirey, for Alzire, Zulime, Ma- 
 homet, part of the Life of Louis XIV, and some 
 other works. Here he also collected materials 
 for his Essay on the Manners and Spirit of Nations 
 from Charlemagne to the present day. Alzire was 
 played for the first time on the 27th of February, 
 1736. In this tragedy, it was the author's de- 
 sign to shew how much the true principles of the 
 
174* MAHOMET, MEROPE, &C. 
 
 Christian religion are superior to the natural 
 virtues ; and the fifth act, the best part of the 
 play, only cost him the labour of a few hours' 
 application after supper. The queen Marie 
 Luzenski, and the Cardinal de Fleury, expressed 
 their approbation ; and he came to Paris to enjoy 
 his success. 
 
 In 1736, he entertained the project of hav- 
 ing the principal scenes of his poem of the 
 Henriade, painted on tapestry, by Oudry, the 
 director of the manufactory of Beauvais. " It 
 appears to me," he wrote to the Abbe Moussinot, 
 " that the temple of love, the assassination of 
 Guise, that of Henry III., Saint Louis shewing his 
 posterity to Henry IV., would be fine subjects for 
 a picture." Oudry having asked thirty thousand 
 francs, and the poet not wishing to make so 
 great a sacrifice, he was obliged to renounce 
 his project. In the seclusion which Voltaire 
 had imposed upon himself at Cirey, he composed 
 Mahomet, Merope, and his seven Philosophical 
 Discourses on Man, amusing himself in the in- 
 tervals with natural philosophy and chemistry. 
 He would have been too fortunate had he been 
 
DESFONTAINES' LA VOLTE'rOMANIE. 175 
 
 contented with these works. But the perusal of 
 la Semaine du Parnasse, written by the Abbe Des- 
 fontaines, and in which he criticised Voltaire, 
 inflamed his anger. In order to revenge him- 
 self, he published (much against his own tran- 
 quillity) a pamphlet entituled, Le Preservatif, 
 entirely directed against Desfontaines. Voltaire 
 was the more to blame in so doing, because he 
 knew better than any one else, that Desfontaines 
 was not the real author of the work of which he 
 accused him, and for which he was arrested. 
 He knew this, since, independently of the me- 
 moirs which he had composed himself in his 
 defence, the lieutenant of police had written to 
 TAbbe Bignon, the king's librarian, to express to 
 him his regret for having been deceived as to the 
 orders he had given for the arrest of Desfontaines. 
 The abbe" answered the Preservatif by another 
 libel, having for title, The Volteromanie, and which, 
 having the signature of a young advocate, could 
 easily be denied by its real author. Mutual friends 
 were desirous of making the two' adversaries com- 
 promise ; but Voltaire would not consent. The affair 
 was at last referred to the tribunal of M. Herault, 
 
176 SAINT HVAC1NTHE. 
 
 lieutenant-general of police, at the solicitations of 
 the Marquis d'Argenson, and several other power- 
 ful persons. M. Herault sent for Desfontaines, 
 who was obliged to sign, in a sort of declaration, 
 a denial, which was printed in the public papers. 
 This denial was written by the Marquis d'Argen- 
 son's own hand. 
 
 About this time, also, his quarrel with Saint 
 Hyacinthe took place ; in this, however, Saint 
 Hyacinthe was the aggressor. He published a 
 work called the Deification of the Doctor Aristarchus 
 Masso, in which Voltaire is represented as sub- 
 mitting to be caned by a French officer. More 
 notice was taken of the libel than either the 
 author, or his subject, deserved *. 
 
 * Extrait de l'ouvrage intitule, Deification du Docteur Aris- 
 tarchus Masso. 
 
 " Un officier Francois, nomme B , s'entretenait avec 
 
 quelques personnes que la curiosite avait, comme moi, attirees 
 au pied de la double montagne. Un poete de la meme nation, 
 portant le nez au vent, comme un cheval housard, vint effronte- 
 ment se mettre de la conversation ; en parlant a tort et a travers, 
 s'abandonna a quelques saillies insultantes, que V officier de- 
 sapprouva. Le poete .s'en mit peu en peine et continua. L'offi- 
 cier, s'eloignant alors, alia dans un detour, par ou il savait 
 que ce poete devait passer pour aller parler a un comedien. II 
 y vint en effet, et accompagne d'un homme a qui il recitait des 
 vers, et qu'il ne croyait pas devoir etre temoin de scs infor- 
 
Voltaire's journey to Brussels. 177 
 
 Voltaire scarcely had recovered from the fa- 
 tigues caused to him by this affair, when he de- 
 
 tunes : car l'officier, arretant le poete par le bras." " J'ai 
 toujours oui dire que les impudens etaient laches, lui dit-il, j'en 
 veux faire l'epreuve, et ne puis mieux m'adresser qu'a vous. 
 Voyons, monsieur, le bel esprit, si vous vous servirez bien de 
 cette epee que vous portez, je ne sais pourquoi, ou preparez vous 
 a recevoir de cette canne le chatiment de votre insolence." 
 Telle qu'une C. palit et s'effraie aux eclats redoubles du ton- 
 nerre, tel le poete palit au discours de l'officier ; et la frayeur 
 lui inspirant avec le repentir, des sentimens d'humilite et de 
 prudence : 
 
 J'ai peche, lui dit-il et je ne pretends pas 
 Employer ma valeur a defendre mes fautes; 
 
 J'offre mon echine et mes c6tes, 
 Au juste chatiment que me prepare ton bras. 
 Frappe, ne crains point, frappe je te pardonne ; 
 Ma vie est peu de chose, et je te I'abandonne, 
 Tu vois en ce moment un poete eperdu, 
 Digne d'etre puni, content d'etre battu, 
 N'opposer nul effort a la valeur supreme. 
 B n'aura point de vainqueur que lui-m&me. 
 
 ' Ces beaux discours ne servent ici de rien, dit l'officier, 
 defendez-vous, ou prenez garde a vos epaules." Le poete 
 n'ayant pas la hardiesse de se defendre, l'officier le chargea de 
 quantite de coups de baton, dans l'esperance que Toutrage et 
 la douleur lui inspireraient du courage ; mais la prudence du 
 poete redoubla a proportion des coups qu'il requt: ce qui fit 
 que rhomme qui l'avait^ accompagne s'ecria en s'adressant a 
 Tofficier : Arretez, 
 
178 RETURNS TO PARIS, AND 
 
 parted for Brussels with Madame du Chatelet, 
 where that lady had a law-suit with the house 
 of Honsbrank. He came back to Paris a few 
 months after ; calculating to have remained in 
 it a month, but he was detained nearly three, 
 having been taken ill in the Rue Cloche-perche, 
 
 Arretez, arretez Tardeur de votre bras, 
 
 Battre un homme a jeu sur, n'est pas d'une belle ame, 
 
 Et le cceur est digne de blame, 
 
 Contre les gens qui n'en out pas. 
 
 " L'officier alors, apres avoir ainsi dispose le poete a ses re- 
 montranees : ' Sectateur des Muses, lui dit-il, apprenez qu'il 
 est plus important d'etre sage, qu'il n'est necessaire d'etre 
 poete." En disant ces mots, il jeta dans un champ le baton 
 qu'il avait en main. Mais 6 prodige ! ce baton devint dans Pin- 
 stant un arbre, etc." 
 
 " Le trait est sanglant, et nous nous garderons bien de le justi- 
 fier, quoique M. de Voltaire n'y soit pas nomine, ni designe 
 dans aucune maniere, mais de la moderation, du mepris, une 
 plaisanterie, ou le silence meme, auraient pu le faire tomber. 
 Ce ne fut point le parti que prit le poete, qui s'y croyait offense. 
 II perdit la tete des que la piece fut parvenue jusqu'a lui. Aus- 
 sitot, bien loin de dissimuler, il ecrivit a M. Berger la lettre qui 
 suit. 
 
 " Mon cher ami, voulez-voua me rendre un signale service ? 
 II faut voir Saint Hyacinthe. Je ne le connais pas direz-vous ; il 
 faut le connoitre, on connoit tout le monde quand il s'agit d'un 
 ami. Mais Saint Hyacinthe est un homme decrie. Qu'importe, 
 voici de quoi il s'agit ; il est cite dans le livre infame de Des- 
 fontaines, pour avoir ecrit, contre moi, une libelle iutitulee, 
 
FROM THENCE TO BRUSSELS. 179 
 
 H6tel de Brie. He left it at the end of Novem- 
 ber to proceed to Cirey, and from thence to 
 Brussels. His presence, however, rekindled the 
 flames of animosity and envy ; and, in the space 
 of three months, twenty pamphlets condemned 
 Alzire, and the decision of the public; for, in 
 spite of the glory of the work, and the success 
 of the writer, malice prevailed, and the favour of 
 the court was transitory and fleeting. 
 
 The poem Du Mondain was also the subject of a 
 fresh persecution. The clergy sounded the 
 alarm, and the devotees passed the watch-word 
 of impiety : the Cardinal de Fleury also, and 
 the keeper of the seals, were prejudiced by the 
 rumours of bigotry, and Cirey again became the 
 
 Deification (TAristarchus Masso; or, je ne l'ai jamais offense ce 
 Saint Hyacinthe. Pourquoi done imprimer contre moi des im- 
 postures si affreuses? Veut-il les soutenir? Je ne le crois 
 pas. Que lui coutera-t-il de signer qu'il n'en est pas l'auteur, 
 ou qu'il les deteste, ou qu'il ne m'a point en vue ? Exigez de 
 lui un mot qui lave cet outrage, et qui previenne les suites 
 d'une querelle cruelle. Faites-lui ecrire un petit mot dont il re- 
 sulte la paix et Vhonneur, je vous en conjure. Courez, rendez- 
 moi ce service. Je ne demande que le repos, procurez-le a 
 votre ami". 
 
 Vie PoUmique de Voltaire. 
 
 A Cirey, 8 Janvier, 1739. 
 
 N 2 
 
180 SUBTERFUGES TO AVOID ARREST. 
 
 asylum of one who had so often been obliged to 
 fly his country, and fear his friends. On reading 
 the Mondain, one cannot help smiling at the pre- 
 judices and stupidity of the times ; and it is 
 rather remarkable, that Chauvelin, who had so 
 often threatened to imprison Voltaire, should 
 soon after be arrested himself, accused of selling 
 to the Emperor Charles VI., the secrets and 
 interests of the French government. 
 
 The cause of philosophy and letters was more 
 effectually promoted under his successor, the 
 Baron de Breteuil, than it had been under himself, 
 or the Cardinal de Fleury. After retiring to the 
 house of Madame du Chatelet, in order more 
 effectually to elude the search of government, 
 he inserted in the public papers, that he was 
 resident in England, and dated all his letters 
 from Cambridge. These subterfuges did not, 
 however, entirely quiet his mind, and he would, 
 in reality have left France, had not his love for 
 his mistress, as Duvernet says, out-balanced his 
 other apprehensions. One may see by several 
 letters to his steward, in how great a state of 
 uneasiness and agitation he existed. " I repeat 
 
PRINCE FREDERIC OF PRUSSIA. 181 
 
 to you, my friend, my entreaties, to say that I 
 am in England. I have very strong reasons for 
 this ; I find myself under the necessity of having 
 always before me a large sum of money." 
 
 In the midst of this storm he had the gratifica- 
 tion of receiving a letter from the Prince Royal 
 of Prussia, styling himself his affectionate friend, 
 and soliciting the honour of being permitted 
 to become worthy of his instructions, and 
 also offering him an asylum from his perse- 
 cutors. 
 
 The young Frederic had been sent from Rhines- 
 berg by his father, who had conceived the project 
 of having him beheaded as a deserter, because he 
 attempted to travel without his permission. Yield- 
 ing, however, to the remonstrances of the imperial 
 ambassador, he mitigated the punishment, and 
 satisfied himself with causing the Prince to be 
 present at the execution of one of his travelling 
 companions. Although he had only received 
 from his father the education of a soldier, yet 
 he studied geometry, metaphysics, music, and 
 the fine arts, together with the French language 
 and philosophy. The power of a long attach- 
 
182 ANECDOTE CONCERNING FREDERIC. 
 
 ment, however, detained Voltaire with his friend 
 Madame du Chatelet, and the intercourse of the 
 Prince, and the philosopher was confined to cor- 
 respondence. They, however, mutually consulted 
 each other on their works; and the refugee of 
 Cirey, in fancy, imagined himself transported 
 back to the periods when kings became the fol- 
 lowers of sages. An occurrence, indicative of 
 Frederic's goodness of heart, happened at this 
 time, which ought not to be omitted. Happy 
 would it have been for him had he manifested 
 these dispositions in his future life; but power 
 and prosperity harden the heart, and destroy the 
 intimacy of those who have lived friends in po- 
 verty, and supported together the frowns of 
 fortune. 
 
 Wolf, who had written some works on meta- 
 physics, was accused of atheism, at the insti- 
 gation of the theologian Lange. The old King 
 ordered him to give up his office of profes- 
 sor in the university of Halle, and to leave 
 the town hi twenty-four hours, under pain of 
 being hanged. He fled to the Prince Royal, 
 who was attached to his interests, and referred 
 
THE ANTI-MACHIAVEL. 183 
 
 the dispute to Voltaire as an umpire, during the 
 time that he was himself banished from his own 
 country ; and, when he succeeded to the throne, 
 he recalled Wolf, and put him in his ancient situ- 
 ation of professor. He also invested Algarotti, 
 who had published some dialogues of natural 
 philosophy, in 1738, and who had come to Berlin 
 in 1740, with the dignity of a count. Algarotti 
 was the son of a respectable tradesman at Venice. 
 He had acquired very extensive knowledge, and 
 had travelled over almost all Europe. Elegance 
 was the principal characteristic of his style. 
 
 A few years, however, cured the King of his 
 passion for these unintelligible and antiquated 
 systems ; and he wrote the Anti-Machiavel, in 
 which he opposes the idea, that the interests of a 
 Prince necessarily render him an enemy to his 
 people and his neighbours. To this work Vol- 
 taire wrote a Preface, in which he complimented 
 the taste and talents of the King, and repaid all 
 the flattery which Frederic had bestowed on him 
 in his Preface to the Henriade. Indeed it is said 
 that when he saw the King, near Cleves, he ex- 
 claimed, " Sir, if I had been Machiavel, and had 
 
184 DISPUTE WITH THE BISHOP OF LIEGE. 
 
 any influence over a young Prince, I would have 
 advised him to write against myself." 
 
 The work was not published when Frede- 
 ric's father died; but the cares of government 
 did not distract him from pursuits of a scientific 
 nature; and, with Madame du Chatelet, he pe- 
 rused the unfinished work in the portfolio of 
 Voltaire : but a circumstance occurred which 
 more especially induced him to defer the publi- 
 cation of the Anti-Machiavel. It was his quarrel 
 with the Bishop of Liege. 
 
 The bishop asserted a right upon the lordship 
 of Herstal, which the House of Brandenburg 
 claimed, as a part of the succession to the Prince 
 of Orange. In 1732, Frederic William, the 
 present King's father, had possessed himself of it ; 
 but the inhabitants refused to acknowledge him. 
 This Prince was on the point of proceeding to 
 extremities, when he died ; and the Liegeois, en- 
 couraged by the bishop, who thought he had only 
 a poet to manage, refused submission to the 
 new King. Frederic, however, immediately 
 quartered a dozen companies of infantry and a 
 squadron of dragoons at Hern, who lived there 
 
FREDERIC ATTACKED BY A FEVER. 185 
 
 at the prelate's expense. The bishop applied for 
 assistance to the Emperor of Austria, to France, 
 and to Holland. The first of these referred the 
 matter to the Diet of the Empire, and the two 
 others acted as mediators. The King consented 
 to renounce his claim for one hundred and fifty- 
 thousand crowns, which the bishop paid. 
 
 Frederic had promised to come to Brussels, in 
 disguise, and Voltaire expected him there when 
 a courier, sent by the monarch, announced that 
 his master was detained at the Castle of Slus- 
 meuse, two leagues from Cleves, by a violent 
 fever. Voltaire went there immediately, found 
 the King in bed, and Maupertuis by his side. 
 
 As soon as Frederick got well, he took the 
 mathematician to Berlin, and sent the poet to 
 the Hague, to get the Anti-Mac hiavel printed. 
 Voltaire came back to Brussels to prosecute the 
 law-suit of his friend Madame du Chatelet. The 
 inundations of the Meuse and the Rhine delayed 
 him much in this journey, and he did not arrive 
 till the 6th of January. Madame du Chatelet was 
 at Paris ; from thence Voltaire was to have come 
 and spent some time with her, when he undertook 
 
186 ZULIME, MAHOMET, AND MEROPE, 
 
 his journey to CJeves. It appears that this in- 
 attention of her friend displeased the Marchioness; 
 she complained of it to the Comte d'Argental, 
 to whom her lover was obliged to apologize ; 
 he observed "that the injustice of the complaints 
 of that lady had caused him more pleasure 
 than the courts of all the kings could afford.*' 
 This dispute seems to have hindered Voltaire 
 from arriving at the capital till towards Easter. 
 The representations of Zulime, which were per- 
 formed three times, had taken place during the 
 last illness of the Duchess de Richelieu. From 
 that time, Mahomet and Merope occupied all his 
 attention ; he told the Comte d'Argental that he 
 laboured more at these two tragedies than 
 any other of his compositions. Mahomet was 
 performed at Lisle in the month of April, 1741 ; 
 its author went there on purpose to witness the 
 effect it would produce ; it was played four times. 
 Lanoue, the first actor of that town, represented 
 the character of ^Mahomet. During the first repre- 
 sentation of the tragedy, Voltaire received a note 
 from the King of Prussia, which announced a 
 victory he had just obtained at Molwitz. The 
 
EMENDATION OF MAHOMET. 187 
 
 author interrupted the play to read this letter 
 to the spectators- " You will see," said he to 
 those around him, " that this affair of Molwitz 
 will cause mine to succeed." 
 
 The law-suit which called the Marquise du 
 Chatelet and Voltaire to Brussels having taken a 
 new turn, and as this affair was to be settled atCirey, 
 the travellers returned in the beginning of winter. 
 Among the labours which at this place occupied the 
 poet was the alteration of Mahomet, which he looked 
 upon as his finest tragedy ; he left it, however, in 
 the month of January to follow Madame du Chate- 
 let into Franche Comte, at the Comtesse d'Aus- 
 trac's. That lady let her house to them in Paris, to 
 which they went in the beginning of February, pro- 
 bably to assist at the representation of Mahomet 
 
 To return to the suppression of the Anti- 
 Machiavel, the bookseller had demanded a good 
 deal of money, and Frederick, who was per* 
 haps pleased at the idea of acquiring celebrity 
 as an author, let the impressions proceed. It is 
 not true, however, as Voltaire has alleged, that 
 Frederick had not a design in publishing the 
 work ; for, in his retreat at Rhinesberg, he had 
 
188 VOLTAIRE VISITS FREDERIC. 
 
 formed a general plan of government, to which he 
 remained faithful to the end of his life. 
 
 At Rhinesberg he intended passing some 
 time, in order to recover from a fever caught 
 in Westphalia, and to resume his ancient studies ; 
 but the death of the Emperor Charles VI., 
 caused by eating too large a dish of mushrooms, 
 changed the political face of Europe, and the King 
 availed himself of the weakness of the daughter 
 to assert some ancient claims in Silesia. The 
 battle of Molwitz proved to the Austrians what 
 forces they had to contend with ; and Frederic, 
 in a poem written some years afterwards, cele- 
 brated the deaths of those who had fallen in the 
 engagement. 
 
 Voltaire passed three days with the King before 
 his expedition into Silesia. It is said he was 
 sent there as a spy from the court of Versailles ; 
 and that, as soon as he was certain of what was 
 about to happen, he communicated the intelli- 
 gence to the court of France. 
 
 This behaviour gave occasion to his enemies to 
 say, that he had been received with coolness ; 
 but the King wrote some verses and letters to 
 
CARDINAL DE FLEURY's DEATH. 189 
 
 him from the field of battle ; and Voltaire, while 
 he praised his ardour in the pursuit of military 
 glory, always inculcated the doctrines of humanity 
 and justice. At this time, the Cardinal de Fleury 
 died. Voltaire had been a good deal connected 
 with him, because he was desirous of learning the 
 anecdotes of the reign of Louis XIV., which 
 Fleury loved to relate. But the natural weak- 
 ness of the cardinal, and the illiberality which 
 hinders the intimacy of persons high in power, 
 with those of superior abilities, but in different 
 stations, prevailed over his vanity and taste. 
 He had endeavoured to enslave the minds of the 
 French, and to impede liberty of thought and 
 expression; and he was alarmed by the bold- 
 ness of the writings of Voltaire. He equally 
 feared to have his quiet disturbed in defending 
 him, or the small portion of fame he possessed 
 destroyed in abandoning him, through timidity. 
 The poet found him rather a concealed enemy, 
 than a protector ; and his attachment to be 
 founded on the gratification of his own vanity. 
 Voltaire aspired to the honour of succeeding 
 him in the academy. He had, by the repre- 
 
190 REPRESENTATION OF MEROPE. 
 
 sentation of Merope, combated the system . of 
 Despreaux, 
 
 " De cette passion la plus sensible peinture 
 Est d'aller au coeur la route la plus sure." 
 
 and asserted, that nature can produce on the 
 stage, effects more pathetic and heart-breaking. 
 At its representation, the pit, from the interests 
 of the occurrences, and from a rapidity of dia- 
 logue hitherto unknown, and by the talents 
 of an actress who gave the true force to the 
 language, broke out into an universal cry of ad- 
 miration, and compelled the author, who was con- 
 cealed in a corner of the stage, to shew himself 
 to the spectators. The young Duchess de Villars, 
 intoxicated with pleasure and delight, yielded to 
 the wishes of the people, and embraced Voltaire, 
 when he entered her box. This was the first time 
 an author had been called for by an audience ; but 
 what was then an homage rendered to genius, is 
 now no more than a ridiculous ceremony, to which 
 those who respect themselves, generally refuse 
 submission. Mademoiselle Dumesnil, who acted 
 the part of Hermiom, kept the audience in tears 
 through three successive acts, and the tide of 
 
piron's epigrams. 191 
 
 popular favour consoled him, in some measure, for 
 the persecution he had sustained. Piron, who was 
 his determined antagonist, combated every one of 
 his tragedies with an epigram ; and those with 
 which he abused the best of Voltaire's works 
 were generally the least worthy of notice. The 
 lines he wrote after the representation of (Edipus 
 were very bad ; but those which followed Meropc 
 were still worse *. 
 
 Voltaire was opposed in his succession to the 
 Cardinal's place, by Monsieur de Maurepas and 
 Boyer, whom Fleuri had preferred to Massillon, 
 as a tutor for the Dauphin. The King thought 
 that it would have a ridiculous effect to replace 
 the Cardinal by a person so opposite in opinion 
 and character. Voltaire was, however, soon after 
 persuaded by the minister to negotiate with the 
 
 * Chez Thistorien Merope usee, 
 Vers le pont neuf a pris Fessor, 
 Et la, par un sot, en rusee 
 S'est fait donner cent louis-d'or. 
 Sers la bien dans ton tresor, 
 Troupe ignorante et mercenaire, 
 Car elle fait pleurer encor, 
 Non le lecteur, mais le libraire. 
 
192 FREDERIC'S TREATY OF PEACE. 
 
 King of Prussia; who, not finding it to his in- 
 terest to continue the war with Austria any 
 longer, had, on the conquest of Silesia, and 
 the Province of Glatz, made peace with Maria 
 Theresa. I have, said he, come to terms, and I 
 advise every other claimant to do the same. 
 This advice was good in proportion to the diffi- 
 culty of its execution; and France would have 
 been delighted, like the Prussian, to have been 
 able to make so advantageous a peace after a long 
 and unjust war. Their object was now to make 
 Frederic break the treaty, which had been only 
 just entered into, and again to take the field 
 against the Austrians and the Imperialists. 
 
193 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AS a pretence for undertaking these measures was 
 requisite, Voltaire adopted that of his quarrel with 
 Boyer, the old bishop of Mirepoix, and the King 
 approved of the expedient. He wrote to Frederic, 
 that unable any longer to bear the persecution of the 
 Theatine monk, he was going to take refuge with a 
 philosopher and a king, and far removed from the 
 intrigues of a bigot. The prelate being in the habit 
 of signing his name L'anc Ev&q. de Mirepoix, and his 
 writing being incorrect, the reading used to stand, L ane 
 de Mirepoix. This was the subject of much jesting in 
 the correspondence ; and never was any negotiation so 
 lively on a subject so important. The King of Prussia, 
 who never neglected any opportunity which occurred 
 of ridiculing priestcraft and religion, answered with 
 a torrent of jests on the ass of Mirepoix, and en- 
 treated his friend to lose no time in joining his court. 
 Care was taken to cause the letters and answers to be 
 
194* MIREPOIX COMPLAINS TO LOUIS XV. 
 
 read openly ; of which the bishop being informed, he 
 complained to Louis XV. that he was made to 
 pass for a fool at a foreign court. The King replied 
 that the jest was fair, and that he ought not to com- 
 plain. This answer of Louis XV. was not in his 
 usual style ; and, like some others I shall mention 
 hereafter, has always appeared extraordinary ; but, 
 by this means, Voltaire had, at the same time, the 
 pleasure of revenging himself on the bishop, who had 
 promoted his exclusion from the academy, of making 
 a very agreeable journey, and of being able to serve 
 the King and the state. 
 
 M. de Maurepas even took a great share in this 
 adventure, because it put Mr. Amelot in his power, 
 and because he was desirous of being made minister 
 of foreign affairs. They were obliged to let Madame 
 du Chatelet into the secret. She would not, at first, 
 on any account, consent to the departure of her lover 
 for the court of Prussia ; she thought nothing so base 
 and so abominable in this world, as to quit a mistress 
 for a monarch ; and she would have caused the most 
 violent disturbance. In order to quiet her mind, it 
 was agreed, that she should be concerned in the affair, 
 and that the correspondence should pass through her 
 
FREDERIC'S MODE OF LIFE. 195 
 
 hands. Voltaire received all the money he wanted 
 for his journey, on the single receipt of M. de 
 Montmartel. He made a short stay in Holland, while 
 the King of Prussia was engaged in reviewing his troops. 
 While at the Hague, he lodged at the palace of the 
 old court, which then belonged to the King of Prussia, 
 in virtue of a treaty with the House of Orange. 
 The young Count Podevils, who was beloved by 
 the wife of one of the principal members of the state, 
 used, by the influence of that lady, to obtain copies 
 of all the secret resolutions of their Serene Highnesses, 
 which were very unfavourable to the French interest. 
 These were sent to the Court of Versailles, and this 
 service was gratefully approved. 
 
 When Voltaire arrived at Berlin, he was received 
 into the royal palace, as had been usual in his other 
 visits. The King lived at Potzdam much in the same 
 way as he always had lived, since his accession to 
 the throne. This mode deserves a short detail. He 
 used, to rise at five in summer, and six in winter. 
 If account is required of the regal ceremonies in 
 use ; which were the small and great entrances 
 to his apartment ; what were the functions of his 
 chaplain, of his chamberlain, of his first gentleman 
 
 08 
 
196 FURTHER DETAIL OF THE 
 
 of the bed-chamber, #*c, it is enough to say, that 
 a single footman used to come and light the fire, and 
 shave him, for he dressed himself almost without 
 any assistance. His bed-room was splendid enough ; 
 a rich silver railing, embellished with small Cupids, 
 very well carved, appeared to surround the alcove of 
 a bed, of which the curtains alone were visible ; but 
 on looking further you found, instead of what might 
 be expected, a cabinet library ; and as to the bed 
 itself, it was a folding one, with a bad single mattress, 
 concealed by a screen. Marcus Aurelius and Julian, 
 his two apostles, and the two greatest men of the 
 Stoic persuasion, could not be worse accommodated. 
 When his Majesty had finished dressing, he used to 
 take something to eat ; and call for his pages and 
 coffee. The page to whom the handkerchief was 
 thrown, used to remain a short time in private ; but mo- 
 desty must prevent the biographer from proceeding 
 with the details of his more licentious chamberlain*. 
 This repast being finished, affairs of state succeeded. 
 His first minister arrived by a small stair-case, with a 
 large parcel of papers under his arm. This first 
 minister was nothing more than a clerk who had been 
 * Voltaire Memoir es de sa Vie* 
 
king of Prussia's manners. 197 
 
 in the house of Federsdoff, and had become a valet- 
 de-chambre and favourite, as having formerly served 
 the King while he was a prisoner in the castle of Cus- 
 trin. The secretaries used to send all their despatches 
 to the King's clerk, and he brought the extracts. 
 The answer was placed on the margin in a few words. 
 Thus were the affairs of a whole kingdom settled in 
 the course of an hour. It was very seldom, that the 
 state secretaries, or the ministers on duty, approached 
 the King. There were some, indeed, to whom he had 
 never spoken. The King his father had put the 
 finances in such good order, and all was executed so 
 much in the military way, and with so much im- 
 plicit obedience, that a country of four hundred 
 leagues was managed with as much ease as a small 
 abbey. At eleven o'clock, the King, putting on his 
 boots, used to review his regiment of guards, and, 
 at the same hour, the colonels went through a 
 similar parade in every province. In the interval 
 between the parade and dinner, the general offi- 
 cers and one or two chamberlains used to eat 
 at his table, which was as well furnished as pos- 
 sible, in a country where there is neither game, 
 good meat, nor any poultry, and where they 
 
198 the king's obscenitv. 
 
 are obliged to procure corn from Magdebourg. 
 After dinner he used to retire to his cabinet, and 
 make verses till five, or six, o'clock. After that a 
 young man of the name of d'Arget, formerly the 
 secretary of Valori, sent from France, used to 
 read aloud. A sort of a concert followed ; the 
 King used to play on the flute extremely well. The 
 music was often of his own composition, for he used 
 to cultivate every art and accomplishment, and would 
 not, like Epaminondas, have had the mortification 
 of being obliged to own, that he did not know music. 
 They used to sup in a small room ; the most singular 
 ornament in it was a picture, of which he had himself 
 given the design to Pne, his painter ; one of the best 
 colourists in Prussia. It was a most beautiful sub- 
 ject of Priapus, and the observer might there see 
 every species of animal in libidinous postures, from 
 men and women to monkeys and goats. 
 
 Never did any class of men speak so freely of all 
 the superstitions of mankind, and never were they 
 treated with so much ridicule and contempt. God 
 alone was respected ; but they did not spare any of 
 those who had made use of his name to deceive their 
 fellow-creatures. Women and priests never entered 
 
CITATION OF A PRIEST. 199 
 
 the palace; in short, Frederic used to live without 
 court, counsel, or worship. Some judges of a pro- 
 vince had condemned a peasant, accused by a 
 priest of an amour with his ass, to be burnt alive. 
 It was the custom never to execute any one until the 
 King had approved of the sentence ; a very humane 
 law, which is, to a certain degree, practised in Eng- 
 land, as well as in some other countries. Frederic 
 wrote at the end of the sentence, that he allowed 
 throughout his dominions liberty of conscience 
 and of love. A divine near Stettin, shocked at this 
 indulgence, introduced in a sermon on Herod a few 
 hints against Frederic, his master. The King or- 
 dered him to be brought to Potzdam, and cited 
 him to the consistory, although there was no more 
 of a consistory than masses. The poor man was 
 brought ; the King took the robe and the band of a 
 preacher ; d'Argens, the author of the Lettres Juives, 
 and a Baron Polnitz, who had three, or four times 
 changed his religion, were dressed in the same way ; a 
 dictionary of Bayle was put on the table, instead of 
 a gospel book, and the accused was introduced by 
 two grenadiers before these three ministers of God. 
 " My brother," said the King to him, " in the name 
 
200 FREDERIC AND THE CLERGY. 
 
 of the Almighty, I ask you on what Herod you have 
 been preaching ?" He answered, " upon Herod, 
 who ordered all the little children to be slaughtered." 
 " I ask you," added the King, ." whether it was 
 Herod the first of that name, for you must know there 
 have been several." The poor priest could not reply. 
 " How, Sir," said the King, " dare you preach on 
 Herod, and not know of what family he was ? You 
 are unworthy of the functions you discharge. We 
 grant you pardon this time ; but know, that we shall 
 excommunicate you, if ever in future you dare to 
 preach about a person with whom you are not ac- 
 quainted/' They then delivered his sentence, and 
 granted his pardon. Three fictitious names were 
 signed. " We proceed to-morrow to Berlin," added 
 the King; we shall ask our brothers to grant your 
 pardon. You must not fail attending." The priest 
 went to Berlin to look for the three ministers ; he 
 was laughed at ; and the King, who loved money even 
 better than a jest, did not manifest any wish to pay 
 the expenses of his journey. 
 
 Frederic used to govern the clergy as despotically 
 as the other subjects of his kingdom. He exercised 
 an unlimited power in granting divorces, when hus- 
 
HIS STRICT ECONOMY. 01 
 
 bands and wives did not agree together. A minister 
 cited to him, one day, the ancient testament on these 
 divorces. " Moses," he answered, " used to govern 
 his Jews as he chose, and in the same way I shall 
 manage my Prussians." 
 
 This singular government, these manners still 
 more strange, this contrast of stoicism and epicu- 
 rism, of severity in the military discipline, and of 
 effeminacy in the interior of the palace, the pages 
 with whom he used to amuse himself in his cabinet, 
 and soldiers passing the gauntlet six and thirty times 
 under the windows of the King, who was looking on at 
 the punishment, discourses on morality, and an un- 
 ruly licentiousness, composed a fantastical picture, 
 with which few persons were acquainted at that 
 time, and which has since been never beheld in Eu- 
 rope. 
 
 The strictest economy prevailed in all his pleasures. 
 His table, and that of the officers and servants, were 
 fixed at thirty-six crowns a-day, independent of wine. 
 At other courts, the officers of the crown have the 
 care of those expenses. At this time, his valet-de- 
 chambre Federsdoff was at once his chief steward, 
 his cup-bearer, and great bearer of the bread-basket. 
 
202 Frederic's occasional splendour. 
 
 Whether it was through economy, or through po- 
 licy, he did not grant the least favour to his old fa- 
 vourites, and, above all, to those who had exposed 
 their lives in his service, when he was Prince Royal. 
 He did not pay the money which he had then bor- 
 rowed: and, as Louis XII. did not revenge the in- 
 juries he had experienced when Duke of Orleans, 
 the King of Prussia forgot the debts of the Prince 
 Royal. The poor mistress, who had been whipped 
 for him by the hand of the executioner, was married 
 to the clerk of the hackney-coach office, for there 
 were eighteen hackney-coaches in Berlin; and her 
 former lover presented her with a yearly pension of 
 seventy crowns, which was always paid with the 
 greatest exactness. Her name was Shommers, a tall 
 woman, very thin, with the look of a sibyl, who did 
 not appear to be worth undergoing a flogging for a 
 prince. Nevertheless, when at Berlin, Frederic 
 displayed much sumptuousness on public days. It 
 was a splendid sight to see him at table, surrounded 
 by twenty princes of the empire, served on the finest 
 gold plate in Europe, and thirty fine pages, and as 
 many young edukes, richly dressed, bearing large 
 dishes of solid gold. The great officers were then 
 
ACCOUNT OF LA BARBARANI. 203 
 
 seen ; but, except at such times, they never appeared. 
 After dinner, they used to go to. the opera, in a large 
 house, three hundred feet long, which one of his 
 chamberlains, named Knoberstoff, built without the 
 help of an architect The best singers, and the best 
 dancers, were in his pay. La Barbarani was then 
 performing on his theatre. She afterwards married 
 the son of his chancellor. The King had ordered this 
 dancer to be taken away from Venice by some 
 soldiers, and she was brought byway of Vienna up to 
 Berlin. He was rather in love with her, because her 
 legs resembled those of a man. A singular thing is, 
 that he used to give her thirty-two thousand francs, as 
 yearly wages. His Italian poet, who used to make verses 
 for the operas, of which he formed the plan himself, 
 had only twelve hundred francs a-year ; but it is to 
 be considered he was very ugly, and could not dance. 
 La Barbarani had alone more than the emolument 
 of three ministers of state together. As to the 
 Italian poet, he one day paid himself. He stole 
 from a chapel, used by the first King of Prussia, some 
 old gold galoons, with which it was ornamented. 
 The King, who never frequented a church, said, that 
 be found himself no loser. Besides, he had just 
 
204 CRUEL TREATMENT OF A 
 
 been writing a dissertation in favour of thieving, 
 which is printed in the collection of his academy ; and 
 he did not think it proper, at this time, to belie his 
 writings by his actions. This indulgence, however, 
 was not extended towards the military. There was 
 a gentleman of Franche Comt6, in the prisons of 
 Spandau, six feet high, whom the late King had 
 enticed away on account of his tallness. They had 
 promised him the place of chamberlain, and allotted 
 him that of a common soldier. The poor man soon 
 after deserted, with a few more of his comrades : he 
 was seized, and brought before his Majesty, to whom 
 he was either magnanimous, or simple, enough to ob- 
 serve, he only repented of one thing, which was not 
 having killed such a tyrant. For this answer, his 
 nose and his ears were cut ofT ; he was made to pass 
 the gauntlet six-and- thirty times, and afterwards sent 
 to Spandau to work on the public roads. He was 
 working still when Mr. de Valori, the French envoy, 
 begged Voltaire to ask his pardon from the very 
 clement son of the very cruel Frederic William. 
 His Majesty was pleased to say, that it was for him, 
 la Clemenza di Tito was performed ; a beautiful 
 opera, by the celebrated Metastasio, put into music 
 
POOR FRANCHE COMTOIS. 205 
 
 by the King himself, aided by the Italian. He took 
 a good opportunity of recommending to his consi- 
 deration the case of the poor Franche Comtois, 
 without ears and without a nose, and composed the 
 following appeal in his favour : 
 
 Genie universel, ame sensible et ferine, 
 
 Quoi ! lorsque vous regnez, il est des malheureux ! 
 
 Aux tourmens d'un coupable il vous faut mettre un term* 
 
 Etn'en mettre jamais a vos soins genereux. 
 
 Voyez aupres de vous les prieres tremblantes, 
 
 Filles du repentir, maitresses des grands coeurs 
 
 S'etonner d'arroser de larmes impuissantes 
 
 Les mains qui de la terre ont du secher les coeurs. 
 
 Ah ! pourquoi m'etaller, avec magnificence, 
 
 Ce spectacle brillant ou triomphe Titus ? 
 
 Pour achever la fete, egalez sa clemence, 
 
 Et l'imitez en tout, ou ne le vantez plus. 
 
 The request was strong ; but it had the advantage 
 of being in verse. The King promised some lenity, 
 and even some months after, he had the goodness to 
 put the old gentleman into the hospital at six sous 
 a day. He had refused that favour to the Queen his 
 mother, who, very likely, had 'asked for it in prose. 
 
 In the midst of feasting, operas, and suppers, the 
 secret negotiation proceeded. The King wished Vol- 
 taire to speak about every thing ; and he used some- 
 times to mingle questions on France and Austria 
 
206 king's DISCOURSE WITH VOLTAIRE. 
 
 with the Eneid and Livy. The King used often, at 
 last, to burst into a passion, saying, that as long as 
 the French court sued for peace in all other quarters, 
 he would not make war. Voltaire used to send to 
 him from his own room into his apartment reflections 
 on a piece of paper with a margin, on which he 
 replied to the other's solicitations. The following 
 was one of the correspondences. Do you doubt that 
 the House of Austria will, on the first occasion, re- 
 quire the restoration of Silesia ? His answer in the 
 margin was : 
 
 lis seront re$us biribi 
 
 A la faijon de Barbari mon ami. 
 
 This negotiation of a most novel kind finished by 
 a discourse the King held with Voltaire, in a moment 
 of anger against the King of England, his dear uncle. 
 These two kings did not like each other. The King 
 of Prussia used to say, George is the uncle of Fre- 
 deric, but not of the King of Prussia. At last, he 
 told his guest, a Let France declare war against 
 England, and I march." The King yielded to 
 these persuasions, imagining that he was consulting 
 his own safety, and his own interest by so doing. 
 The following month the Austrians. had an hundred 
 
EPIGRAM AND CHARACTER OP PIRON. 207 
 
 / 
 
 thousand men opposed to them. Voltaire was 
 pressed to stay near his friend in Prussia ; but 
 having performed the mission to his own satisfaction, 
 and that of Louis XV., he returned to Paris. The 
 real object of his journey had been kept secret, and 
 was attributed to his quarrel with Boyer. Piron ac- 
 cordingly, to perpetuate the memory of his supposed 
 flight, made an epigram on the occasion, which, 
 however, does not reflect much credit either on his 
 heart, his head, or his literary reputation : 
 
 Du permesse noir 6tourneau, 
 Aigle aux yeux du vulgaire ignace, 
 L&che ennemi du grand Rousseau, 
 Fuis mechant, fuis, double le pas, 
 Cours, vole au fond des pays Bas. 
 Replonger ta muse infernale 
 Loin pour jamais, loin de nos yeux, 
 Avec ton squelette odieux, 
 L'orgueil, l'envie et le scandale. 
 
 It must, nevertheless, be allowed, that, with the ex- 
 ception of the bitter dislike Piron felt towards Vol- 
 taire, he was a good-humoured man, had a constant 
 flow of wit in conversation, and good spirits in com- 
 pany. His Metromanie is the best piece on the French 
 stage, after those of Moliere. On this occasion, fully 
 
208 REMARKS ON LITERARV SOCIETIES. 
 
 persuaded that Voltaire had fled, fearful of being impri- 
 soned on account of his want of respect towards Boyer, 
 he composed the lines which are quoted. 
 
 After having rendered this important service to his 
 country, Voltaire performed one equally useful to the 
 Republic of Letters, by the introduction at Paris of 
 M. de Marmontel, a young student of the University of 
 Toulouse, where he had justly deserved the prize of 
 the Floral Games, although it had been awarded to 
 another candidate ; the academy of Toulouse not hav- 
 ing been insensible to the influence of rank and wealth 
 in determining the respective merits of the compe- 
 titors the common fault of all literary societies, from 
 the universities of England and France, to the gram- 
 mar-schools of Scotland and America. At Oxford 
 and Cambridge, indeed, this is even now so much 
 the case, that the name of a lord, on the boards of 
 their college, is pointed out to every new resident 
 as an example for wit, and of a person who studiously 
 performs the duties of attending chapel-hours, and 
 college-discipline. 
 
 The general character of the young nobility of Eng- 
 land, in the present day, furnishes striking and satisfac- 
 tory proofs of the benefits derived from their scholastic 
 
Voltaire's kindness to marmontel. 209 
 
 education*. Marmontel appealed to a tribunal higher 
 and more impartial than that of Toulouse, in the same 
 manner as an enlightened Englishman would appeal 
 from Oxford, or Cambridge, and sent his composi- 
 tions to Voltaire; who, to console him for the injus- 
 tice he had experienced, made him a present of his 
 works, and invited him to the capital, to promote the 
 cultivation of his talents. This was, no doubt, more 
 highly flattering than even the acquisition would have 
 been of the prize for which he had contended ; but the 
 young poet, fearful of exposing himself to the tempt- 
 ations of a capital, the expenses of which his finances 
 would not support, at first refused ; yet, afterwards, 
 having an assurance of patronage and protection from 
 
 * In a French work, recently published at Paris, entituled, 
 Essai sur VEmploi du Temps, ou Methode qui a pour ObjH de 
 bien regler VEmploi du Terns, premier moyen d'etre heureux, 
 dessine specialement d, V usage des jeunes gens de 15 a 25 ans y 
 par un Membre de la Legion d'Honneur, which really has some 
 very excellent remarks, and which, if well read and attended 
 to, would produce more good to mankind, and credit to society, 
 than either his cross or our medals. He assigns, from Bacon, 
 as reasons for the decline of the Sciences, the poverty of the 
 professors, and their bad pay. Since the time, however, 
 that Bacon flourished, a wonderful change has taken place 
 in this respect in England ; but without producing the other one 
 anticipated by the philosopher. 
 
210 marmontel's RECEPTION AT PARIS. 
 
 Mr. Ory, the comptroller-general, who consented to 
 supply him with what was necessary, and being re- 
 assured of the protection of Voltaire, he left Toulouse 
 in company with some friends, and reached Montauban. 
 It was here that he learned the academy of that town 
 had adjudged him a lyre as the prize of his composi- 
 tions. As, however, he did not conceive it had any of 
 the good qualities of that of Apollo, he sold it, and, re- 
 galing his friends with the money, proceeded on his 
 route to Paris. When he arrived there, he found that 
 his friend, Mr. Ory, had just lost his situation ; but 
 Voltaire received him with open arms, and joined his 
 consolation and advice to enable him to support this 
 misfortune with courage ; he advised him to write a 
 comedy. " It would be like my drawing a likeness 
 without having seen the original," replied the young 
 poet. This remark pleased Voltaire. A young writer 
 often says forcible things, but they are not always just ; 
 experience alone can give the power of expressing truth 
 in a forcible manner. Voltaire introduced him to all 
 his friends, and Marmontel was soon able to stand 
 alone. 
 
 We now come to a period when the author of the 
 Henriade exchanged the labours of a literary life for 
 
VOLTAIRE BECOMES A COURTIER. 211 
 
 those of a courtier ; and was no longer attached to the 
 car of Minerva, but to the wheel of fortune. The 
 love which Louis XV. had for Madame E'tiole* : 
 (who was soon afterwards made La Marquise de Pom- 
 padour) had already been manifested. This lady was 
 born in a low rank of life, and was the wife of a 
 poor farmer of Normandy. Her father had been con- 
 demned to death as a deserter, and her mother, in 
 order to save the life of her husband, sacrificed the 
 honour of her daughter to the desires of the king ; who, 
 struck with her extraordinary beauty as he was one day 
 returning from hunting, had made some inquiries re- 
 specting her condition. The charms of her mind, and 
 the symmetry of her body, enabled her to maintain an 
 ascendency over his conduct and his passions, for 
 twenty years, even to the time of his death. Voltaire 
 found at her house, at Etiole, a pleasant retreat, and, 
 in her society, an agreeable friend ; and he here made 
 a sketch of the history of the war, which was carried 
 
 * On whom the following epitaph was written at her death : 
 Ci git qui sortit du fumier ; 
 Qui pour faire fortune entiere 
 Vendit son honneur fermier 
 Et sa fille au proprietaire. 
 
212 LA PRINCESS DE NAVARRE. 
 
 on at that time, and in proportion as he finished his 
 writings, they were deposited in the King's library. 
 
 About the end of the year, he repaired to the camp 
 of Fribourg, where Louis XV. then was ; and pre- 
 sented him with an epistle, of which his Majesty was at 
 that time deserving. The King, by way of recompense, 
 gave him the office of Historiographer of France, which 
 was rather considered in the light of a sinecure for an 
 indolent man of letters, than as an office requiring 
 active duties. 
 
 The marriage of the dauphin with the Infanta of Spain 
 had been postponed ; but they were now making prepara- 
 tions for the reception of this young princess, and Vol- 
 taire was charged with the difficult task of composing- a 
 play, in celebration of the nuptials. Molire had 
 done the same under Louis XIV., and the pieces he 
 wrote on this occasion are not inferior to the rest of his 
 works. La Princesse de Navarre was the entertainment 
 produced by Voltaire, which procured him the appoint- 
 ment of Gentleman of the Bedchamber*. 
 
 The duties of his office did not suit a person who 
 
 * He wrote the following lines on the occasion : 
 Mon Henri IV. et ma Zaire 
 Et mon Americaine Alzire. 
 
VOLTAIRE RESIDES AT CHAMP. 213 
 
 was so entirely devoted to letters and philosophy. The 
 King, therefore, allowed him to sell the place, and to 
 have its duties performed by deputy. 
 
 About this time Madame du Chatelet was obliged 
 to go to Chaions, where her son had the small- 
 pox ; and Voltaire did not abandon his afflicted mis- 
 tress. Their society was a mutual comfort ; but, on 
 his return, he was obliged to perform quarantine, for 
 fear of communicating the infection to the court. 
 " This," says he, " is not the only evil I have suf- 
 fered from prejudice." During the time that Louis XV. 
 was in Flanders, his chamberlain resided at Champ, 
 about three leagues from Paris, in a house belonging 
 to the Duke de la Valiere, where he had an opportu- 
 nity of consulting his valuable library, and prosecuting 
 his studies. While resident there, he received a letter 
 from the Marquis d'Argenson, announcing the victory 
 of the French over the allied forces at the battle of 
 Fontenoi. Many general officers sent the details of 
 the engagement ; and in two days the poem of that 
 
 Ne m'ont valu un seul regard du Roi, 
 J'eus beaucoup d'ennemis avec tres-peu de gloire. 
 Les Honneurs et les biens pleuvent enfin sur moi 
 Pour une farce de la foire. 
 
214 
 
 PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD S 
 
 name was produced. Its principal merit consists in the 
 minuteness of detail. The name of no officer of condi- 
 tion is omitted ; and in the course of a very few days 
 no less than twenty thousand copies were distributed. 
 After this poem, Voltaire was again required to produce 
 a dramatic work on the same subject for the fetes at 
 Versailles. The Temple of Glory, after the style of 
 Metastasio, was what he fixed upon. In this we see 
 a moral and philosophical spirit, which is not to be 
 found in any of the plays represented at the fetes under 
 Louis XIV. ; but what had met with success at Ver- 
 sailles was criticised at Paris. Piron, piqued by the 
 favour shewn at court to a work which was not a 
 master-piece, wrote an amusing satire upon it. 
 
 A revolution at this time threatened England. 
 Prince Charles Edward, son of the Pretender, and 
 grandson of the unfortunate James II., at the head of 
 an armed force, asserted his right to the throne of his 
 forefathers. He had landed in Scotland, possessed 
 himself of Edinburgh, and gained three battles. 
 Some English noblemen had joined his party, and 
 many others only waited the event of a decisive 
 engagement, to take up arms also. France, at war 
 with England and astonished at the success of the 
 
INVASION OF ENGLAND DEFEATED. 215 
 
 Prince, thought it advisable to second him. The 
 Count de Lally, whom Louis had the year before 
 made brigadier on the field of battle at Fontenoi, 
 planned a descent upon England ; it was commu- 
 nicated to Voltaire, who was charged with the office of 
 writing the declaration, which was to be issued by 
 the Duke de Richelieu, as commander in chief, upon 
 his landing. But whilst these preparations were 
 making in the French harbours, Charles Edward, 
 hitherto successful in his undertaking, was totally 
 routed at Culloden, by the Duke of Cumberland ; 
 who had commanded the British forces at Fontenoi 
 the year before. A price was set on the life of the 
 prince ; and he had the alternative of wandering dis- 
 guised from island to island, and from cavern to cavern, 
 to the risk of forfeiting his head upon the scaffold. His 
 countrymen beheld, with regret, gallantry and personal 
 beauty in distress ; and, though modern politics have 
 belied, and scoffed at, the notion of the liberty a nation 
 possesses in choosing its own monarch, the historian 
 must sigh, when he balances the divine right of 
 Kings with the power of a democratic constitution. 
 The moral strikes more forcibly when prejudice is 
 nearly extinguished, or the chance of danger averted, 
 
216 TRAGEDY SENT TO BENEDICT XIV. 
 
 and many an honest heart, concealed under an High- 
 land plaid, still beats at the recollection of the strug- 
 gles of their ancestors in the cause of the Pretender. 
 
 All the political dreams of the French vanished, and 
 Voltaire was one of those who the least cared for 
 their defeat. About this time the President Bouhier 
 died ; Voltaire demanded his place at the academy, 
 but the voice of fanaticism again was raised against 
 him. Boyer and his partisans affirmed, that to hold 
 a place in the academy, did not require the member 
 to possess abilities, but that it was indispensably re- 
 quisite he should be a good Christian ; and Mahomet, 
 which has been the most durable of Voltaire's works, 
 was the one which excited most the clamours of the 
 bigots. Voltaire, to remove their objections, sent 
 the tragedy to Benedict XIV., one of the most rea- 
 sonable and enlightened of the pontiffs that have 
 occupied the holy chair of Saint Peter, with a copy of 
 verses and an address. The pope returned the poet 
 a letter, and some medals of gold, for what he called 
 the Beliissima Tragedia. Boyer's attempt was foiled ; 
 but he was not disarmed ; and Voltaire was obliged 
 to write a hypocritical letter to the head of the Je- 
 suits, which as it condemned some of his enemies, 
 
VOLTAIRe's HYPOCRITICAL LETTER. 217 
 
 found favour for its author in the sight of this prelate, 
 and his views were no longer opposed. 
 
 Voltaire's address to the academy was of a de- 
 scription as different from what had been hitherto 
 delivered, as his character and talents were from 
 those of its members. Instead of a string of com- 
 pliments and panegyrics on those in power, he spoke 
 of literature with taste and judgment, and men- 
 tioned Cr^billon with the noble generosity of one 
 who does not wish to detract from his rival ; a be- 
 haviour which is rarely practised by any class of 
 men; and still more rarely among authors. A fresh 
 storm of libels was now poured upon him, and, un- 
 luckily, his patience and self-possession forsook him. 
 He found that the place in the academy, for which he 
 had sighed for the last fifteen years, added nothing to 
 his glory ; it had given him, perhaps, a momentary 
 pleasure, but this was destroyed by many hours of 
 uneasiness ; neither the consolations of friendship, 
 nor the pride of acknowledged abilities, could render 
 him insensible to the attacks of his enemies ; and, 
 when we reflect on the uncertain enjoyment of those 
 things for which we often sacrifice so much, and by 
 which we acquire so little, human enthusiasm must 
 
218 JUDICIOUS REFLECTIONS. 
 
 despond. The ambition of the conqueror will be 
 confined within more narrow bounds, when he calcu- 
 lates how limited his enjoyment may prove of the 
 kingdoms which he has panted to possess; the 
 author, or philosopher will, perhaps, wish they had 
 never written, and never speculated, when they com- 
 pare their hours of labour with the harvest of emi- 
 nence they have reaped, and the prayers of the saint or 
 devotee will falter on their lips, when they contrast 
 the present with the past, for they must fly to faith 
 in the Redeemer, as an antidote to the daily dis- 
 appointments of the world. 
 
 A minister, one day speaking to Voltaire on this 
 subject, reproached him with too great irascibility, 
 saying: M If I were in your situation, I would let 
 them talk on and say nothing." The advice was 
 good, but the philosophy of this same minister was 
 not proof against a couplet which Voltaire made, on 
 quitting him. A man's own conduct is never known 
 until it is tried, and our poet lost a friend. The 
 situation of a courtier did not become him ; by de- 
 grees he broke the chains which attached him to 
 Versailles, and gave the preference to Sceaux. This 
 was the residence of the Duchess du Maine; fre- 
 
NANINE, BABOUE, AND ZADIG. 219 
 
 quented by the best company, and free from the vexa- 
 tions and intrigues of preferment or pension-hunting. 
 Those who were there admitted, were named, Les 
 Oiseaux de Sceaux, in the same manner as those who 
 frequented the society of Ninon de Lenclos, were 
 called, Les Oiseaux des Tournelles. From this place 
 he retreated to the court of Stanislas I., which did not 
 in the least resemble that of Louis XIV. This mo- 
 narch, in the cultivation of letters and philosophy, con- 
 soled himself for the loss of Poland, and had around 
 him persons who were agreeable and well-informed. 
 
 Voltaire and the Marquise du Chatelet were in- 
 vited ; and they found that repose and quiet, which 
 is absolutely necessary for the prosecution of literary 
 acquirements. Here was written the play of Nanine, 
 which was represented before the King ; as also the 
 romances of Baboue and Zadig. Few people, ob- 
 serves Duvernet, would at first sight perceive, that, 
 in Zadig the character of Vebor was a satire on the 
 Theatine monk, Boyer; and thus the philosopher 
 revenged himself for six years of persecution, which 
 had been occasioned by this prelate. It is to be 
 regretted, that we have no more works in this style ; 
 for, in all the allegories of Voltaire, we see a phi- 
 
220 MADAME DU CHATELET's DEATH. 
 
 losophic moral blended with amusement and in- 
 struction. 
 
 He had resided with Stanislas during two years, 
 and had almost forgotten Versailles and his enemies, 
 when the death of Madame du Chatelet, after an 
 illness of two days, tore him from this retreat ; in his 
 own words, " the family were so overcome with grief, 
 as to be incapable either of sending for a priest, or a 
 confessor." She died without feeling any of the 
 horrors of death, and it was reserved for those 
 around, to estimate her sufferings. They survived 
 when she was no more. The inanimate form of an 
 object, still beloved, was extended before the weeping 
 eyes of those who had once beheld her with fondness, 
 and heard her converse with pleasure : and reason gave 
 no hopes against a calamity they knew to be irremedi- 
 able. The passions, which had agitated and pleased 
 others, by turns, existed now only in recollection ; 
 the stillness of death struck forcibly on their minds, 
 and the philosophers of Lunevilie retired with a 
 practical example of the triumphs of nature over 
 artificial resolution. 
 
 Occupation of mind, and the consolations of true 
 religion, are boasted of as the strongest antidotes 
 
Voltaire's return to paris. 221 
 
 to grief; but the speculations, or the experience, 
 of the sage, as well as the resignation of the pious, 
 are found useless and weak in calamity ; and the 
 bitterness of sorrow triumphs over human theories. 
 The armour of scepticism, or credulity, may appear 
 dazzling in a mock engagement ; but their gaudy 
 shield is soon pierced through by the spear of ad- 
 versity ; and the victim to his vanity finds, that 
 what he recommended as a defence to others, is 
 no protection to himself. Voltaire, unable to re- 
 main at a place rendered so dismal by his recol- 
 lections, returned to the metropolis, and again sunk 
 into severe study ; a kind of relaxation from unhap- 
 piness, of which few can take advantage, or appre- 
 ciate. It is said, that the coffin, which held the 
 remains of Madame du Chatelet, broke down in 
 passing over the stage of the theatre, on which she 
 had acted only a few days before. 
 
222 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1 HE peace which was concluded this year, caused 
 more gaiety than usual in Paris. Many of the nobi- 
 lity had theatres in their own houses ; and the corpo- 
 ration of citizens united their efforts to establish them 
 in different quarters of the town. Voltaire had one 
 in the Rue Traversiere, between the Palais Royal 
 and the Tuilleries. Here he gave lessons to Le Kain, 
 one of the best actors the French stage ever produced. 
 He was the son of a goldsmith, and had profited by a 
 good education ; but his friends, fearful of his suc- 
 cess as an actor, tried to turn his views from the stage, 
 and to induce him to embrace the trade of his father. 
 All their offers of advice and assistance were in vain. 
 The young man persisted in affirming, that nature had 
 destined him for a comedian ; and when Voltaire 
 perceived his resolution to be fixed, he interested 
 himself in his behalf, and caused him to perform at 
 Sceaux, before the Duchesse du Maine, where he 
 was soon distinguished for his theatrical talents. 
 
ORESTES AND ROME PRESERVED. 223 
 
 In 1749, Orestes was presented. An adverse party, 
 at the head of which was Piron, wished to prevent 
 its success. Hissing commenced before the curtain 
 was raised ; even in the street, and during the first 
 four acts, nothing was heard but a confused noise of 
 disapprobation and applause. In the fifth act, how- 
 ever, during a moment of approbation, Voltaire, 
 leaning forward from his box, exclaimed, in a loud 
 tone of voice, u Courage, brave Athenians, give your 
 applauses ; it is Sophocles quite pure." Three weeks 
 after this his Rome Preserved appeared, in opposition 
 to the Catiline of Cr6billon ; but it was acted in private. 
 The Duke de Villars performed the part of Catiline, 
 and Voltaire that of Cicero. " Never,'' says Con- 
 dorcet, " was an illusion so complete; it was the cha- 
 racter in which he excelled the most, and, indeed, the 
 only one in which he appeared to advantage. He had 
 passed a year in Paris, and enjoyed the gratification 
 and pleasure arising from fortune and friends; but 
 fate called him into Prussia ; and Frederic, his old 
 friend, pressed him to go and take up his abode in the 
 palace of Potzdam. Voltaire, however, who dreaded 
 the loss of liberty, and was well aware of the trea- 
 chery of courts, pleaded bad health, and the unwhole- 
 
224 VOLTAIRE DEPARTS FOR PRUSSIA. 
 
 someness of the climate of Berlin. D'Argens, La 
 Metrie, and Algarotti, were charged by the King to re- 
 assure him on this subject of alarm, and d'Arget, the 
 secretary of the King, joined with their letters a certifi- 
 cate in verse, which was accompanied by two melons, 
 gathered in the month of June, in the royal gardens 
 of Potzdam. This, however, did not quite relieve 
 his anxiety ; and Frederic wrote to him himself on 
 the subject, and ordered his banker at Paris to ad- 
 vance him sixteen thousand francs for the expenses of 
 hisjoumey. Voltaire having thus all the pretences 
 for a refusal removed, applied for a guarantee of safety 
 for his niece, Madame Denis, by whom he wished to 
 be accompanied ; this was granted, and a slight mor- 
 tification to his self-love at last decided his final 
 movement. 
 
 Young Arnaud, who was then at Berlin, had 
 addressed a letter, in bad verse, to the king of 
 Prussia, to which his Majesty returned, in answer, a. 
 stanza, affirming that " Arnaud was in his dawn, and 
 Voltaire in his decline *.'* These lines were sent to 
 Thiriot, the literary correspondent of the King at 
 
 * Arnaud etoit a son aurore, et Voltaire a son couchant. 
 
HIS JOURNEY TO COMPE1GNE. 225 
 
 Paris, and from thence found their way to Voltaire, 
 who was in bed when he received the letter. " Arnaud 
 in his dawn," cried he, springing up in his night- 
 gown ; " Voltaire in his decline : let Frederic meddle 
 with reigning, and not with criticising me. I will go ; 
 yes, I will go and teach that King, that I am not yet 
 in my decline*." Soon after this, he went to Com- 
 peigne, where the court then was, and obtained per- 
 mission from Louis to go to Prussia ; from Compeigne 
 he proceeded into Holland, to Cleves, where Mr. 
 Raesfeld, the commissary of the King of Prussia, had 
 orders to receive, lodge, and forward him to Berlin. 
 The King of France could not help feeling regret to see 
 such a man retire from his court, to that of a rival 
 prince ; and, though a simple chamberlain, it did not 
 diminish that sensation at the court of Versailles ; for 
 he was the first literary character of the age, and had 
 been neglected by the court of his own country. 
 
 Perhaps a prince might have been received at the 
 court of Prussia with more magnificence than Voltaire, 
 but not with such real and enthusiastic pleasure ; 
 
 * Que Frederic se mele de regner, et non de me juger ; j'irai, 
 oui, j'irai apprendre a ce roi que je ne me couchepas encore. 
 
 Q 
 
226 voltaire's reception at Berlin. 
 
 he had the finest apartments in the palace, lodged 
 near the King, had a private table and establishment, 
 and a secretary had orders to supply him with what- 
 ever could render his habits of life most agreeable. 
 He was soon offered honours and distinctions ; but he 
 could accept of none but by permission of the French 
 King ; whom he considered his master. His letters 
 written on this head to the court of Versailles, were 
 received with bitter recollections of the loss they had 
 sustained. He thought it, however, right to accept 
 the key of chamberlain, and the Cross of Merit ; and 
 the King, who decorated him with these marks of 
 distinction, added some philosophical verses, and soon 
 afterwards volunteered a contract, by which he was to 
 pay him a yearly pension of twenty thousand francs. 
 This sort of contract, between a monarch and a 
 philosopher, is not one of the least extraordinary 
 events of the age in which it happened ; and there 
 are few learned men of the present day who would 
 not be chamberlains for a like sum. The gaiety of 
 the court, since Voltaire's arrival, became livelier, 
 and the tragedy of Rome Preserved, which had 
 been hitherto only performed at the private theatre of 
 the Duchess du Maine, was played at Potzdam by 
 
CHARACTER OP MAUPERTUIS. 227 
 
 the Princesses of the royal family. Darget relates, that, 
 at the rehearsal of this play, the soldiers who acted 
 the praetorian guards, and who, though well trained 
 for the field, did not understand stage movements, 
 excited the indignation of Voltaire, who, dressed as 
 Cicero, exclaimed in a burst of passion, " Zounds, 
 I asked for men, and they sent me Germans*." 
 The Princesses were amused at the energy with 
 which the Roman orator, who forgot that ladies were 
 present, had expressed himself; an impetuosity of 
 character which he preserved even to his 80th year. 
 
 Frederic and Voltaire had an interview every even- 
 ing. They conversed on politics, arts, and the state 
 of the human mind. The time passed quickly and 
 agreeably away, till Maupertuis, the president of the 
 academy at Berlin, came to court. He was a man of 
 considerable talents, and pleasant in society where 
 he had the ascendency ; but, if opposed, his disposi- 
 tion shewed itself in pride and gloomy abstraction ; 
 and in company with the King he was more like a 
 slavish courtier, than a philosopher speaking his sen- 
 timents. In this, however, he might have been right ; 
 
 * Foutre.j'ai demande des hommes et on m'envoi des Alle- 
 mauds. 
 
228 VOLTAIRE FLATTERS MAUPERTUIS. 
 
 for the enjoyment of power renders the mind insensi- 
 ble to truth ; and the subsequent pages will shew us 
 how much this was the case even with Frederic. The 
 suggestions of philosophy, or the criticisms of genius, 
 are not always agreeable sounds to the ear ; and it is 
 the prerogative of kings to listen only to what is 
 pleasant and entertaining. The influence of majesty, 
 and the splendour of a crown, may, for a time, silence 
 cotemporaneous animadversion ; but it will exist and 
 breathe in history, when the bones of the monarch are 
 as rotten as the clothes he wore, and when he is only 
 seen and remembered through his vices and deformities. 
 Thus, the superiority of the works of intellect, over the 
 more perishable ones of art, are a foretaste of immorta- 
 lity ; indeed, the only one with which we are acquainted, 
 or which we can connect with the endurance of time. 
 
 During ten years Maupertuis had been flattered by 
 Voltaire ; and when, in 1733, he wrote his Essay upon 
 the Figures of the Stars, the philosopher of Cirey 
 wrote to him thus : " I have read it with as much 
 pleasure as a young Miss reads a romance, or a Devo- 
 tee the Evangelist*." But while resident in Lorraine, 
 
 * Je Fai lu avec autant de plaisir, qu'une jeune demoiselle 
 lit un roman, et qu'un devot lit FEvangile. 
 
DOCTRINES OP DE PRADES. 229 
 
 Madame du Chatelet and Maupertuis had quarrelled, 
 and Voltaire took the part of his friend ; thus all 
 efforts to reconcile the philosophers at Potzdam 
 failed. Voltaire having been ordered by the King to 
 select for him a public lecturer, recommended the 
 Abbe* de Prades. This is the same Abbe, who, being 
 desirous of taking the title of doctor in theology, main- 
 tained, with the greatest intrepidity, at a full meeting 
 in the Sorbonne, at Paris, the following doctrines: 
 f That our soul is nothing more than an igneous 
 fluid, after the opinion of the old fathers ; that Moses 
 is the most impudent of all istorians, after some 
 more learned men ; and, lastly, that the miracles of 
 Jesus Christ resembled those of Esculapius upon his 
 own authority. This boldness in the promulgation of 
 what were judged to be such detestable principles, 
 gained the Abbe a great reputation over all Europe, 
 and a small fortune at Berlin. Frederic made him a 
 prebendary, as well as a lecturer. The pious la- 
 mented, and the wicked laughed at bad works pro- 
 ducing such good fruit, but the ways of Providence 
 are inscrutable, and not to be measured by human 
 rules, or laws. 
 
 The monarch of Prussia, and the chamberlain from 
 
230 FRUGALITY OF VOLTAIRE. 
 
 Versailles, however, much as they might admire each 
 other's character, were destined never to agree. The 
 first cause of discontent between them was, as du Thi- 
 bault* asserts, too great a regard for economy. It is 
 well known, that Voltaire was at that time very careful ; 
 but this had always been habitual with Frederic. 
 Voltaire imposed upon himself a singular mode of 
 living in this respect, which had never been practised 
 before. Born with a tolerably good fortune, which 
 was increased by inheritance and other means, he 
 had constantly been frugal ever since his youth, and 
 continued, for fifty years, to augment his income as 
 much as possible : by this means, from twenty thou- 
 sand francs a-year, (nearly a thousand pounds sterling,) 
 he amassed a fortune of more than a hundred thou- 
 sand; and it was only when in an advanced age, 
 that he began to live in a handsome manner. This 
 point, however, he had not yet attained ; and, in 
 consequence, he was following the first part of his plan, 
 when he came to Berlin. In the agreement made by 
 him with the King of Prussia, besides the key of 
 chamberlain, and the cross of merit, he stipulated 
 for the usual allowance of a minister of state, that is 
 * Sejour aupres de Frederic. 
 
HE COMPLAINS TO FREDERIC. 231 
 
 to say, nearly twenty thousand francs a-year, besides 
 a lodging in the palace, a seat at the King's table, 
 fuel, and two wax candles a-day ; and he was al- 
 lowed, every month, so many pounds of sugar, tea, 
 coffee, and chocolate ; articles which the gentlemen 
 of the bed-chamber valued at as much more. But it 
 so happened that, either by design, or accident, they 
 were in the habit of giving Voltaire sugar badly 
 refined, spoiled tea, bad coffee, and ill-made choco- 
 late. He suspected, perhaps, that this was done 
 by Frederic's own orders ; and whether it was that he 
 wanted to know the truth, or correct the abuse, he 
 complained of such bad treatment. Whatever 
 orders the King might have given, no alteration took 
 place ; and Voltaire, more indignant than ever, did 
 not fail to repeat his cause of grievance. " Come, 
 my dear friend," said the King, " you can do very 
 well without those trifling provisions, they cause you 
 too much anxiety. I shall give orders that they may 
 be suppressed in future." This conclusion astonished 
 Voltaire. It seems, thought he, they follow the 
 maxim of " let each gain or save as he can*;" the 
 worst case on these occasions is to be made the dupe. 
 
 * Sauve ou gagne qui peut. 
 
232 THE PRINCESS ULRIQUE*S REQUEST. 
 
 He accordingly began to sell the twelve pounds of 
 wax- candles he received monthly ; and in order to 
 have a light in his apartment, he took care, every 
 evening, to go several times to his rooms under differ- 
 ent pretences, and to take each time one of the 
 largest wax-candles from the King's apartments ; which 
 he did not bring back, and which he might have call- 
 ed, with very good reason, the substitutes for his sugar 
 and coffee. These circumstances could not fail to pro- 
 duce a dislike between the parties. During the same 
 time also, that the Monarch and his chamberlain were 
 making verses, Voltaire, the King, and d'Arnaud, 
 were hard at their compositions ; but, is it possible 
 to speak of poetry and plays without mentioning love? 
 At the second visit of Voltaire to the King of Prus- 
 sia, the Princess Ulrique, (some say the Princess 
 Amelia,) one day asked him to make her a declaration 
 of love, in which the word " amour" should not ap- 
 pear ; and the poet immediately repeated, as if 
 by inspiration, the famous lines so often quoted *. 
 
 * Sou vent un peu de verite, 
 
 Se mele au plus grossier mensonge : 
 
 Cette nuit dans l'erreur d'un songe 
 
 Au rang des rois j'etois monte. 
 
 Je vous aimais, Princesse, et j'osais vous le dire; 
 
 Les dieux, a mon reveil, ne m'ont point tout ote, 
 
 Je n'ai perdu que mon empire. 
 
FREDERIC MANIFESTS DISPLEASURE. 233 
 
 The beauty of these verses did not, however, make 
 up for their bad fortune in many other respects. In 
 the first place, Frederic thought it extremely impu- 
 dent in any person to make a declaration of love to one 
 of his sisters ; and he did not think it right to suffer 
 it even from Voltaire. He accordingly replied to 
 the madrigal by an epigram, in which he shewed 
 more spite than talent, and said, that " one may easily 
 conceive a dog wishing to take the moon between 
 his teeth, but that a scoundrel of a Frenchman 
 should wish to make love to a great Princess, is an 
 extravagance which exceeded all example." It was 
 also discovered, that the madrigal intended for the 
 Princess, was nothing else but an imitation of one 
 in Italian, and this he took care to mention at the 
 same time. Indeed, the eldest son of the acade- 
 mician Mr. de Francheville, a very young man, who 
 had several times been employed as secretary about 
 the person of the author of the Henriade, took 
 notice, that after having, that very same day, written 
 a few lines upon a piece of paper, he had read them 
 over several times before he went to court, and had 
 then torn the paper in pieces; so that the young 
 copyist, thinking there was some important secret, 
 
234 VOLT AIRES VARIANCE WITH 
 
 and being naturally curious and inquisitive, picked 
 up all the scraps, and spent the evening in putting 
 them together; and it was thus proved, that the 
 verses, which the poet had passed off as an im- 
 promptu, had been deliberately composed. We also 
 know, that Voltaire was occupied in correcting the 
 King's verses ; that he found the task very tedious ; 
 and, indeed, there still exist, most unluckily, a great 
 number, which he has not corrected, in the works of 
 the philosopher of Sans Souci. This, no doubt, 
 caused more grievances, and some other disputes 
 took place at the same time. 
 
 The long war which existed between Voltaire 
 and La Beaumelle*, which lasted till their death, 
 and which contributed to these dissensions, was 
 caused by an information of Maupertuis. La Beau- 
 
 * La Beaumelle was a young man, who came from Denmark 
 with the desire of being presented to the King of Prussia as a 
 man of letters. He addressed himself to Voltaire, and sent 
 him a small pamphlet which had made some noise at Paris, 
 and was entituled Mes Pensees ; among other ideas of his own 
 were the following : 
 
 H . "Voltaire is not one of our greatest poets, but he is the 
 one who is best recompensed." 
 
 " The King of Prussia has wits around him like the princes 
 of Germany, who have monkeys in their palaces." 
 
 These ideas were read at supper to the King ; the author 
 was laughed at, and the blame laid to Voltaire by Maupertuis. 
 
LA BEAUMELLE AND MAUPERTUIS. 235 
 
 melle was on his road from Copenhagen ; he had 
 scarcely arrived at Potzdam, when Maupertuis 
 persuaded him, that Voltaire was his enemy, and 
 that he was accusing him of having harboured 
 thoughts that were inimical to the King and 
 his society. Voltaire and La Beaumelle were both 
 in the wrong to pay any attention to the tiresome 
 discourses of Maupertuis, which they ought only to 
 have despised. La Beaumelle did, indeed, privately 
 think that Voltaire's pleasantry and vivacity were ex- 
 cusable. In fact, not much attention was paid to 
 that quarrel, because Frederic sent word to La Beau- 
 melle that he was no longer in want of his services. 
 
 We now come to the quarrel with Maupertuis. 
 It ought to be observed, there were so many disagree- 
 ments between himself and Voltaire, that at last 
 they came to an open rupture. What appeared to 
 be the cause of their first misunderstanding, was an 
 observation from the president, trifling in itself, but 
 to which Voltaire made a harsh reply. They were 
 both coming back from Sans Souci to Potzdam, 
 about half-past one in the morning, in one of the 
 King's carriages, when Maupertuis exclaimed ironi- 
 cally : " It must be confessed, that we spent a 
 
236 CAUSE OF THE TWO FRIENDS* DISLIKE. 
 
 charming evening." " I never spent a more stupid 
 one," replied Voltaire, To appreciate well the ob- 
 servation and the answer, we must recollect, first, 
 that Voltaire enjoyed so lively a mind, and so great 
 a character for wit, that he in general used to crush 
 all retort in other guests. Frederic alone was able to 
 engage with him with any success ; but that extra- 
 ordinary man was, on some occasions, either through 
 indisposition, or other causes, extremely silent, cold, 
 and torpid. Maupertuis, who, on the contrary, had 
 much less wit than Voltaire, was equally facetious 
 every day, and even sufficiently so to be amusing, 
 when the other was not present. At the supper, 
 from which they were coming on the day specified 
 Voltaire had been in a melancholy fit, and Mauper- 
 tuis had shone ; which shews that the remark made 
 was only a childish boast, that Voltaire might have 
 taken for a sarcasm or an affront. This, however, 
 is certain, that, after that day, they never spoke ; 
 nor even came near each other. The King, who so 
 readily indulged himself in these trifles, and who was 
 so often amused by those of Voltaire against Mau- 
 pertuis, not wishing that things should proceed 
 to an open rupture, attempted several times to 
 
VOLTAIRE'S AUDIENCE WITH THE KING. 237 
 
 reconcile them, but never obtained more than a 
 pretended friendship, or rather a rancorous silence 
 Thus were their spirits disposed, when Frederic was 
 told, that Voltaire had, under the title of Le Docteur 
 Akakia, written a most severe satire against Mauper- 
 tuis, which he was about to send to the press. The au- 
 thor was invited, in a very polite note, to the palace ; 
 and the moment he arrived, his Majesty told him, 
 in a very friendly manner, " They say you have 
 written a satire against Maupertuis, which is as witty 
 as it is malicious : I am going to speak to you on that 
 subject with freedom, and as, I think, I ought to 
 speak to a friend. It is not my intention to argue, 
 that Maupertuis has not done you any injury, or that 
 you have not caused him any. I agree, on the con- 
 trary, that you both have a right to complain ; and, in 
 short, I feel and acquiesce in the opinion, that you 
 are in the right to complain, and I should deliver 
 him up to you without difficulty, if I were to take his 
 case only into consideration; but I beg you will observe, 
 that I have called that man into my service; that 
 I have placed him at the head of my academy ; that 
 I have granted to him the same treatment as to my 
 ministers of state; that I have admitted him into my 
 
238 FREDERIC'S REMONSTRANCE WITH 
 
 most familiar society ; and that I have permitted him 
 to marry one of the ladies of honour of the queen, 
 the daughter of one of my ministers, a Lady de 
 Bredovv, belonging to one of the most ancient and 
 most considerable families of my kingdom. I have 
 done so much for him, to the knowledge of all Europe, 
 that I cannot consent to his being held up to ridicule 
 without being compromised myself. If you cover 
 him with disgrace, I shall certainly be ridiculed ; and 
 if I suffer that I cause a real scandal : I shall be 
 blamed for it, and all the nobility of this country will 
 experience a mortification, which will be imputed to 
 my forbearance. I beg you will consider these circum- 
 stances, and see what I can expect from your friend- 
 ship, and what you owe to mine, and to reason. I 
 know what it costs an author to sacrifice one of his 
 works j above all, when it is filled with happy ideas, 
 and when the details are as agreeable as they are in- 
 genious ; but who ought to care less than yourself for 
 a sacrifice of this sort r A thing which would be irre- 
 parable for any other person, is nothing to Voltaire ; 
 a man who, above all others, in the world, has 
 the most fruitful and the finest genius. You are 
 so rich, both in ideas and talents. Your glory is 
 
VOLTAIRE SUCCESSFUL. 239 
 
 established by so many more important productions ! 
 And what do you want besides, but the wish to make 
 as many more worthy of yourself? You must not 
 doubt, nevertheless, that, in sacrificing the work in 
 question, you will give me a proof of friendship, 
 which, according to the circumstances, I shall so 
 much the more appreciate. I do not hesitate in tell- 
 ing you, that you will render me one of the greatest 
 services. Depend upon it, I shall never forget it. 
 You may, on your side, expect every thing from my 
 friendship. 5J " Well," answered Voltaire, " I will bring 
 the manuscript of my Doctor Akakia, and place it in 
 the hands, and at the disposal, of your Majesty. I 
 have always been too much devoted to your Ma- 
 jesty, not to sacrifice, to the assurance of your kind- 
 ness, that little revenge, which had appeared to me 
 just, moderate, and consequently innocent. I should 
 certainly make greater sacrifices, if they were required 
 from me by your wishes." " Lose no time," said the 
 King, " I shall wait for you ; such noble designs must 
 not be postponed." Voltaire went out, and came 
 back immediately with his manuscript in his hand. 
 " Sire," he exclaimed smiling, " here is the in- 
 nocent going to perish for the people ! I put it 
 
240 FATE OP THE DOCTOR AKAKIA. 
 
 into your hands, order its condemnation." "Ah, my 
 friend, what fate is mine ! to order a punishment for 
 that which deserves to be crowned with glory. Well ! 
 let us submit to fate with dignity ; let us be as just 
 as possible ; let us revenge the victim by its sacrifice. 
 Read ; I shall save what I can, and it will be a pre- 
 cious remainder which my memory will keep with 
 care ; read, and may the pages devoured by the flames 
 claim my just admiration. O Vulcan ! never was a more 
 memorable thing done, or a greater tribute paid to your 
 honour." Voltaire read the whole satire ; he was every 
 moment interrupted by the applauses of the monarch, 
 who found all the attacks as lively as they were well 
 applied ; they were bursting into roars of laughter, 
 and as they were going to throw it into the fire, the 
 lamentations again burst forth : " Come, my friend, 
 cheer up, since it is necessary, O Vulcan, cruel 
 and devouring god, receive thy prey !" and while 
 the book was burning, they performed fantastic 
 dances round the fire. It was in this way the 
 Doctor Akakia was read to the end, and burnt. 
 
 Never, perhaps, has so ludicrous a scene occurred 
 between two such men. Certainly, if they had still had 
 the same sentiments, which they had manifested for 
 
UNPLEASANT FEELINGS OF VOLTAIRE. 241 
 
 merly. Frederic would have indemnified Voltaire 
 for a sacrifice so great ; and the latter would 
 have persisted in the act of devotion to which he 
 appeared to submit; nothing, however, except their 
 former language was remaining; the sentiments 
 which that language expressed had decayed. Fre- 
 deric either feared the victory he had gained was 
 pretended, and regarded, with distrust, the person 
 who owned himself vanquished ; or Voltaire could 
 not confide any longer in a friendship, which had 
 been used as the means of making him consent 
 to such a sacrifice. He looked upon Frederic on 
 this occasion, as on many others, to be an artful 
 performer, who, exhibiting himself on the stage, turned 
 every project to his own advantage. Voltaire also 
 considered himself as one who had been duped ; 
 he observed the surly look of Maupertuis, who, on 
 being assured of such high protection, shewed still 
 more pride and arrogance; and concluded that he 
 was imposed upon. This was a dreadful idea to one 
 of his character ; so that, soon after, he pondered 
 upon nothing but how to evade the promises which 
 had been extracted from him by force, and to re- 
 turn to his original plan. 
 
242 voltaire's exclamation. 
 
 As he had still a copy of Doctor Akakia remaining, 
 he lost no time in getting it printed. Frederic, who 
 had never allowed the transaction to escape his atten- 
 tion, discovered what was doing; waited till the edition 
 was finished, and ordered it to be seized. Voltaire, 
 who, on his part, guessed what Frederic intended, had 
 taken care to procure clandestinely four copies of each 
 sheet as they came from the press, and sent them into 
 Holland. Frederic, irritated at Voltaire, for not having 
 kept his word, and for wishing to deceive him in his own 
 kingdom, ordered the edition to be burnt by the pub- 
 lic executioner on a Sunday, between three and four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, in the middle of the market- 
 place at Berlin, called " La place des Gendarmes.'' 
 Voltaire, upon seeing the ceremony from the house 
 of his friend, Mr. de Francheville, who resided in the 
 neighbourhood, and to whom he used to repair when 
 he wanted relaxation from his attendance on the 
 King, cried out with all his power : -" Oh I see 
 the wit of Maupertuis, which is smoking in the air ! 
 what a dark and thick smoke ! what a deal of lost 
 wood ! and those four little deserters who are going, 
 by the post, to take refuge in Holland !" In this 
 affair, Voltaire was on the laughing side; it must 
 
FREDERIC AND VOLTAIRE DECIDED FOES. 24*3 
 
 also be allowed that, Frederic, who never ordered 
 any other work to be burnt by the hand of the exe- 
 cutioner, had to repent of having given these orders ; 
 he gained nothing by it, but an everlasting obstacle 
 to reconciliation with his chamberlain. We may 
 now regard the two as irreconcileable enemies ; no 
 mask could be worn ; no more flattering expres- 
 sions could be used, nor promises made ; the offence 
 was too great, the scandal was both public and irre- 
 parable. 
 
 On several previous occasions, Voltaire, after quar- 
 rels much less important, had not been able to restrain 
 his feelings. He was told by La Metrie, that the 
 King one day observed, that he " wanted him still ; 
 but, after sucking the orange, he would throw away 
 the skin." It is easy to imagine the effect this report 
 produced. As Voltaire was one day shewing the verses 
 of the monarch, he said, " that man is much the same 
 as the Abbe* Cotin." On another occasion he replied 
 to a person who was speaking of the King: " Le Roi !" 
 you should say, " Le Marechal de logis ;" and again 
 having read, with indignation, the words au cha- 
 teau, seizing a pen, he struck them out, and substi- 
 tuted these words, which he repeated several times ; 
 
244 FREDERIC'S NOTE TO VOLTAIRE 
 
 Au corps de garde. He also complained to several 
 persons of the dislike he had to correcting the verses of 
 his Majesty ; and he had used an expression still more 
 offensive than the complaint itself, saying, " he was 
 doing nothing but washing the dirty linen of the 
 King." All these discourses were of a nature to hurt 
 the feelings of Frederic. Strong reasons, however, 
 prevented their quarrelling publicly, on account of 
 the scandal it would cause in all the courts of Europe. 
 But this last injury regarding the Akakia, over- 
 turned every thing ; and nothing was now left, but 
 to part as advantageously as possible. Frederic wished 
 it to be done with moderation and dignity, and 
 Voltaire was desirous of shewing himself firm, 
 proud and independent. With these first ideas, 
 Voltaire never appeared at court, unless he was in- 
 vited ; and then he shewed, in his behaviour, 
 pride and anger. They visited each other seldom, or 
 never; notes were exchanged full of upbraidings; and 
 sometimes they could not find words strong enough 
 to express their sentiments. It appeared that, seeing 
 the extremity . to which they were reduced, neither 
 wished to yield. It was in one of these moments, and 
 after a violent quarrel, that Frederic sent, by his first 
 
PRODUCTIVE OF BITTER REPROACHES. 245 
 
 page of the bedchamber, to Voltaire, who lodged 
 under his apartment, that is to say, on the first-floor, 
 a note, full of bitterness, and which ended with this 
 phrase, " Your heart is a hundred times more hideous 
 than your wit is beautiful. ,, It may easily be ima- 
 gined, in what a passion this note put the subject of 
 whom it treated. It was not forgotten by those pre- 
 sent, even more than twelve years after it hap- 
 pened. There were no odious epithets which were 
 not used towards the King, and Voltaire over- 
 whelmed him with reproaches, walking from one 
 end to the other of his room, with symptoms of 
 the greatest agitation. The poor page, who was 
 waiting to know whether he was to have any an- 
 swer, listened to him, pale and trembling, and repeat- 
 ing, " Sir ! sir !" At last the boy, who was only 
 fifteen or sixteen years old, approached and said, 
 " Sir, remember he is a King, that you are in his 
 house, and 1 myself, who hear you, am in his 
 service." Voltaire was thunderstruck by these words, 
 and they produced the desired effect. He imme- 
 diately took the page by the arm, and repeated, 
 " Well, Sir, I shall take you for judge between 
 us. Reflect, and tell me whether he has not used 
 
2m 
 
 THE KING S ANGER PACIFIED. 
 
 me ill? I have committed but one fault, but it is 
 an irreparable one; that is, having taught him to 
 make verses better than myself. You may go, and 
 give him this answer." 
 
 The page returned into the King's apartments, 
 who was not much more at his ease than his cham- 
 berlain, waiting for the reply in his cabinet. " Have 
 you given my note ?" said the King to the page, as 
 soon as he saw him. " Yes, Sire." " Have you 
 delivered it to Voltaire himself?" " Yes, Sire." 
 " Has he read it before you?" " Yes, Sire." 
 " What did he do with it after he read it, and what 
 did he say ?" Here the page, afraid to answer, hesi- 
 tated. " I ask you what Voltaire said after reading 
 my note ?" The page still did not answer. " Don't 
 you hear me ? I insist upon your telling me what he 
 said, and what he did." At last the page, still more 
 terrified than he had been in the presence of Voltaire, 
 began, pausing at every word, to tell him what had 
 passed. The violence of the King increased as the 
 page proceeded, and his rage was extreme, till he 
 came to the last words of Voltaire. The monarch 
 then became quite calm, smiled ironically, and ter- 
 minated this great affair by saying, " He is a mad- 
 
voltaire's letter to Frederic. 247 
 
 man." Thus Voltaire, by an undeserved compliment, 
 had the skill to repair all the abuse he had uttered, to 
 calm the King, and to save himself. 
 
 The treatment of the Akakia, however, appeared an 
 inexcusable outrage between men of letters ; for Frede- 
 ric had till this time behaved as a fellow-philosopher, 
 and not as a despotic master. Ten days after this scene 
 had taken place, Voltaire wrote to Berlin, to tell the 
 King, that he was inconsolable for having displeased 
 him, and that, persuaded he was unworthy of the marks 
 of distinction with which he had been honoured, he 
 took the liberty of depositing them at his feet. He 
 added to this letter the cross of merit and his other 
 orders, made a parcel of them, which he sealed, and 
 wrote on it these four verses : 
 
 Je les recus avec tendresse, 
 Je vous les rends avec douieur, 
 C'est ainsi qu'un amant, dans son extreme ardeur, 
 Rend le portrait de sa Mattresse. 
 
 Young Francheville was charged to take this par- 
 cel to the palace, and to inquire for Mr. FredersdofF, 
 to whom Voltaire had at the same time written a note, 
 desiring him to deliver them himself into the hands 
 of the King. This FredersdofF was his steward, 
 
248 voltaire's interview with the king, 
 
 and had the management of all his affairs. The very 
 same day, in the afternoon, a hackney-coach stopped 
 before the apartments of Voltaire. It contained 
 Fredersdoff, who was sent by the King, to return to 
 the owner the cross of merit, and the key of chamber- 
 lain, with a dose of quinquina to cure his spleen. After 
 a long interview with the messenger they were at last 
 received by the philosopher. 
 
 Soon after, Voltaire had an illness, occasioned by too 
 much assiduity to study, and by the different vexations 
 he had experienced. The King sent him a permis- 
 sion to visit Plombieres, and drink the mineral waters, 
 but desired to see him before his journey. Without 
 losing a moment his trunks were packed, and every 
 thing prepared for quitting Prussia. He departed 
 from Berlin, and arrived at Potzdam at seven in the 
 evening; occupying the same apartment in the pa- 
 lace he had done before ; but on this occasion he did 
 not make so long a stay in the famous residence of 
 Frederic. He left his papers and baggage packed up. 
 On the 19th, after dinner, he went to see the King in 
 his cabinet. Their interview lasted two hours. It was 
 two months since they had seen each other. Voltaire, 
 after the conference, which must have been very interest- 
 
AND DEPARTURE FROM PRUSSIA. 49 
 
 ing between two such great men, appeared so satisfied, 
 that it was easy to perceive peace had been concluded. 
 Indeed, he told his secretary, Collini, that Frederic 
 had restored him to his friendship, and that Mauper- 
 tuis himself had been turned into ridicule, in order to 
 facilitate their reconciliation. Voltaire remained six 
 days at Potzdam, during which time he supped every 
 night with Frederic. These entertainments he called 
 the Suppers of Damocles. Frederic was to set off on 
 the 20th to review his troops in Silesia. Voltaire had 
 some arrangements to make before his departure. 
 They spent together part of the night from the 23d to 
 the 24th. The poet went early in the morning to take 
 leave of the King. Frederic made him give his word 
 he would come back as soon as he had made use of 
 the waters of Plombieres. He then immediately, with 
 Collini, got into his travelling carriage, and took 
 the road for Leipzig. Such was the termination of 
 the residence of Voltaire in Prussia ; a country, in 
 which he had taken refuge, expecting to find repose, 
 and a shelter against persecution and intolerance ; in- 
 stead of which he found enemies still more violent than 
 those who had tormented him in France, even among 
 men who were following the same career. The 
 
250 PARTING OF VOLTAIRE AND FREDERIC. 
 
 fabric of a youthful friendship with his protector 
 had disappeared, as if it never had existed ; sen - 
 timents of esteem and respect had been annihi- 
 lated by petty provocations and trifling jealousies ; and 
 the philosopher left the court of the monarch with the 
 conviction, that no attachment can ever be of long 
 duration where power is enabled to enforce what kind- 
 ness ought alone to dictate. 
 
251 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 1 HE society of the sages at the court of Prussia 
 was soon after this dissolved. D'Arget, who was 
 a sensible man, and had observed the storm about 
 to break, retired with the benefits and regrets of 
 his master, both of which he well deserved. 
 La Beaumelle, after having been some time in 
 prison for an affair of gallantry, set off for Ger- 
 many, where he had another awkward adventure 
 with a chamber-maid who had robbed her mis- 
 tress. The Abbe de Prades was confined on sus- 
 picion of treason. D'Arnaud could not determine 
 under whose colours to enlist ; gratitude disposed 
 him towards Maupertuis, and inclination to his 
 antagonist. Being an object of suspicion, there- 
 fore, to both parties, he was sent back to France, 
 and one great man more was added to that coun- 
 try. Maupertuis languished for some time, broken- 
 hearted by ridicule, neither valued nor despised 
 
252 AWFUL DEATH OF METRIE. 
 
 by his master 5 and he is now only recollected as 
 the adversary of Voltaire. La Metrie, the Atheist, 
 died from having eaten too much of an indigestible 
 pie stuffed with truffles, at the table of the English 
 ambassador. His last moments were spent in de- 
 nying God, and cursing some physicians whom he 
 had lampooned at Paris. Frederic wrote his 
 apotheosis. 
 
 The booksellers of Germany and Holland, think- 
 ing that the Akakia was the cause of the disgrace 
 of Voltaire, and that a work which had had the 
 honour of immolation would sell largely, lost no 
 time in getting it printed ; there were ten presses 
 at work, and an immense number of copies circu- 
 lated. Maupertuis, thinking Voltaire remained 
 at Leipzig in order to insult him nearer and with 
 more advantage, and listening only to his rage, 
 wrote his antagonist the well-known and foolish 
 letter, in which he threatened him with vengeance 
 and the most heavy punishment, in the language 
 of a weak man, in a violent passion *. 
 
 * Je vous declare que ma sante est assez bonne, pour vous 
 aller trouver partout ou vous serez, pour tirer de vous la ven- 
 geance la plus complete. Rendez grace au respect & a Tobeis- 
 sance qui ont jusqu'ici retenu mon bras. 
 
VOLTAIRE AND COLLTNl's JOURNEY. 253 
 
 Voltaire replied to this philosophic rhodomon- 
 tade, so unworthy of the president of an academy, 
 in a letter full of jests, the style of which was ap- 
 plied to the geometrical ideas of Maupertuis*. 
 To this letter he joined an advertisement, which 
 appeared in the public papers f. Maupertuis, 
 disconcerted, renounced the ridiculous project of 
 challenging a man whom menaces did not seem to 
 terrify ; he therefore fixed his revenge on a plan 
 which had fortunately all the success he antici- 
 pated. 
 
 From Leipzig, Voltaire and Collini proceeded 
 to Gotha, and stopped at the Inn des Halle- 
 bardes. Their Serene Highnesses the Duke and 
 Duchess of Saxe Gotha, immediately upon hear- 
 ing he was in their town, invited him to their 
 palace. This he accepted, and found good so- 
 
 * It ended as follows : Au reste, je suis encore bien faible, 
 vous me trouverez au lit, et je ne pourrai que vous jeter a la tete 
 ma seringue et mon p6t de chambre ; mais des que j'aurai un 
 peu de force, je ferai charger mes pistolets cum pulvere pyrio et 
 en multipliant la masse par le carre de la vitesse jusqu' a ce que 
 Taction et vous soient reduits a zero, je vous mettrai du plomb 
 dans la cervelle, elle parait en avoir besoin. Adieu, mon clier 
 President. (Signe) Voltaire. 
 
 t It was thus conceived : Un quidam ayant ecrit une lettre a 
 un habitant de Leipzig, par laquelle il menace le dit habitant de 
 
254* LES ANNALES de l'empire. j 
 
 ciety, attention, and consolation. The princess, 
 in particular, always treated him with the greatest 
 civility ; her taste and her wit rendered her one 
 of the most amiable women of the time. Vol- 
 taire had desired to repay so much kindness ; 
 and, as she was desirous of having an abridged his- 
 tory of Germany, he began it in the centre of the 
 ducal library. He applied himself, with much assi- 
 duity, during the three and thirty days he remained 
 at Gotha, to gather materials. Thus the repub- 
 lic of letters is indebted to a woman for Les 
 Annates de V Empire ; the most laborious and most 
 methodical work which was ever undertaken 
 by the author. 
 
 l'assassiner, et les assassinats etant visiblement contraires aux 
 privileges de la foire, on prie tous et chacun de dormer con- 
 naissance du ditquidam, quand il sepresentera aux portes de 
 Leipzig. C'est un philosophe qui marche en raison de l'air 
 distrait, et de Fair precipite, Toeil rond et petit, la perruque de 
 meme, portant toujours le scalpel en poche pour diss6quer 
 les gens de haute taille. Ceux qui en donneront connaissance 
 auront mille ducats assignes sur les fonds de la ville latine que 
 le dit quidam fait batir, ou sur la premiere comete d'or ou de 
 diamant qui doit necessairement tomber sur la terre, selon la 
 prediction du dit quidam. 
 
 " Vie Polemique de Voltaire et de ses Proscriptions." 
 
VOLTAIRE VISITS VARIOUS PLACES. 255 
 
 The poem of Natural Religion, composed the pre- 
 ceding year at Potzdam, and which had been 
 dedicated to Frederic, was presented to the 
 Duchess, together with the beautiful verses which 
 form its preface. This poem, printed under several 
 titles, never had any by the consent of Voltaire, 
 but that of Natural Religion. He left Gotha the 
 15th of May, 1753, directing his course towards 
 Strasburgh, by Frankfort on the Main. 
 
 In the evening of the 26th he arrived at Cassel. 
 The Landgrave was then at Wabern ; he desired 
 to see the celebrated traveller, who was immedi- 
 ately sent for by the hereditary prince. Few could 
 resist so many marks of esteem from one of the most 
 celebrated princes of Europe. Voltaire went the 
 day after at twelve o'clock to Wabern, where he 
 passed two days in conference with William VIII. 
 and the hereditary prince, to whom he gave the 
 name of the j ust and benevolent Landgrave of Hesse. 
 The day after his arrival at Cassel, the innkeeper 
 told him, that the Baron de Pollnitz was also in 
 the town, and he met him the same day. Voltaire, 
 who did not like him, only said a few words 
 in passing; but the presence of the Baron, 
 
256 voltaire's mode of travelling. 
 
 who some time before was at Berlin and at Potz- 
 dam, induced him to make the observation of: 
 " What is Pollnitz doing at Cassel?" which 
 augured some future mischief. 
 
 It may be interesting to describe the mode of 
 travelling adopted by Voltaire. He had his own 
 carriage, a kind of caleche, very convenient, and 
 well hung; there were two trunks behind, and 
 cloak-bags on the front. On the seat were placed 
 two servants ; one from Potzdam, who was em- 
 ployed as a copyist. Four post-horses, some- 
 times six, according to the nature of the roads, 
 drew the carriage. These particulars are in 
 themselves of little importance ; but they make 
 the reader acquainted with minute details respect- 
 ing a literary man who had succeeded in gaining 
 a fortune equal to his reputation. Voltaire and Col- 
 lini were seated in the inside of the carriage, with 
 two or three portfolios containing manuscripts, 
 to which he attached much importance; and a 
 case, in which his gold, his letters of exchange, 
 and his most valuable effects, were secured. In 
 this style they travelled through Germany. 
 
 They left Wabern the 30th of May, in the morning, 
 
ARRIVES AT FRANCFORT. 257 
 
 and arrived at Marbourg in the evening. The day 
 after, they had scarcely proceeded a league, when 
 Voltaire ordered the postillion to stop. He was 
 in the habit of taking snuff, and could not find, 
 either in his pockets, or in the carriage, the gold 
 snuff-box to which he used to have recourse. A 
 consultation was held, and Collini returned as 
 fast as he could, on foot, to the inn where they had 
 slept. He arrived there out of breath, and went 
 up, without being seen, into Voltaire's room. It 
 was open; he could see nothing, either on the 
 table, or the bed. There was, however, a table 
 near the bed, part of which was covered with the 
 curtain ; he raised it, and perceived the snuff- 
 box, he immediately took it, ran out of the house, 
 and rejoined the carriage,] as joyful as Jason after 
 his seizure of the golden fleece. 
 
 This was one of those valuable presents which 
 the poet often received from princes, as a mark of 
 their esteem; and on that account it was still 
 more estimable. They continued their journey, 
 after havingpassed through Giessen, Butzbach, and 
 Friedberg, the salt-works of which they visited. 
 They arrived atFrancfort on the Maine, about eight 
 
258 VOLTAIRE ACCOSTED BY FREYTAG. 
 
 in the afternoon. As he was going to set off the 
 next day, a man of the name of Freytag, re- 
 sident of the King of Prussia, escorted by a 
 police-officer, and another ill-looking fellow, pre- 
 sented themselves. This, of course, much sur- 
 prised Voltaire. The resident approached him, 
 saying, in bad French, he had received an order 
 to demand from him the cross of merit, the key of 
 chamberlain, the letters, or any other papers, of 
 Frederic's hand- writing, and the work of poetry 
 of the King his master. Voltaire immediately 
 gave up the cross and the key. He afterwards 
 opened his trunks and portfolios, and told them, 
 they might choose all the papers of the King's 
 hand- writing, but as to the work of poetry, he 
 had left it at Leipzig, in a box directed to Stras- 
 bourg ; but that he was going to write directly 
 to order it to be sent to Francfort ; and that he 
 should remain in the town till it arrived. This 
 arrangement was accepted, and signed by both 
 parties. Freytag wrote it as follows: "Monsir, 
 sitdt le gros ballot de Leipzig sera ict, ou est I'ceuvre 
 de Poeshie, du Roi mon maitre, et I'ceuvre de 
 Poeshie rendu h moi, vous pourrez partir on vous 
 
COLLINI VISITS PREYTAG. 259 
 
 paraitra bon. A Francfort, \er. Juin, 1753. Frey- 
 tag, resident du Roi, mon maitre" Voltaire wrote 
 at the end of it, " Bon pour Vceuvre de Poeshie du 
 Roi votre maitre" 
 
 After this assurance from the resident, Voltaire 
 determined on staying until the arrival of the 
 box, and made Madame Denis, who was ex- 
 pecting him at Strasbourg, acquainted with this 
 disappointment ; and, without any uneasiness re- 
 garding the future, as without resentment for 
 the past, he continued to labour at the An- 
 nates de l J Empire. Madame Denis, when she re- 
 ceived the letter, came to Francfort, without 
 losing a moment. The box, enclosing the aeuvre 
 de Poeshie, arrived the 17th of June, and was the 
 very same day taken to Freytag. Collini went 
 the morning after, to be present at the opening 
 of the box, and to let him know that, accord- 
 ing to the agreement he had signed, Voltaire 
 intended setting off in the course of three hours; 
 he answered him rudely, saying, he was at 
 that time engaged, but would do it in the 
 afternoon. Collini returned at the hour ap- 
 pointed, and was told, the King had sent orders, 
 
260 VOLTAIRE SECRETLY DEPARTS, 
 
 enjoining affairs to remain in their present state. 
 Almost totally discouraged, he told Voltaire of 
 what had happened, who went directly to see the 
 resident, and insisted upon examining the orders 
 of the King. Freytag hesitated, refused, and 
 uttered a torrent of abuse. Voltaire irritated, 
 and fearing events more troublesome, and think- 
 ing himself at liberty in making use of the writing 
 of the resident, took the resolution of departing 
 secretly. He intended leaving the box in the 
 hands of Freytag. Madame Denis was to remain, 
 to see the end of this disagreeable and singular 
 business. Voltaire and Collini were to escape, 
 taking only a few cloak-bags, the manuscripts, 
 and the money enclosed in the case. They ac- 
 cordingly hired a coach, and prepared every thing 
 for their departure, which resembled the flight of 
 a couple of robbers. 
 
 At the hour agreed, they selected a moment for 
 leaving the inn, without being perceived ; a servant 
 followed with two portfolios and the case ; and 
 they entertained hopes of being delivered from 
 Freytag and his agents. They had scarcely 
 arrived at the gate of the town, which leads to 
 
BUT HIS FLIGHT IS ARRESTED. 261 
 
 Mayence, when the coach was stopped, and 
 intimation was immediately sent to the resident 
 of their attempt at escape. Voltaire sent his 
 servant to Madame Denis. Freytag soon ap- 
 peared in a carriage, escorted by soldiers, and 
 ordered them to get into it, with imprecations 
 and invectives. Forgetting he was the repre- 
 sentative of the King his master, he mounted 
 with them and another agent of the police, and 
 drove them through the town, amidst the sur- 
 rounding populace. In this manner they were 
 taken to the house of a shopkeeper of the name 
 of Schmith, who had the title of a counsellor to 
 the King of Prussia, and was the assistant of 
 Freytag. The door was shut, and soldiers were 
 put in motion to disperse the crowd. They were 
 conveyed into the counting-house, and surrounded 
 by clerks and servants. Madame Schmith passed 
 Voltaire with a look of disdain, and listened to 
 the account Freytag was drawing up with an air 
 of importance, how he had succeeded in so im- 
 portant a capture ; and praised his address and 
 courage. What a contrast ! In the words of 
 Collini, let any one represent to himself the 
 
262 VOLTAIRE DEPRIVED OF HIS EFFECTS. 
 
 author of the Henriade and Merope ; he, whom 
 Frederic had named his friend ; that great man, 
 who afterwards received in Paris the honours 
 of an apotheosis, amidst a public intoxicated 
 with delight; surrounded by a pack of foot- 
 men ; overwhelmed with insults ; treated like a 
 slave ; exposed to the taunts of the most insolent, 
 and most wicked men ; and having no other 
 arms than his rage and indignation. 
 
 They got hold of all the effects, and of the 
 case ; they made them surrender all the money 
 they had in their pockets ; they took Voltaire's 
 watch, his snuff-box, and some jewels he used to 
 wear about him; he asked for an inventory, 
 which was refused. " Count over the money ;" 
 said Schmith to his clerks, " those rascals are 
 capable of saying there was twice as much." 
 Collini wanted to know the cause of his arrest, 
 and insisted upon their drawing up a declaration. 
 He was threatened with being put into the guard- 
 house. Voltaire claimed his snuff-box, because 
 he could not do without snuff; they told him it 
 was their custom to take every thing. His eyes 
 sparkled with rage, and he looked at Collini, 
 
UNCIVIL BEHAVIOUR OP SCHMITH. 263 
 
 for some time, as if he was searching his 
 thoughts. Suddenly perceiving a door open, he 
 rushed at it, and escaped. Madame Schmith 
 formed a detachment of shopmen and three 
 female servants, took the command, and ran 
 after the fugitive. " Am I not allowed, then," 
 cried he, " to provide for the necessities of 
 nature ?" He was permitted ; they made a circle 
 round him, and, after the operation, they took 
 him in again. 
 
 As he was entering the counting-house, Schmith, 
 who thought himself personally offended, said to 
 him " Wretch ! thou shalt be treated without 
 compassion, or even consideration;" and the pack 
 of servants again began their uproar. Voltaire, 
 almost distracted, rushed out a second time, and 
 he was again brought in. This last scene had 
 altered the behaviour of the resident and his 
 gang. Schmith ordered wine to be brought, and 
 they drank the health of his Excellency Mon- 
 seigneur Freytag. In the meantime, a man 
 entered, of the name of Dorn, who had been sent 
 in a cart in pursuit of them. Having heard of the 
 arrest of Voltaire at the gate of the town, he came 
 
26 h 
 
 VOLTAIRE CONFINED AND 
 
 back, entered the counting-house, and exclaimed, 
 " If I had caught him on the road, I would have 
 blown out his brains/' After they had waited 
 two hours, they took the prisoners away. The 
 portfolios and case were thrown into an empty 
 trunk, which was shut with a padlock, and sealed 
 with a paper, on which were Voltaire's arms and 
 the cipher of Schmith. Dorn had the charge of 
 conveying the prisoners to their destination. He 
 made them enter a bad eating-house, the sign 
 of the Goat, where twelve soldiers, commanded 
 by a subaltern officer, were waiting for them. 
 There Voltaire was shut up in a room with 
 soldiers, with fixed bayonets. His secretary, 
 Collini, was separated from him, and guarded in 
 the same way. And it was in what was called 
 a free town, that such insults were offered, and 
 where the formalities, which ought to have been 
 observed towards even public criminals, were not 
 in the least regarded. 
 
 Madame Denis did not abandon her uncle. As 
 soon as she heard he had been arrested, she 
 lost no time in complaining to the burgomaster. 
 This person, a weak and ignorant man, had been 
 
GUARDED BY SOLDIERS. 
 
 265 
 
 imposed upon by Schmith. He not only refused 
 to be just, and to listen to Madame Denis, but 
 even ordered her not to go out of the inn. This was 
 the reason why Voltaire was deprived of the as- 
 sistance of his niece, during the scandalous scene 
 which took place in the counting-house. When 
 they were arrested at the gates of Frankfort, and 
 while waiting in the carriage for the decision of 
 Mon seigneur Freytag, he took several papers out 
 of one of the portfolios and said to Collini, " Hide 
 that under you." He hid them in the part of the 
 dress, called, by an ingenious writer, " the neces- 
 sary garment," resolving to protest against any 
 search they might wish to make in that quarter. 
 In the evening, at the sign of the Goat, three sol- 
 diers guarded him, and did not lose sight of him. 
 He had the greatest wish to see what the papers 
 contained. To satisfy his curiosity, and deceive 
 the vigilance of those around him, he got into bed 
 with his clothes on ; and, hid by the curtains, he 
 took with great care, the deposit from its place 
 of concealment: the paper contained what Voltaire 
 had already written of his poem of La Pucelle. He 
 had foreseen, if the work were to fall into the hands 
 
266 MADAME DENIS ARRESTED. 
 
 of his enemies, he should not have an opportunity 
 of recovering it ; and by this means he succeeded 
 in its preservation. Such was the love he bore to 
 his works, that he preferred the loss of his money 
 to the sacrifice of the productions of his genius. 
 
 Dorn, after having left them at the sign of the 
 Goat, went, accompanied by soldiers, to that of 
 the Golden Lion, where Madame Denis was ar- 
 rested, by order of the burgomaster. He left his 
 detachment below stairs, and presented himself 
 to that lady, saying, her uncle wished to see her, 
 and that he had come to convey her to him. 
 Dorn offered her his arm, and she was no sooner 
 out of the inn than she was surrounded by 
 soldiers, who conducted her, not to see her uncle 
 as she had been told, but to a garret at the sign of 
 the Goat, where there was no other furniture than 
 a small bed, and, to use Voltaire's own expression, 
 " soldiers for chamber-maids, and bayonets for 
 curtains." Dorn had the impudence to order 
 supper for himself; and, without paying any at- 
 tention to the agitation into which such an outrage 
 had thrown Madame Denis, he began his repast, 
 and drank several bottles of wine in her presence. 
 
LETTER FROM POTZDAM. 267 
 
 Nevertheless, Freytag and Schmith, on re- 
 flection, conceived, that such conduct might make 
 this affair turn to their own prejudice. A letter 
 arrived from Potzdam, which shewed, that the 
 King was not aware of the troubles and abuses 
 which were carried on in his name. The day 
 after this scene, they told Madame Denis and 
 Collini, that they might have the freedom of the 
 house, but were not to depart. The Poetical 
 Work was returned ; and the engagements which 
 Voltaire and Freytag had mutually signed were 
 exchanged. Freytag ordered the trunk, which 
 contained the papers, money, and jewels, to be 
 brought to the inn where he lodged. Before he 
 opened it, he presented Voltaire with a paper to 
 sign : this was an engagement to pay all the ex- 
 penses of the capture and imprisonment. The 
 expenses had been fixed at one hundred and 
 twenty-eight crowns of German money. Collini 
 was making a copy of the act, when Schmith 
 entered the room, and, foreseeing, by the facility 
 with which Voltaire complied, the use he might 
 one day make of it, he tore both the original and 
 copy, saying : " Precautions of this nature are 
 
268 FREYTAG AND SCHMITH'S ROBBERY. 
 
 useless with such persons as ourselves." Freytag 
 and Schmith went out with one hundred and 
 twenty-eight German crowns. Voltaire discovered 
 that these honest gentlemen had opened his case, 
 and stolen some of the money. He complained 
 loudly of it; but those who personated the King 
 of Prussia enjoyed such a good character at Franc- 
 fort, that it was impossible to obtain any redress. 
 Nevertheless, they were still detained in a most 
 detestable German inn, and could not imagine the 
 reason, as every thing was settled. 
 
 The day after, Dorn appeared, and said they 
 were to present a petition addressed to his Ex- 
 cellency Monseigneur de Freytag, and Mr. de 
 Schmith. " I am persuaded they will do any 
 thing you wish/' said he ; " believe me, on my 
 word, Mr. Freytag is a very kind gentleman." 
 Madame Denis would not accede. The wretch 
 affected to be civil, in hopes of getting some 
 money ; a louis rendered him the most humble of 
 men, and the repetition of his thanks shewed 
 that, on other occasions, he did not sell his ser- 
 vices very dear. The secretary of the town 
 visited the prisoners. After having made in- 
 
VOLTAIRE OBTAINS HIS LIBERTY. 269 
 
 quiries, he found the burgomaster had been de- 
 ceived, and Madame Denis obtained leave to 
 depart, but Voltaire was confined till positive 
 orders arrived from Potzdam. Fearful, however, 
 of being detained for a long period, if he depended 
 on those gentlemen, he wrote to the Abb6 de 
 Prades. The 5th July, 1753, he received a po- 
 sitive answer, which put an end to all this 
 scandal, and gave him his liberty; not through the 
 interference of Freytag and Schmith, but through 
 that of the magistrate of the town. The day after, 
 on the 6th, they removed to the inn of the Golden 
 Lion ; Voltaire immediately sent for a notary, before 
 whom he marked down all the vexations and 
 injuries he had undergone. Collini also laid his 
 informations, and they prepared for their departure 
 next day. 
 
 Owing to the irritability of Voltaire, however, 
 they were very near being again detained at 
 Francfort. The morning before they set off, 
 Collini had loaded two pistols, which they were 
 in the habit of keeping in the carriage. At that 
 moment Dorn passed slowly before the room, the 
 door of which was open, and Voltaire perceived 
 
270 THE king's poetry. 
 
 him in the attitude of a man who was spying. 
 The recollection of what had passed rekindled his 
 passion, and, having seized a pistol, he ran to- 
 wards the object on which he had fixed his 
 attention. Collini had but just time to stop him. 
 Dorn, terrified, ran away, and fell head-over-heels 
 from the top of the stairs to the bottom. He went 
 to a commissary, who directly began to write a 
 declaration. The secretary of the town, the only 
 man who shewed himself impartial, at last settled 
 the affair, and they left Francfort the same day. 
 Madame Denis remained rather longer, on some 
 business, and afterwards set off for Paris. 
 
 It is probable, that the volume of the King's 
 poetry was the real cause of all these troubles. 
 This work was, according to Collini, an edition jiot 
 intended for the public; it had been secretly 
 printed in 1751, in a room of the palace at Potz- 
 dam, and a very few copies had been struck off, 
 which the King had given to his most intimate 
 friends. Voltaire was of that number; and he 
 deserved it the more, because he had cor- 
 rected the largest portion. It appears that, in the 
 volume in question, there was a comic poem, 
 
THE PALLADIUM. 271 
 
 entituled, The Palladium. It was to this that 
 Voltaire alluded, when he wrote from Potzdam 
 to Madame Denis at Paris, in the month of Jan. 
 1751, at the time that he was in the highest favour 
 with the King : " Are you aware, that he has 
 written a poem in the style of my Pucelle, called 
 the Palladium ? In it he ridicules more than one 
 class of people ; but I have no army at my 
 command as he has, and I have never gained any 
 battles*." 
 
 If we reflect on these last words, it will be easy 
 to perceive, that this Palladium turned into ridicule 
 persons of high rank; and Frederic, fearful of 
 making himself fresh enemies, if it made its ap- 
 pearance, and having little confidence in Voltaire, 
 ordered his arrest on that account at Francfort. 
 Most probably the Baron Pollnitz had been 
 charged with this commission. The 7th of July, 
 the day of their departure from Francfort, the two 
 travellers arrived at Mayence. Voltaire was 
 received by all the nobility, who, informed of the 
 
 * Savez-vous bien qu'il a fait un poeme, dans le gout de ma 
 Pucelle, intitule, Le Palladium ? II s'y moque de plus d'une 
 sorte de gens, mais je n'ai point d'arraee comme lui, et n'ai 
 jamais gagne de batailles. 
 
272 VOLTAIRE SETS OUT FOR MANHEIM. 
 
 vexations he had so lately undergone, contributed 
 what lay in their power for his gratification. 
 He remained three weeks in Mayence, and left 
 it on the 28th of July, to go to Manheim. Per- 
 ceiving the ruined state of the Palatinate of the 
 Rhine, in different places, which had been burnt 
 and plundered by the French, under the command 
 of the Marshal deTurenne, he exclaimed, ' It is im- 
 possible that our nation can be loved in this coun- 
 try ; these devastations must incessantly keep 
 alive, among the inhabitants, a hatred of the French 
 name ; my friend, let us give ourselves out for Ita- 
 lians*," and he passed as an Italian nobleman. At 
 Worms, where they slept, the innkeeper, who could 
 speak the Tuscan language, conversed with him, 
 while they were at supper. Voltaire was as gay 
 as usual ; made him believe a thousand ridiculous 
 things, and rendered the repast very entertaining. 
 The day after, they arrived early at Man- 
 heim. That town was then the residence of the 
 
 * II est impossible que notre nation puisse &tre aimee dans 
 ce pays ; ces devastations doivent rappeler sans cesse a les habi- 
 tans, a la haine du nom Francais ; mon ami, donnons-nous ici 
 pour Italiens. 
 
THE ELECTOR CHARLES THEODORE. 273 
 
 Palatine Electors. The court was still at 
 Schwetzingen, the beautiful mansion of the So- 
 vereign. Voltaire seeing himself so near his 
 native country, far from the curious and from 
 courtiers, dedicated a few days to the arrange- 
 ment of his affairs. He selected his papers, and 
 changed all the money saved from the wreck at 
 Francfort. A Jew, who did not neglect his own 
 interests, negotiated this affair. As soon as the 
 Elector Charles Theodore learnt their arrival 
 at Manheim, he immediately sent one of his 
 carriages to convey Voltaire to Schwetzingen. 
 He was lodged there with his attendants, and had 
 the same table as the Sovereign. The court was 
 then one of the most splendid in Germany, and 
 one in which all kinds of pleasures were to be 
 found in profusion. Hunting, the opera, French 
 plays, concerts executed by the best performers 
 in Europe, rendered the electoral palace a de- 
 lightful abode for strangers of high rank and 
 distinction,, who were besides extremely well 
 received. 
 
 All the actors of the French theatre came in a 
 body to present their homage to the celebrated 
 
274 VOLTAIRE PLEASANTLY CIRCUMSTANCED. 
 
 writer who had extended their art by so many 
 master-pieces. They solicited permission to take 
 lessons of declamation from him . Nothing pleased 
 Voltaire more than when he was consulted on any 
 subject regarding the theatre, and above all on 
 his own works. The advice he gave produced 
 a great change in the actors; his apartment in 
 Schwetzingen became the temple of Melpomene. 
 Every day, after dinner, Charles Theodore had 
 a private interview with his guest, who used to 
 read one of his own works ; or converse on lite- 
 rature. In order to give the elector an idea of the 
 method he employed in his Annates de l* Empire, 
 he communicated that part of the manuscript, 
 which speaks of the reign of Charles V. Charles 
 Theodore wished Voltaire to see the galleries 
 and collections he had formed in the Palace of 
 Manheim. He went thither in his carriage. He 
 looked over, with attention, the electoral library, 
 the gallery of paintings, that of antiquities, and 
 the cabinet of medals ; and regarded with asto- 
 nishment, as well as admiration, all that great 
 prince had done, in so short a time, for the im- 
 provement of the sciences. 
 
HIS JOURNEV TO STRASBOURG. 275 
 
 He staid a fortnight at Schwetzingen ; feasted, 
 courted, and loaded with honours and attentions. 
 He considered Theodore as a prince highly re- 
 spectable for his beneficence, and the refinement of 
 his sentiments, and estimable by the qualities of 
 his heart, and his love for literature. When they 
 quitted Schwetzingen, Voltaire promised he would 
 return as soon as an opportunity occurred. This 
 promise he recollected, and kept better than 
 he had done that to Frederic, for he visited 
 him five years afterwards. On the 15th of 
 August he slept at Rastadt, and arrived the day 
 after, passing through Kehl, at Strasbourg. He 
 stopped at a small inn, at the sign of the White 
 Bear. The celebrated Schcepflin was then re- 
 siding in the town. Voltaire was desirous of 
 knowing and consulting one who had acquired so 
 much reputation as an historian; and collected, by 
 this means, much information. The author of the 
 Annates, proposed to him to peruse what he had 
 already written. Schcepflin, whose time was taken 
 up by his usual engagements, could not accept 
 the employment, and advised Voltaire to address 
 himself to Professor Lorentz. He undertook, with 
 
 T * 
 
276 voltaires works clandestinely printed. 
 
 pleasure, the task of looking over his manuscript, 
 and of altering the errors which were likely to be 
 found in a work written in haste during a dis- 
 agreeable journey. 
 
 Voltaire, all his life, owing to his superior sta- 
 tion in society, had recourse to those whose ta- 
 lents were adapted to the composition with which 
 
 he was engaged. The men of letters, to whom he 
 + 
 sometimes used to intrust his manuscripts, caused 
 
 those clandestine and defective editions to be 
 printed by eager and selfish booksellers, whom he 
 was obliged afterwards to prosecute. Voltaire 
 wished to stay in the Province of Alsace, till he 
 had fixed a place for his residence. That deter- 
 mination depended on the news his niece should 
 send him from Paris ; where she had been ever 
 since she had quitted Francfort, and was making 
 use of the credit of her friends, to ascertain what 
 were the King's intentions respecting her uncle ; 
 and whether he might live unmolested in his 
 native country. She acted with the greatest zeal, 
 in order to succeed in her enterprise > but she 
 found numerous obstacles; for scrupulous and 
 superstitious persons were afraid of his pre- 
 
ANNALES DE L EMPIRE. 277 
 
 sence. The intrigues of the priests were the 
 most furious, and the most formidable ; and he 
 received from her an exact detail of what she was 
 doing ; but nothing was announced, which could 
 hinder him from continuing his journey towards 
 the interior of France. 
 
 As he was obliged to stop in Alsace, he made 
 up his mind to inhabit Colmar. The brother* 
 of Professor Schoepflin had some presses there, 
 and he proposed to him the impression of his 
 Annales de I'Empire, which were almost finished. 
 This offer was accepted. He immediately made 
 preparations for changing his residence. The 2d of 
 October, 1753, they left the house of Madame de 
 Leon, and arrived at Colmar the same day. Vol- 
 taire hired an apartment in the house of Mr. Goll. 
 That town offered him the advantage of having 
 his works printed under his own superintendance. 
 He found, among the persons who composed the 
 Senate of Alsace, an agreeable society and lite- 
 rary resources, and he was equally well situated, 
 as in Strasbourg, for receiving news from Madame 
 Denis. 
 
 As soon as he arrived Les Annales were put to 
 
278 PAPER-MILL NEAR COLMAR. 
 
 press. Voltaire hearing his printer had a paper- 
 mill six leagues from Colmar, near the moun- 
 tains of the Vosges, and the little town of 
 Munster, went to visit it. Mr. Lepan observes, 
 that this retreat into the mountains of the Vosges 
 was caused by the publication at the Hague, by 
 Jean Neaulme, of the abridgment of the Universal 
 History, attributed to Voltaire, and in which 
 Louis XV. and the clergy were very much 
 abused. There, however, appears an anachronism 
 in this statement, for Collini mentions the print- 
 ing subsequent to this period. 
 
 They found a large isolated building, ex- 
 posed to every wind, in which he could not 
 even expect to find a comfortable lodging. Here 
 he remained a fortnight in almost complete 
 solitude. The workmen and girls employed 
 in the paper-mill were its only inhabitants. 
 They could do nothing but cook, and clean the 
 rooms. A Frenchman, of the name of Bellon, 
 who was there, under government, to take an 
 exact account of the quantity of paper fur- 
 nished by the establishment for the manufac- 
 ture of playing cards, was the only man to 
 
CASTLE OF HORBOURG. 279 
 
 whom they could speak. He could play at 
 chess tolerably well, the only game Voltaire 
 liked ; this, and walking, were their amuse- 
 ments. In the vicinity of the paper-mill, was 
 the Castle of Horbourg, depending on a pro- 
 perty which belonged to the Duke of Wur- 
 temberg, and which had been mortgaged to 
 Voltaire for a sum of money lent to that prince. 
 He had some thoughts of buying it, had it been 
 habitable. The 23d of October, he went to vi- 
 sit it ; but finding every thing in a dilapidated 
 state, and the lands badly cultivated, he re- 
 turned the same day to his original miserable 
 dwelling. 
 
 We perceive that, at this time, his intention was 
 not to quit France for the purpose of residing in a 
 foreign country. The 28th of October, they left the 
 mountains, to go to Colmar. They intended re- 
 maining in that town until Voltaire should receive 
 news from Paris. The cabal, which was anxious 
 to prevent his return, was still, however, in mo- 
 tion. Colmar is in such a situation that the pas- 
 senger may, at a very short notice, enter Switzer- 
 land and Germany, or even penetrate into the in- 
 
280 Voltaire's ordinary society. 
 
 terior of France, While he was waiting to decide 
 on this point, Voltaire took the resolution of keep- 
 ing house, of which Collini had the management. 
 A young girl from Montbeliard, who spoke 
 German and French, was their cook. Her name 
 was Babet. She was gay, lively, fond of con- 
 versation, and had the talent of amusing the philo- 
 sopher. She paid him also those kinds of atten- 
 tion, which servants are not in the general 
 habit of practising towards their masters, and he 
 used to treat her with liberality and kindness. 
 Collini says, he used sometimes to joke Babet on 
 account of her interest in Voltaire, and she only 
 replied by laughing. Their manner of living was 
 quiet and regular. He was not visited by any Je- 
 suits at Colmar ; those priests had good reasons for 
 not seeing him ; he had also something to appre- 
 hend on their account. A few friends, counsellors 
 and advocates to the sovereign counsel of Alsace, 
 formed his ordinary society ; among the last may 
 be noted Mr. Dupont, an amiable man, and a lover 
 of literature, with whom Voltaire afterwards cor- 
 responded. Here, he arranged his Annates de 
 F Empire. The tranquillity which he enjoyed was, 
 
abre'ge' d'histoire universelle. 281 
 
 however, disturbed by one of those events which 
 cannot always be anticipated. 
 
 Jean Neaulme, a bookseller of Holland, had 
 obtained an imperfect manuscript from Voltaire. 
 He had it altered by a paltry writer, and printed 
 at the Hague, under the title of Abrtge de VRistoire 
 Universelle, par M. de Voltaire, 1753, without the 
 knowledge of the real author. They had, inten- 
 tionally, mutilated phrases, which, presented in 
 that manner, could not fail to give fresh cause for 
 persecution. They intended, indeed, to shew 
 this, by burning the work, and attacking the 
 writer, when Voltaire received the real manuscript 
 from Paris. To convince the public he had 
 nothing to do with the impression of the work, 
 altered and printed with a bad design, he insti- 
 tuted an information, in which the abridgment, 
 published by Jean Neaulme, was compared with 
 the manuscript received from Paris; and this 
 put an end to the business. 
 
 Another occurrence gave him some uneasiness. 
 Madame Denis informed him, that they were 
 watching him from Versailles, and that he had 
 been traced at every place since he left Branden- 
 
2S2 VOLTAIRE ANNOYED BY SPIES. 
 
 bourg-, and that he was even watched in that part 
 of the frontiers of France. This was in the month 
 of April, towards Easter. Spies were already 
 abroad, to see whether he would at that feast 
 fulfil the duties imposed by his religion. His 
 friends were informed of the experiment they were 
 desirous of making upon him, a trial more apt to 
 incline a man to hypocrisy than to the duties of a 
 really good catholic, and advised him to do 
 what was necessary. They thought, by that 
 means, to quiet the mind of the public, and to 
 obtain permission for him to return to Paris. 
 Voltaire asked Collini, if it was his inten- 
 tion to receive the sacrament at Easter, he 
 answered, that it was. " Well," said he, " we 
 will receive it together." Every thing was pre- 
 pared for the ceremony, and a monk came to visit 
 him. Collini was in his room when he arrived. 
 A moment after he went out, and only re- 
 turned when he heard the monk had departed. 
 The day after, they went to church, and received 
 the sacrament together. As soon as Voltaire 
 returned home, he sent twelve bottles of wine, 
 and a loin of veal to the convent. The news 
 
HE GOES TO PLOMBIERES. 283 
 
 was circulated at Paris, that the sacrament had 
 been administered to him, for the first time, at 
 Colmar. 
 
 Being wearied at seeing no end to the nego- 
 tiations undertaken by his niece ; being also in 
 want of her assistance, and wishing to avoid 
 his enemies, and particularly Father Croust, a 
 Jesuit, the rector of the college of Colmar, who 
 desired him to quit the town, lest he should 
 spread in it the principles of the new philosophy, 
 Voltaire agreed with Madame Denis, they should 
 meet at the waters of Plombieres. He set off 
 accordingly on the 8th of June, leaving his secre- 
 tary to attend to the impression of the Annates de 
 ['Empire. He was, on the 1 1 th, at the abbey de 
 Senones, half-way, when he received a letter 
 from Madame Denis, which informed him, that 
 Condamine and Maupertuis were at the Waters, 
 and that it would be improper for him to proceed, 
 for fear it might give rise to a ridiculous and 
 scandalous scene. He remained accordingly more 
 than three weeks at Senones ; during which time 
 he made extracts from the library of that abbey. 
 He went afterwards to Plombieres, where the 
 
284* croust's malignity. 
 
 Comte d'Argental came to visit him. After he had 
 remained there about twenty days, he returned 
 to Col mar with his niece, towards the end of 
 July. About three months after his return, 
 (during which time he had been occupied in cor- 
 recting the Orphelin de la Chine,) Father Croust, 
 whom we have already mentioned, succeeded, by 
 the interposition of his brother, the confessor of 
 Madame la Dauphine, in obliging him (Novem- 
 ber, 1754,) to quit the town which he had inha- 
 bited for so considerable a time. 
 
285 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ALWAYS in a state of uncertainty as to where 
 he should establish himself, Voltaire resolved to 
 visit the court of King Stanislaus, whom he saved 
 from being cheated by his steward, Alliot. This 
 person made economical arrangements at the 
 expense of his master; and, like most other 
 stewards, to the emolument of his own pocket. 
 The story, however, is differently related by 
 Mr. Lepan. At this time is mentioned the 
 appearance of Voltaire at Luneville, and his ex- 
 pulsion from the court of Stanislaus. It is said, 
 the King, displeased with the conduct of the phi- 
 losopher, and with his attempts at making prose- 
 lytes to incredulity, asked Mr. Alliot, his aulic 
 counsellor, " Could not you deliver me from 
 that Voltaire, against whom the voice of every 
 one is raised ?** The counsellor answered, " Hoc 
 germs demoniorum non ejicitur nisi in oratione aut 
 
286 MONKS OP SENONES. 
 
 Jejunio *. But, I don't think the first of these 
 means would be successful." " Well," replied 
 the King, "let us try the last." This project was 
 punctually executed ; Voltaire the next day could 
 not get any breakfast in the palace. He addressed 
 a note to Mr. Alliot, who pretended not to under- 
 stand him. He wrote to the King, who 
 sent no answer. The same day he left the 
 court. 
 
 When he quitted Stanislaus, philosophy attracted 
 him to the monks of Senones ; Don Calmet, with 
 whom he was intimate, was their abbot. Vol- 
 taire had occasion for the work on which he 
 was then engaged, to consult books of theology, 
 and he was received among these children of the 
 church with the more pleasure, as they conceived 
 the possibility of making him a good Christian ; 
 and the philosopher conducted himself so as to 
 cause his friends to say, when he departed, 
 that they had before he left them, converted 
 a person, who, on his arrival, was the greatest 
 N Deist existing. 
 
 * This kind of evil spirit is not to be ejected but by prayer or 
 fasting. 
 
ORPHELIN DE LA CHINE. 287 
 
 Voltaire, allowing this deception to pass, went 
 to Geneva. The gates of the town were shut, but 
 they were opened on his name being announced. 
 After having remained at an inn two or three days, 
 he went to the Canton- de-Vaud and occupied the 
 castle of Prangin, which the proprietor had left 
 at his disposal. It was here that, at the solicita- 
 tion of Comte d'Argental, he wrote the Orphelin 
 de la Chine, in five acts, which was before only in 
 three. He was visited by the two Cramer's, 
 booksellers of Geneva, who had printed in that 
 town, the first edition of his works, published 
 in 1757. 
 
 Voltaire was desirous, at that time, of pur- 
 chasing a considerable property ; he first bought 
 the country-house, named Montrion, situated in 
 the vicinity of Lausanne, and soon afterwards pur- 
 chased from a magistrate of Geneva, on a lease 
 during his own life, for the sum of eighty- seven 
 thousand livres, a fine domain, situated one league 
 from Geneva, and known by the name of Sur-Saint- 
 Jean, to which he substituted that of Delices. 
 Such a name was, in every way, suited to a 
 place so delightful, on account of its picturesque 
 
288 VOLTAIRE VISITS LYONS. 
 
 situation, and beautiful gardens. He used to 
 spend the fine season at the Delicts ; and only 
 returned to Montrion during the worst part of the 
 winter. His manner of living was splendid ; his 
 table was abundantly furnished, though he only 
 appeared at it during supper-time ; and his equi- 
 pages were very elegant ; he also built a theatre, 
 but the Genevoise exclaimed against that novelty, 
 and he was obliged to content himself with a 
 temporary one in a tent, where his plays were 
 privately performed. 
 
 In the midst of these pleasures, he was dis- 
 turbed by the news, that they had published in 
 Paris, a surreptitious edition of his Pucelle, as 
 well as of the Campagnes de Louis XV., or Memoirs 
 of the War of 1741. Before he had established 
 himself at the Delices, he went to see Lyons, 
 where the populace were delighted at his appear- 
 ance, and acted the Duke de Foix and Brutus; 
 and during all the time of his stay, he was 
 honoured with the loudest acclamations of praise. 
 On his return to Switzerland, Madame Denis, his 
 niece, superintended his family concerns. 
 
 One of the first-fruits of his retreat, was the 
 
THE SPIRIT AND MANNERS OF NATIONS. 289 
 
 tragedy of Gengis Khan and Candide ; the latter of 
 which may be considered as one of the most ori- 
 ginal compositions of the author. For two years it 
 had the most astonishing popularity ; and there 
 existed hardly a magistrate, military man, or 
 even priest, to whom it was not familiar. It is 
 the work in which the imagination is most forcibly 
 seized, and the reader is conveyed along with the 
 narration ; the style is easy and familiar, and the 
 probability of occurrence of the incidents ad- 
 mitted without question. Perhaps some may 
 conclude by acquiescing in the opinion of the 
 Dervise of the fable, who supposes us placed in 
 this world, much on the same plan as rats inhabit 
 a ship which the Grand Seignior sends to 
 
 Egypt. 
 
 The essay on The Spirit and Manners of Nations-, 
 was also composed at this time. But Voltaire's 
 repose was only short-lived. The surreptitious 
 edition of the Pucelle had, in truth, appeared, in 
 which were verses against the King and La Mar- 
 quise de Pompadour, who at that time possessed 
 great influence. A young man of the name of 
 Grasset, at Geneva, had an order from her to pro- 
 
290 VOLTAIRE GOES TO GENEVA. 
 
 cure a copy of the work, at whatever price might 
 be demanded. Of this he informed Voltaire, 
 adding, that he knew of one for which fifty louis 
 were asked. Voltaire promised the sum, and only 
 asked to see the verses against Madame de Pom- 
 padour and Louis XV. Grasset returned the 
 next day to the Delices, with them, to receive the 
 money. Voltaire, when he read them, exclaimed 
 several times, "I'm a lost man: 1 They tried, in 
 vain, to quiet his mind; but, imagining that 
 Grasset had the remainder of the poem in his 
 pocket, he seized him by the throat, exclaiming, 
 " Restore, wretch ! restore that infamous Pucelle, 
 or I will strangle thee * !" 
 
 The alarmed bookseller escaped from his hands, 
 and fled out of the house. Voltaire ordered his 
 carriage ; proceeded to Geneva, and had a warrant 
 issued against the bookseller, who was imprisoned. 
 Grasset acknowledged that the manuscript was in 
 the house of an ironmonger ; it was found at that 
 of a linen-draper, and burnt. After being confined 
 in prison, Grasset was discharged ; but, according 
 
 * Rends, malheureux ! rends cette infame Pucelle, ou je 
 t'etr angle. 
 
COLLINI LEAVES VOLTAIRE. 291 
 
 to the law of Geneva, Voltaire, in his turn, was 
 condemned to remain in custody. Grasset claimed 
 the law; but Mr. de Paulney, then an envoy 
 from the court of France to the Republic, pleaded 
 the age and titles to protection of Voltaire, and 
 Grasset was again remanded ; and, not being 
 able to succeed through the law, he raised all 
 the clergymen of Geneva in his favour. Among 
 the rest, Jacob Vernet, who had been a frequent 
 guest at the Dttices, and had made the proprietor 
 an offer of editing his works. The philosopher 
 having refused the services of the theologian, 
 rendered him an implacable enemy. 
 
 Shortly before this, Collini had been obliged 
 to leave Voltaire's house. He had involuntarily 
 offended Madame Denis, whom he esteemed, 
 and she also esteemed him ; but her self-love 
 had been, most probably, provoked. Collini 
 confessed that he had mentioned her in a letter 
 which he wrote to another, and which was full 
 of jests. The letter being left open on his 
 desk, was taken to Madame Denis. This was 
 sufficient to cause a quarrel, and to oblige the 
 uncle to discharge his secretary, with whom 
 
292 VOLTAIRE BUYS A HOUSE. 
 
 he had lived for five years, and who had been 
 the companion of his misfortunes when he left 
 Prussia. 
 
 Voltaire, however, did not cease, till his death, 
 to entertain a correspondence with Collini; for 
 whom he always expressed much interest, and 
 afterwards obtained for him the place of his- 
 toriographer and secretary to the Bavarian 
 Palatine Elector, Charles Theodore ; whom we 
 have already mentioned. It was on the 6th of 
 June, 1756, that Collini left the Delices. To- 
 wards the end of the same year, Voltaire bought 
 a house at Lausanne, which had fifteen windows in 
 front, and from which, when in bed, he could see 
 fifteen leagues of the Lake over Geneva, Savoy, 
 and the Alps. That house was intended to be 
 his residence for winter, instead of Montrion, 
 which he sold the following year. His partiality 
 for the theatre decided him to that change, more 
 than any other reason. " They perform so well 
 here," said he to Thiriot, " and there is so much 
 good society, that I have made the acquisition 
 of a house at the extremity of the town." 
 
 The seceder from the court of Prussia had 
 
RETURNS TO THE DELICES. 293 
 
 promised to the Elector Palatine, when he was 
 at Schwetzingen, that he would pay him a se- 
 cond visit. He kept his word, and visited him 
 in the month of July, 1758. Passing through 
 Strasbourg, he saw Collini, who was then go- 
 vernor to the son of the Comte de Sauer, the 
 Seigneur of Styrie : he also saw him when he re- 
 turned, in the following month. He remained a 
 few days at Strasbourg, returning from thence to 
 the Delicts. The domain had been much em- 
 bellished since it belonged t to Voltaire ; but he 
 was aware of the impossibility of having a theatre ; 
 and that was his greatest privation. He had just 
 bought the territory of Ferney, a league distant 
 from the DSlices, on the French territory, where 
 he built a good house, which will be mentioned 
 hereafter. He also bought, at the same time, from 
 Desbrosses, the president to the parliament of 
 Dijon, the chateau de Tournay, situated between 
 Ferney and Geneva; three quarters of a league 
 from the latter place. It was from thence he some- 
 times took the name of the Comte de Tournay. One 
 of the first expenses be incurred was in building a 
 theatre ; which however was but indifferent. He, 
 
294 
 
 ROUSSEAU AN ELOQUENT WRITER, 
 
 nevertheless, performed Alvarez in Alzire, Narbus 
 in Merope, and Argire in Tancred. 
 
 Voltaire had introduced true knowledge, and a 
 free mode of reasoning, into Geneva ; and, by his 
 residence, attracted numbers to that city. Some 
 of the more pious asserted, that the inhabitants of 
 Geneva would become a people of free-thinkers, 
 and that they would be damned without appeal. 
 Those of the new school, forgetting that they were 
 children of Calvin, tried to drown the evils of this 
 life in the pursuit of pleasure ; and the works of 
 Voltaire and Rousseau gave a new degree of ac- 
 tivity to minds already violently agitated. 
 
 Rousseau was one of the most eloquent writers 
 that had yet appeared ; not indeed of that sublime 
 eloquence which raises and purifies the mind, but 
 which, by enveloping it in a cloud of doubts and 
 false reasonings, carries it along without conviction. 
 He originally condemned all civil states of life, 
 and maintained, that man who thinks is a de- 
 graded animal, and that he proceeds further from 
 happiness the more knowledge he acquires. 
 This paradox, or rather this bad mode of rea- 
 soning, had the misfortune to be noticed by 
 
ROUSSEAU OFFENDED. 295 
 
 the academy at Dijon. Voltaire, to whom Rous- 
 seau sent his work, thanked him in a very flatter- 
 ing letter; but he observed in jest, "that so 
 much wit had never been displayed in wishing 
 to render us brutes*," and that, when he read his 
 discourse, " he had a fancy to walk upon four 
 legst" 
 
 This remark offended Rousseau, and he became 
 an enemy of Voltaire, which the other had long 
 expected. From the favourable reception which 
 was given to his book upon the Inequality of Condi- 
 tions, he was induced to advance some other opi- 
 nions equally wild and inconsistent, and openly de- 
 claimed against the sciences and philosophy; main- 
 taining that they only deteriorated the human 
 species, which was destined by nature to live 
 in forests, and feed on acorns. He was infatu- 
 ated with the flowers of a false and enthusiastic 
 mode of reasoning; and, like the scorpion, sur- 
 rounded with fire, the wildness of his own genius 
 proved his ruin. His Emile, which is one of the 
 
 * Qu'on n'avait jamais mis tant d'esprit a vouloir nous rendre 
 betes. 
 
 t II prenait envie de marcher a quatre pattes. 
 
296 WARRANT TO APPREHEND ROUSSEAU. 
 
 best works of the kind that he ever wrote, not 
 merely on account of its beauties, but of the 
 many useful views which it discloses, and which 
 are different from those commonly received, 
 drew a storm upon his head. The parliament 
 of Paris burnt the work, which had been 
 printed in Holland; and issued a warrant for 
 the apprehension of Rousseau. This was the 
 first time, that a stranger was found amenable 
 to justice in a territory on which he had com- 
 mitted no crime. 
 
 Voltaire offered him the house of the hermit- 
 age as a protection, and assured him, that he 
 might philosophize there at his ease. Rous- 
 seau replied to him, in a celebrated letter, of 
 which this is the beginning and the end, " I do 
 not love you, Sir, because you corrupt my re- 
 public by your comedies*." " Our friend, Jean 
 Jacques, is more mad than I imagined/' was 
 the reply of Voltaire. " It is not services, or 
 advice, he requires, but bubbles." This anec- 
 
 * Je ne vous aime pas, Monsieur, parce que vous corrompez 
 ma republique par vos comedies. 
 
DIDEROT IMPRISONED. 297 
 
 dote is mentioned because the least thing re- 
 lating to these two famous men is worthy of 
 recollection. But the same republic, so dear to 
 Rousseau, did not hesitate to burn his work, and 
 to attempt to arrest the author. And, if every 
 government had thought as the parliament of 
 Paris, and the council of Geneva, Rousseau would 
 not have been able to establish himself any 
 where. 
 
 For many years there might be perceived in 
 France an impudent and despicable cabal, which 
 affected to speak of philosophers as dangerous to 
 the state. By them the celebrated Diderot was 
 imprisoned at Vincennes, in 1 745, upon the denun- 
 ciation of the attorney-general, Gilbert des Voi- 
 sins. The parliament had caused the Pensees Phi- 
 losophiques to be burnt; and Diderot, their au- 
 thor, was put into the dungeon of Vincennes. 
 Finding himself confined, he became nearly dis- 
 tracted ; and, to avert the horrible calamity of 
 madness, they were obliged often to allow him 
 free egress when he pleased. The misfortune, 
 which he was on the point of suffering, is to be 
 feared for every one who, having strong passions, 
 
298 DECREE TO ARREST ROUSSEAU. 
 
 is deprived of liberty, and intercourse with human 
 creatures. 
 
 The same association which raised the hand of 
 the magistrate against the honest and virtuous Hel- 
 vetius, who was obliged to make an apology to his 
 judges, issued a decree for the arrest of Rousseau, 
 and the suppression of that vast repository of arts 
 and sciences, the Encyclopaedia. It was also the 
 same conspiracy which occasioned the burning of 
 the Cantique des Cantiques. M. de Fleury, in de- 
 manding the condemnation of this poem, said, 
 it was too evident, that Voltaire had written it in 
 direct opposition to all religious sentiments. The 
 members of the chamber, without reflecting upon 
 the author's power of criticism, acquiesced ; and 
 the Abbe Terray, who lived publicly with two 
 prostitutes, and had a number of bastard children, 
 declared, that it was a licentious publication. 
 Such complaints, and such judgments, coming 
 from the lips of such accusers, may, very pos- 
 sibly, have confirmed Voltaire in opinions hostile 
 to the religion of his country. Nothing is so irri- 
 tating as obstinate folly and ignorance. Freron 
 and the Abbe Gauche t also joined ; and indeed 
 
POMPIGNAN ASSAILED. 299 
 
 these are the only two respectable names in the 
 list. There were, however, many more, whom 
 Voltaire, in his poem of Le Pauvre Diable, which 
 is by Duvernet put on a par with the best sa- 
 tires of Boileau, and in the Russe a Paris, held up 
 to public derision. 
 
 M. Pompignan, who had characterized Vol- 
 taire as a dangerous writer, was assailed with 
 epigrams of every kind, and of every description. 
 The two concluding verses of the little poem, en- 
 titled La Vanite, 
 
 Cesar n'a point d'Azile ou sa cendre repose, 
 Et l'ami Pompignan veut etre quelque chose, 
 
 were engraved, in the year 1760, on the wall of 
 one of the rooms in the Bastille. The defeat of 
 Pompignan was complete ; he did not shew him- 
 self again at Versailles, or in the French aca- 
 demy. A petition, which he presented against 
 Voltaire, completed his ridicule. He was, in 
 fact, led into this error by the vanity of think- 
 ing, that Louis, in the midst of a very serious 
 and dangerous war, would trouble himself with 
 a private quarrel between two wits. If he had 
 brought the complaint before the parliament, who 
 
300 THE BISHOP OF PUY. 
 
 were all enemies to Voltaire, the affair might have 
 ended in a very different manner. 
 
 The Bishop of Puy, in Valais, the brother of 
 this same M. Pompignan, who was the jest of all 
 Paris, descended to the conflict and took up arms 
 for his brother; and, in an address to his pa- 
 rishioners, he displayed the bitterness of his zeal 
 against English and French philosophers ; a de- 
 scription of persons very little known, or cared 
 for, in his territory. Voltaire replied to this, in 
 his " Lettre oVun Quaker a I' ami Jean Georges" in 
 which we find as much wit and irony as in the 
 writings of Pascal, and more playfulness. A sen- 
 timent of revenge, or, to give the best motive to the 
 action, a remnant of zeal against the philosophers, 
 made the prelate, when he was raised to the 
 archbishopric, in 1781, excommunicate the sub- 
 scribers to the works of Voltaire ; but, when we 
 peruse his mandate, which is very different from 
 those of Bossuet and Fenelon, the reader must 
 wonder, that he did not confine himself to his text, 
 instead of vainly attacking the sentiments of phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 After the defeat of M. Pompignan, and even 
 
Voltaire's generous conduct. 301 
 
 amidst the controversies with his enemies, Vol- 
 taire produced Tancred ; which, for the first time, 
 displayed, on the French theatre, the manners and 
 customs of ancient chivalry ; and, whilst Paris and 
 the provinces were resounding with the applauses 
 bestowed on this tragedy, its author impaled his 
 adversary Freron, as Apollo did Marsyas in 
 L'Ecossaise ; and when we see Wasph on the 
 stage, all the enemies of Freron may be appeased. 
 We must now, says Duvernet, turn our 
 eyes from those subjects, which ought only to 
 be mentioned with regret, and see Voltaire receive 
 at his house, with the tenderness of a father, 
 a young grand-daughter of the great Corneille. 
 She had passed her infancy in a small village, with 
 her mother, employed in making osier baskets, 
 which the father sold at the market at Evreux. 
 They were, however, obliged to proceed to Paris, 
 and for a long time lingered in want; but, 
 assuming the name of Corneille, they interested a 
 company of actors, who gave th8m the benefit of 
 a representation of Rodogune, which served to 
 pay their immediate debts. But this resource, 
 was only temporary. Voltaire was applied 
 
302 MADEMOISELLE CORNEILLE. 
 
 to in behalf of this family; they thought him ca- 
 pable of doing a good action, and they were not 
 deceived ; he adopted her, although he was build- 
 ing a church, an odd expenditure for the phi- 
 losopher, and making some additions to his 
 house. He thought that one, who had served 
 under the standard of the great Corneille, ought 
 to neglect no opportunity of being useful to the 
 descendant of his general. 
 
 Whilst Madame Denis was occupied in the 
 education of Mademoiselle Corneille, Voltaire 
 made arrangements for her future establish- 
 ment in life. In order to effect this, he wrote a 
 commentary on the works of her grand-father* 
 which had been long wanted, to facilitate their 
 perusal for foreigners. A subscription was 
 opened for the work, to which almost all the 
 nobility and crowned heads of Europe lent their 
 assistance. What made this more striking 
 was, that, whilst Mademoiselle Corneille was 
 alone, and destitute, many vain and extrava- 
 gant coxcombs were ruining themselves by the 
 profusion of their expenses with actresses. 
 
 Pleasing as this anecdote may be, I must, in strict 
 
m. lepan's relation. 303 
 
 justice, give the different relation of M. Lepan; it 
 is as follows : " One cannot have a single doubt," 
 says he, " as to the reason which induced Voltaire 
 to receive Mademoiselle Corneille at his house, 
 when he himself says: " there are in an ode of Le 
 Brurfs (which had been sent to the author of the 
 Henriade, recommending* Mademoiselle Corneille 
 to his notice, and in which Voltaire is preferred to 
 Homer) admirable verses ; and, above all, the last 
 ones which appeared to me sublime; and I own they 
 induced me to receive my young friend, and to 
 take as much care of her as if she had been my 
 daughter." 
 
 " To undertake such a noble project, has the 
 author of the Henriade waited till the three last 
 strophes? It is difficult to believe it, when we 
 read those which precede them. The three bio- 
 graphical philosophers, Duvernet, Condorcet, and 
 the Marquis de Luchet, cannot give too much 
 praise to their favourite. According to them, 
 Mademoiselle Corneille was a child, without any 
 resources in Paris. She was the grand-daughter, 
 and the only surviving branch of the family of 
 the great Corneille. She received at the Delices 
 
304 m. lepan's relation. 
 
 the greatest attention, and all kinds of masters 
 were appointed for her education. Voltaire gave 
 her a considerable dowry. This, nevertheless, 
 is the truth ; Maria Francoise Corneille was 
 neither the grand-daughter nor the niece of the 
 great Corneille; she was of another branch. 
 She was not a child without any resources in 
 Paris ; for she was sixteen years old, and was at 
 the convent of the abbey Saint Antoine, in which 
 there were ladies of high birth. Her father had 
 obtained her entrance into it, by consecrating to 
 her education part of the sum of five thousand 
 francs, the produce of a representation given for 
 her benefit by the French comedians. We can- 
 not read, without interest, the letter which he had 
 written to the comedians, to ask that repre- 
 sentation, and their answer. Marie Francoise 
 Corneille did not find any masters at the Delices ; 
 she only learnt to play some parts in tragedies, 
 and the business of a waiting-maid. She did not 
 receive from Voltaire a large dowry ; she had only 
 the hopes of having something out of the pro- 
 duce of the edition, in which the works of 
 her cousin were so improperly commented upon. 
 
TRONCHIN BOISSIER. 305 
 
 The proof that Mademoiselle Corneille did not 
 receive from Voltaire a considerable sum of mo- 
 ney, may be gathered from what the latter ob- 
 serves in a letter to the Count d'Argental, the 
 15th of February, 1763. We had much trouble 
 in persuading the protector of Mr. Dupuits to re- 
 gard the sale of a book as a dowry.' The editor 
 of the works was even so far from advancing the 
 funds requisite for the edition, that he wrote to 
 M. de Marmontel respecting two hundred copies, 
 to which Louis XV. had subscribed, and requested 
 that four bills of a hundred louis each might be 
 sent, payable on the receipt of the first volume. 
 ' I shall not embark in this undertaking, witJiout such 
 a guarantee,' he observed to the Count d'Argental." 
 Tournay being only three quarters of a league 
 from Geneva, some of the inhabitants used to 
 come and see the plays, and spoke very much in 
 favour of this kind of amusement ; others in its 
 condemnation with equal violence. Mr. Tronchin 
 Boissier, the attorney-general, visited Voltaire, 
 and informed him that the troubles which he 
 caused would force the republic to make a 
 great sacrifice, but which was necessary for 
 
306 VOLTAIRE LEAVES THE DELICES. 
 
 their tranquillity. Voltaire, who thought his party 
 sufficiently strong, continued the representations. 
 A law was proposed, which might prevent any 
 citizen from performing comedies in any part 
 of the canton. The populace had even a 
 project of driving him away, and burning his 
 house. Not finding himself in security on the 
 Genevoise territory, he left the Delices, stating, 
 as a reason for so doing, that he was not rich 
 enough to live there, and that the state of his 
 health, which required the most complete seclusion, 
 was incompatible with the concourse of strangers, 
 which the vicinity of Geneva attracted. This, how- 
 ever, was not less at Ferney than at the Delices. 
 The first mentioned house contained fourteen bed- 
 chambers, which were intended for those strangers 
 who came to visit the philosopher. " Tell them 
 that I am not here," said he, one day ; " wont 
 they let me breathe? do they take me for the 
 beast of Gevaudan* V 
 
 Voltaire was often in the habit of saying, that he 
 was very ill, and was going to die. In a great num- 
 
 * Qu'on dise que je n'y suis pas, qu'on me laisse respirer ! me 
 prennent-ils pour la bete du Gevaudan ? 
 
FRENCH PHILOSOPHERS. 307 
 
 ber of his letters he complains of the state of his 
 health. Sometimes, when strangers called upon 
 him, he used to send word by his servant, that he 
 was indisposed, and ordered them refreshments ; 
 and, if they insisted on seeing him, his secretary 
 went instead of himself. It was only when they 
 expressed a still stronger desire, that the master 
 of the house made his appearance ; and, if the per- 
 sons pleased him (and the surest way, observes 
 Mr. Lepan, to ensure his kindness was to pay him 
 great compliments), then he forgot his indisposi- 
 tion, and often walked with them for several hours 
 in the gardens. When they quitted him, and 
 shewed a desire of seeing him again, " Most will- 
 ingly, said he, but I shall be no more*." Bicern- 
 stahl, who was received in that way in 1770, as- 
 sures us he had done the same for thirty years. 
 When he gave up his lease of the DSlices, he lost 
 by the transaction forty-nine thousand francs, and 
 more than thirty thousand francs expended in al- 
 terations on. the domain. 
 
 Towards the end of the year, Voltaire proposed 
 to the King of Prussia to establish a small colony 
 
 * " Tres volontiers, raais je ne serai plus/' 
 
 x l 
 
308 REUNION d'holback 
 
 of French philosophers at Cloves, who might 
 speak the truth with freedom, and without 
 fear of priests, ministers, or parliament. For 
 that purpose he solicited a particular building 
 near CleVes. Frederic answered him, " That 
 house which you mentioned has been ruined 
 by the French, which must prevent your colony 
 from establishing itself there ; and I think the 
 best way would be, to send somebody to Cleves, 
 to see what would suit them best, of what I 
 could dispose of in their favour.'' Voltaire hav- 
 ing renewed his proposition regarding his friends 
 the following year, the King wrote to him, " I can 
 grant to them all they ask except wood, which 
 the residence of their countrymen has entirely de- 
 stroyed in those forests ; on condition, however, 
 that they will pay respect to those who deserve 
 it, and that, in printing, they will observe decency 
 in their writings. " 
 
 It must be allowed, that this was a singular re- 
 commendation to make to philosophers ; but Fre- 
 deric knew with whom he had to deal. The 
 Baron d'Holback had lent his house to a society, 
 which was established in it, under the title of the 
 
OU DES ECONOMISTES. 309 
 
 Reunion d'Holback ou desEconomistes, and which was 
 nothing else than an assembly of philosophers, of 
 which the principal members were, Condorcet, 
 Diderot, Demilaville, le Comte d'Argental, and le 
 Baron Grimm. " This," said the secretary of that 
 committee, in 1789, " is what constituted our occu- 
 pations : the greatest part of the books which have 
 for a long time appeared against religion, morals, 
 kings, and governments, were our works, or those 
 of our initiated authors. They were all com- 
 posed by the members, or by the express orders of 
 the society. Before they were printed, they were 
 sent to our office. We used to alter them ac- 
 cording to circumstances, and as was found ne- 
 cessary, and generally dictated to the authors what 
 they were to write. Afterwards, the work appear- 
 ed under a title, or a name, which we chose, in 
 order to conceal the hand from which it came. 
 Many, supposed to be posthumous works, such 
 as Le Christianisme Devoile, and others, attri- 
 buted to Freret, Boulanger, #-c, after their death, 
 were issued by our society. 
 
 " After having given our approbation to all the 
 books, we had a sufficient number struck off on 
 
310 ROUSSEAU. 
 
 fine paper, to reimburse the expense of print- 
 ing ; and then an immense quantity of copies on 
 coarser paper, which we used to send either to 
 booksellers or hawkers, who received them for 
 almost nothing, and were obliged to sell them 
 at a very low price*. 
 
 The objection which Rousseau manifested to 
 the establishment of Voltaire in his native coun- 
 try, his refusal to come to Geneva, whilst he 
 was there, the reproach, which, if we believe the 
 latter, he caused to be made by the body of depu- 
 ties to the Council of Geneva, because they suf- 
 fered, in spite of the law, a Catholic to settle on 
 their territory, inflamed the anger of our philoso- 
 pher. Hence the accusations which are to be found 
 in his letter to Mr. Hume, in which he pretends, 
 that Jean Jacques declared, before he received the 
 sacrament in 1762, that he would write against the 
 Romish church, and that he would speak against 
 the infernal work of Helvetius, See These pro- 
 mises are not, however, contained in the declaration. 
 
 * On this subject more details may be seen in the first volume 
 of the Memoires pour servir d, VHistoire du Jacobinisme. Par 
 M. Barruel, Chap. xvii. 
 
WAECHTEIl. 311 
 
 This is the reason why Voltaire wrote a letter to 
 the Duke de Choiseul, to complain that Rousseau 
 alone had troubled the peace in Geneva. " I 
 wonder," said he to Dorat, " how you can dignify 
 by the title of great man, a wheedler only known by 
 ridiculous paradoxes, and shameful conduct/' It 
 was in a poem, however, La Guerre de GenSve, 
 that he spoke the most on that subject, and of 
 which Jean Jacques is the principal object. Even 
 his panegyrists must allow the inconsistency of 
 the philosopher, who has preached so much in 
 favour of tolerance and humanity, in so grossly 
 abusing a fellow- creature in distress. 
 
 In 1 769, George Christophe Waechter, engraver 
 to the Elector Palatine, having drawn the head of 
 Voltaire, at Ferney, made it into a bronze medal, 
 with this verse of the Henriade : 
 
 II 6te aux nations le bandeau de Perreur. 
 
 The other side of the medal represented an altar 
 on which were the emblems of the heroes of 
 epic and dramatic poetry, such as trumpets, hel- 
 mets, swords, musical instruments, masks, and 
 other symbols. The inscription it bore was, 
 
312 THE PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 Sereniss. Principi. 
 
 Car. Theod. Electori Palatino,offerebatG.C.Waccher,jun. 
 
 MDCCLXIX. 
 
 and also, 
 
 Voltaire, ne le XX. Fevrier, MDCXCIV. 
 
 The engraver had hired a press in Geneva, to strike 
 out an engraving ; but as soon as the inhabitants 
 heard of the verse inscribed, they prevented 
 Waechter from continuing its impression, and 
 ordered him to quit their territory within four- 
 and-twenty hours. The same verse having 
 also displeased the Elector, he would not allow 
 his name to be affixed. There were hardly more 
 than ten or twelve prints struck off. The year 
 after, Waechter made another medal, on which 
 he put a crown instead of the verse, and these 
 words instead of the name of the Elector : 
 
 Tire d'apres nature au chateau de Ferney. 
 
 G. C. Waechter, grave. 
 
 MDCCLXX. 
 
 The same year, the philosophers of the capital, 
 erected a statue to their chief. The Empress 
 of Russia, the King of Prussia, and several 
 sovereign princes, contributed to its design ; but, 
 
VOLTAIRE REMOVES TO FERNEY. 313 
 
 what is to be more particularly remarked, is, 
 that Jean Jacques Rousseau, who had been so 
 hardly treated by the philosopher, was desirous 
 of becoming a subscriber. 
 
 In the meantime, dissensions increased from 
 day to day at Geneva. The ideas of Rousseau 
 were circulated, and the people would neither 
 have balls, nor plays, nor any other public amuse- 
 ment. Many persons, foreseeing the storm, left 
 the town, and Voltaire did not find the Delices an 
 asylum ; for, destined by his genius to shake the 
 opinions of the world, he did not feel himself 
 secure any where against the fury of fanaticism. 
 He had condemned the founder of their institu- 
 tions, Calvin, as an atrocious and barbarous man ; 
 and not feeling himself safe in the republic of 
 Geneva, he removed as I have before mentioned, 
 to Ferney, situated on the territory of France. 
 After he had rendered this place fit for his resi- 
 dence, he raised another chapel to God. The one 
 existing was not sufficiently good, he rebuilt it at 
 his own expense, without making his tenantry 
 pay any contribution. 
 
 It is true that, in destroying the old one, he 
 
314 DESCRIPTION OF 
 
 neglected the canonical forms, and the Archbishop 
 of Anecy, in whose diocese Ferney was situated, 
 complained bitterly of this neglect : " Of what 
 does his lordship complain V y said the philoso- 
 pher ? " his God and mine inhabited a barn, and 
 I have lodged him in a decent temple: the Christ 
 was of worm-eaten wood, and I have caused 
 one to be gilded for him like an emperor*." 
 Out of the church, and under the windows of his 
 chamber, he erected a mausoleum; and, as a 
 tailor takes the measure of a dress, he measured 
 the bier which was one day to contain his remains. 
 This monument, of a simple and antique shape, 
 placed in his sight, reminded him of his death, of 
 which he often talked. It is true, however, that 
 he strewed flowers on the path which led to 
 it. He had a theatre in his house, and all the 
 luxuries and pleasures of life as at the Delices. 
 The following description is given of his house by 
 Bioernstahl, in 1773, which is the more interesting, 
 
 * De quoi se plaint Monseigneur ? Son Dieu et le mien etoit 
 loge dans une grange, et je l'ai loge dans un temple honnete. 
 Le Christ etoit de bois yermoulu, et je lui en ai fait dorer un, 
 comme un empereur. 
 
voltaire's farm and house. 315 
 
 since it is the year in which he visited Ferney 
 for the second time, and also because it was 
 nearer the end of Voltaire's life. " Ferney is si- 
 tuated in a village in the country of Gex, depart- 
 ment of Ain, on the frontiers of France, only two 
 leagues from Geneva. In 1758, Voltaire bought 
 a fine farm in the neighbourhood of that village, 
 which produced much hay, corn, and wheat. 
 The following year he built a house with such 
 expedition, that although only begun in April, it 
 was finished by the end of June. That house, 
 independent of his own apartments, contains four- 
 teen bed-rooms for strangers. The chambers are 
 very well furnished, and ornamented, as one 
 may see, with pictures by the greatest masters, 
 such as a Venus by Paul Veronese, a Flora by 
 Guido Reni, (these two pictures had belonged 
 to the late Duke of Orleans.) There are also two 
 pictures of Albane, one representing the toilet of 
 Venus, the other some Cupids asleep ; which are 
 still in their original situation. 
 
 " In the room of Madame Denis, is to be seen 
 the picture of Catherine, the empress of Russia, 
 made of silk by an artist of Lyons, named La Salle, 
 
316 voltaire's library. 
 
 who presented it to Voltaire. A statue, and 
 many other things, made of plaster, are still ex- 
 hibited in the house. In one of the rooms, are 
 several family pictures, and that of the Mar- 
 chioness of Pompadour, painted by herself, which 
 she gave to Voltaire. In the room where strangers 
 are received, is the picture of Madame du Cha- 
 telet, with several busts made of bronze, of New- 
 ton, Locke, 8fc. 
 
 " The library of Voltaire is a very fine one. There 
 are about six or seven thousand volumes, a great 
 part of which consists of works on theology and 
 history. All the Italian poetry, books of all 
 sciences, dictionaries of all the known languages, 
 are to be found in this collection. There is also a 
 stuffed tiger, which appears as fierce as if he were 
 alive, and ready to spring at you. The garden is 
 very fine and extensive. There is a wood of linden- 
 trees and poplars, which is valued at two hundred 
 thousand francs. There are some very fine walks, 
 which lead from the garden into the park. There 
 are also some good views. In the middle, is a large 
 old linden-tree, which covers the thicket with its 
 branches. This is called the Cabinet of Voltaire, 
 
CHAMP DE M. DE VOLTAIRE. 317 
 
 because it is the place where he used to compose. 
 When he was there, no one dared to approach ; 
 and, when in good health, he used it for 
 writing. 
 
 " Near this tree is a spot where he kept silk- 
 worms. He had some stockings made out of 
 the silk, so that he might with justice say, he 
 wore the produce of his own farm. Near the 
 building for the silk-worms, is a field, called 
 the field of M. de Voltaire, because he used to 
 cultivate it with his own hands. He always 
 worked in it till prevented by illness. There 
 are also some beautiful labyrinths, flower-gar- 
 dens, good grapes, and vineyards. The Mount 
 Blanc and the flower-gardens offer a contrast, 
 which could hardly be found elsewhere. There 
 is a bathing-place which Voltaire built three 
 years since. It is a small marble pavilion, sup- 
 plied by two leaden pipes with cold and warm 
 water. But the place has been much altered 
 since the owner's death. The Genevoise often 
 came there, and none of the travellers who 
 visited Switzerland failed in paying him their 
 respects. 
 
318 MR. GUIBERT. 
 
 " This, however, did not take up much of his 
 time. He received them for the space of five or 
 six minutes, and as they knew he was always 
 occupied, they did not importune him longer 
 with their company. They were entertained in 
 the most hospitable manner, and conducted over 
 the house and gardens. There were some occa- 
 sions, indeed, when much pressed by his literary 
 avocations, on which persons have staid several 
 days in the house without gaining an interview. 
 Mr. Guibert, the author of an excellent work 
 sur la Tactique, after five days' residence, was 
 leaving Ferney ungratified with a sight of the 
 owner, when he sent the following four lines: 
 
 Je comptais, en ces lieux, voir le Dieu du Genie, 
 L'entendre, lui parler, et m'instruire en tout point, 
 Mais c'est comme Jesus en son eucharistie, 
 On le boit, on le mange, et on ne le voit point. 
 
 " Mr. Guibert, as we may easily imagine, by 
 this means, gained an interview, and was kindly 
 received. We may easily pardon Voltaire, at 
 this time, since he was always employed in some- 
 thing useful, and could not have the train of his 
 
DEATH OF CALAS. 319 
 
 studies and ideas interrupted by the reception of 
 visitors." 
 
 In 1762, an occurrence happened, which re- 
 quired all his attention, and must strike all with 
 horror in the perusal ; I mean the death of Calas. 
 The parliament of Toulouse had executed on the 
 wheel a man of sixty years old, of simple manners, 
 and a tradesman of strict and known probity. He 
 was a protestant, and his judges were catholics. 
 In order to murder him under cover of the law, 
 they accused him of having himself assassinated 
 his son Marc Antony. His widow, plunged into 
 a dark dungeon, did not see the light again, except 
 to hear the judgment of banishment passed on her 
 son Pierre and herself. But in order to induce 
 the former to abjure his sins, he was shut up in a 
 convent of Dominican monks, from whom he 
 escaped, and came to Geneva with his proscribed 
 and dishonoured mother. 
 
 They were presented to Voltaire, who heard 
 their story with regret, but with that conviction 
 of their innocence, which could not have been 
 doubted by the most incredulous person. They 
 were interrogated by the Duke of Richelieu, and 
 
320 DEATH OF CALAS. 
 
 the Duke of Villars, who were at that time at 
 Ferney ; and who, having heard Madame Calas, 
 did not hesitate to say, that the parliament of 
 Toulouse had executed an innocent man. Vol- 
 taire inquired into the evidences, from which it 
 appeared, that the inhabitants of Toulouse were 
 blinded by fanaticism during the trial ; that Mr. 
 de la Salle, who was one of the council, had 
 retired into the country in order to avoid his 
 share of the business ; that, out of the thirteen 
 judges who subscribed to the condemnation, six 
 were of opinion, that he was not guilty ; and that 
 the priest who accompanied Calas to the scaffold, 
 exclaimed, when the axe was falling, " The suf- 
 ferer is innocent." 
 
 Voltaire was of the same opinion with those 
 who did not desire the death of Calas, and 
 with the priest who was present at the scaf- 
 fold. He had no doubt but that his death had 
 been occasioned by fanaticism and superstition. 
 He began by bringing the cause of Calas before 
 a tribunal : the confused and contradictory state- 
 ments of the witnesses ; the irregularities of the 
 proceedings ; a detail of the imputed murder 
 
MADAME CALAS. 321 
 
 / 
 
 and of the probabilities for supposing Calas in- 
 nocent. The misfortunes of the family, owing to 
 the interest which Voltaire took in them, were soon 
 espoused by almost all the sovereigns of Europe ; 
 and, after the way was thoroughly cleared, and 
 the people sufficiently undeceived, Voltaire sent 
 Madame Calas to Paris to demand justice of the 
 King, against the parliament of Toulouse; and the 
 decree, which had destroyed her husband, and 
 covered her family and her children with shame, 
 after having been inquired into by a council of 
 forty members, was disannulled in the most pub- 
 lic manner. 
 
 Madame Calas, on this ordinance being promul- 
 gated, was surrounded by crowds of people, who 
 blessed Voltaire, and shed tears of sympathy ; 
 and the liberality of the King, the generosity of 
 the Princes and Ministers, and in particular of 
 the Duke of Choiseul, and of twenty persons of 
 distinction, repaired, as much as was possible, 
 the misfortunes of Calas. Every act of justice in 
 this case, must have made the parliament of 
 Toulouse tremble, whenever they were obliged, in 
 future, to pronounce a decree of condemnation. 
 
322 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 W HILST the proceedings in the case of Calas 
 were pending, Voltaire was engaged in two 
 works, that equally did honour to the cause of 
 freedom of opinion, and the welfare of mankind. 
 These were his Treatise on Toleration, and his 
 Philosophical Dictionary. This last is a book of 
 facts and anecdotes, in which much information 
 is blended with instruction. The clergy, how- 
 ever, exclaimed against it as injurious to the 
 Christian religion; but it may be permitted to 
 doubt whether the execution of Calas was not a 
 greater stain upon religion than any part of this 
 dictionary. Indeed it influenced some inconsi- 
 derate young men, of strong passions, to speak 
 openly against religion, and to attribute to its doc- 
 trines, the evils which only arise from its abuse. 
 
 Amongst the number of the unthinking persons 
 who were most notorious for their licentious con- 
 
DE LA BARRE. 323 
 
 versation, we may remark the Chevalier de la 
 Barre, D'Etalonde, Saveuse, Maillefer, and a 
 boy called Moinel, who was only in his four- 
 teenth year. The judge of Abbeville, enraged at 
 their tumultuous and blasphemous proceedings, 
 commenced a criminal action against them. 
 D'Etalonde, Saveuse, and Maillefer, saved them- 
 selves by flight. The Chevalier de la Barre. 
 nephew of the Abbess of Abbeville, was seized. 
 The age of this young officer, which was that of 
 inexperience, and a time of life at which he 
 could not be expected to be acquainted with law 
 and the consequences of impiety ; his talents, 
 which gave much promise of future eminence ; 
 the services of his grandfather, who had been a 
 general officer, all spoke in his behalf, and 
 pleaded his pardon. The judges of Ponthieu, 
 however, only listened to their zeal, which was 
 not that of the Gospel; and they condemned 
 him to have his hands, his tongue and his nose 
 cut off, and to be thrown into a fiery furnace. 
 
 The parliament of Paris ratified this decree, 
 which it ought to have disannulled; and also con- 
 demned the Philosophical Dictionary to the same 
 
 Y2 
 
324 
 
 THERESE PHILOSOPHE. 
 
 punishment ; as if it had been an accomplice in the 
 misdeeds of the young officer. On searching his 
 property, this book was found, with the Therbse 
 Philosophe, a work as indecent as it was revolt- 
 ing; the judges, burnt the former, but pardoned 
 the latter. 
 
 After the Counsellors of the Tournelle had 
 authorized the arrest of La Barre, and the 
 Philosophical Dictionary, they also talked of seiz- 
 ing Voltaire, who was accused of being its au- 
 thor. But the majority of voices in the council- 
 chamber was against this measure, and thus the 
 author escaped the chance of being roasted alive. 
 It would have been difficult, indeed, to have proved 
 him to be the author ; but when bigots are agi- 
 tated by a false spirit of religion, they do not 
 wait for proofs to punish their victims. 
 
 Voltaire . soon took his revenge upon the par- 
 liament; he announced himself as the advocate 
 of the Chevalier de la Barre, and instituted an 
 inquiry into his condemnation before the public. 
 And, on examination of the witnesses and pro- 
 ceedings, he was declared innocent by the pub- 
 lic, who, disgusted at the cruelty of the con- 
 
VARIOUS WORKS OF VOLTAIRE. 325 
 
 demnation, agreed that he had been sufficiently pu- 
 nished by being shut up six months in a convent. 
 
 In a short time after this, Voltaire produced Les 
 Questions de Zapata, Saul, Lettres sur les Miracles, 
 La Mort de Socrates, he Diner du Comte de Boulain- 
 villiers, Le Philosophe Ignorant, Le Cri des Nations, 
 La Paix Perpetuelle, Jjettres oVAmabed, E'pitre aux 
 Romains, Homelies du Pasteur Brown, Les Colimagons 
 du Frfre VEscarboutier, I' ABC. The object of all 
 these were the same ; but the forms varied so 
 much, that, in reading them, they have each the 
 charm of novelty. An attentive observer of what 
 was then passing in France, might perceive a 
 determined struggle between philosophy and pre- 
 judice, and Voltaire appeared in every form; 
 sometimes concealed and sometimes openly. As 
 a man of letters, he was, during this time, 
 amusing his readers with different productions ; 
 and whilst he was attempting to strangle the mon- 
 ster superstition, he gave the tragedies of Olympia 
 of Shytes, Du Triumvirate, Des Guebres, Les Romans 
 du Haron, et de la Princesse de Babylone, which may 
 be fairly classed among the best of his works. 
 
 About this period appeared the Belisarius of 
 
326 MARMONTEL AND BELISAUIUS. 
 
 Marmontel, which he had composed with the same 
 design as Voltaire, after having published his 
 Tales, which had gained him some reputation as 
 an author. The Sorbonne, which was not tole- 
 rant, cited Marmontel and Belisarius to their 
 tribunal; and, whilst the King of Poland, and 
 Catherine II., were translating it, the Sorbonne 
 was tormenting its author with their persecu- 
 tions, and Belisarius was proscribed by the 
 Archbishop of Paris in his diocese. Authors 
 were, however, at that time too much habitu- 
 ated to such treatment, to be much affected 
 by it ; and Voltaire, who had formerly de- 
 fended Montesquieu, and his Spirit of Laws, 
 now exerted himself for Marmontel and Be- 
 lisarius. The archbishop and his mandate, 
 the Sorbonne and their censure, in bad Latin, 
 were subjects for his ridicule ; a weapon which 
 no individual has hitherto handled with better 
 success. 
 
 But he was now attacked by the Abbe Guenet 
 and Rousseau. The former accused him of 
 ignorance of historical facts, and the latter of a 
 disbelief in God. The one antagonist he attempted 
 
BISHOP OF AKTNECY. 
 
 327 
 
 to refute upon his own ground ; and to render 
 the other ridiculous by his poem of The War of 
 Geneva. The Bishop of Annecy was much 
 grieved when he saw Voltaire among the number 
 of his diocesans, regarding him only in the light 
 of an enemy to the church and to religion. There 
 were also many other disputes between the pre- 
 late and the philosopher. The bishop was very 
 angry that he had rebuilt the church of Ferney 
 without consulting him, and also because he lec- 
 tured his parishioners in this same church, and 
 regarded his sermons as an usurpation of his 
 own sacerdotal rights, and his complaints soon 
 reached Versailles. The Archbishop of Paris, 
 Christophe de Beaumont, also joined, though with 
 more moderation, the cries of the Prelate of 
 Savoy, until the appearance of the letter of Milord 
 Cantorbery to Christophe de Beaumont, in which 
 he saw himself, his mandate, and his religion, 
 turned into ridicule ; he then gave full indulgence 
 to his spleen. 
 
 Queen Marie Luzenski was at the point of 
 death, and M. de Beaumont addressed her in 
 behalf of the religion, which nourished her hopes, 
 
328 DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. 
 
 and entreated her influence against Voltaire, who 
 occupied himself in jesting on the holy scriptures, 
 its martyrdoms, and its ministers. At the point 
 of death the sufferer is happy to place confidence 
 in whatever can afford comfort to an uncertain 
 existence, or confirm his future hopes. The 
 mind, like the body, is weakened by illness ; and 
 one of the characteristics of weakness is to adopt 
 upon the credit of others, opinions of which we 
 are ourselves in search, but of which we are unable 
 to ascertain the correctness. Indeed, the death- 
 bed repentance of many sinners may be attributed 
 more to weakness and outward distress, affecting 
 their minds, than to any inward, or sincere, con- 
 trition ; otherwise, we should see more lead a 
 new life, while they have the power of amending 
 what is passed ; and it is a lamentable fact, 
 that words, in matters of religion, have had al- 
 most as great weight with bigots as deeds ; in- 
 deed money has often lent apparent security to 
 the soul, when sincere repentance might have 
 proved unavailing. 
 
 The mind of the Queen had been, in this 
 instance, so much excited, that when Louis XV. 
 
VOLTAIRE'S MEDITATED FLIGHT. 329 
 
 came into her room, she talked of religion, 
 and demanded vengeance against the individual 
 who had turned it into ridicule. The King 
 was in a state of uncertainty as to his pro- 
 ceedings. Voltaire, informed of what the pre- 
 late had effected, was preparing to retire to 
 Stutgard, to the Prince of Wurtemberg. Fear 
 prevailed over every other consideration ; so that, 
 while arrangements were making for his depar- 
 ture, he burnt a square foot of papers, and dis- 
 carded all his servants, except his secretary, 
 and Father Adam, who would not abandon him. 
 A secret delight, however, mingled with his 
 fears, when he understood, that the letter of 
 Milord Cantorbery had caused all this disturb- 
 ance. 
 
 New complaints arrived from the Bishop of 
 Annecy to the court, which served to increase 
 the storm. This clergyman publicly accused 
 Voltaire of not believing in Jesus Christ; and 
 the philosopher only replied to this charge by pre- 
 tending sickness ; receiving the sacrament, and 
 sending for a capuchin to confess him : he then 
 made a profession of faith, which was witnessed 
 
330 the queen's death. 
 
 and signed by several individuals, and preached a 
 sermon against thieving to his parishioners, in 
 consequence of his having been robbed of a cow. 
 Such actions, however, served only to inflame the 
 zeal of the bishop more, and he had again recourse 
 to complaints. Louis, tired out with these religi- 
 ous disputes, and anxious to oblige the Queen, 
 promised to banish Voltaire, but delayed issuing 
 the orders for its execution. 
 
 The Queen, in the mean time, died ; affairs 
 changed ; and the storm subsided ; but the 
 History of the Parliament of Paris, which appeared 
 at that time, threw Voltaire into a new embarrass- 
 ment. He had, with reason, many complaints 
 against this parliament; for having interfered, for 
 instance, with the representation of Mahomet, of 
 which tragedy the Pope had notified his approval ; 
 for having been the instrument of the condemna- 
 tion of De la Barre, and for having burnt many 
 of his own works ; it was this parliament also 
 that consigned to the flames I'Homme d Quarante 
 Ecus, and a member of the parliament had, in the 
 ardour of his zeal, exclaimed, " Are we only to 
 burn books V* 
 
THE ENCYCLOPEDIA. 331 
 
 None of these grievances, however, were alluded 
 to in the present work ; and we should not guess 
 the author to have had such causes of complaint ; 
 he merely combated certain opinions relative to 
 the constitution, and the inequality and badness 
 of the representation, contrasting it with the 
 English. However, the excellence of the writing 
 might have made up for the novelty of the senti- 
 ments ; the author was threatened with punish- 
 ment, and obliged to disavow it in the public 
 papers. The parliament, finding their views im-- 
 peded, declared war against all the philosophers ; 
 and, in their rage, condemned the Encyclopedia, 
 and prevented the re-impression of a work which 
 had done the greatest honour to France. The 
 copies of the old edition were seized, consigned to 
 the Bastille, and the bookseller ruined. 
 
 Voltaire, in reply to the first act of hostility, 
 announced a fresh work of the same name. People 
 imagined this was only the conceit of an old 
 man ; but a year had hardly elapsed, when four 
 volumes were circulated throughout Europe. The 
 parliament was furious. Mr. Seguier, the attor- 
 ney-general, burnt all the books on this subject, 
 
332 ATTACK UPON THE PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 which he could find ; and declared war against 
 all the disciples of the new school. The 
 members adjourned to submit the business 
 to farther consideration, when they were at- 
 tacked by the chancellor, who asserted, that 
 they were infringing on the authority of the 
 crown. The parliament protested, but Louis XV. 
 dissolved it, and thus accidentally saved the phi- 
 losophers. Voltaire, on this occasion, exerted 
 himself in support of the royal authority ; and 
 what he then said was very much regarded ; it 
 was, however, no more than what he had written 
 thirty years before. But the minds of people 
 had been insensibly prepared to receive truths, 
 which only gain ground by degrees ; and when 
 we consider the monstrous and absurd opi- 
 nions of former days, we must be struck with 
 the changes which our present notions must 
 undergo hereafter. The world was, for ages, 
 unenlightened by a religion, which, though 
 it has made its progress through seas of blood, 
 and been perverted in its course by the way- 
 wardness of the human mind, has at last begun 
 to shine with a more steady beam, and will 
 
statue to Voltaire's memory. 333 
 
 doubtless every day proceed in its glorious 
 career. The errors have been detected, and the 
 dross of human opinion removed from the pre- 
 cious ore of divine revelation. 
 
 A short time before the dissolution of the par- 
 liament, whilst his writings were daily sentenced 
 to the flames, whilst the cries of the clergy were 
 loudest against him, and the court was teazed with 
 the complaints of the bishops of Paris and Annecy, 
 his friends, as I have before observed, had the cou- 
 rage to raise a statue to his memory. This has been 
 the manner in which Greece and Rome were wont 
 to commemorate- men, who were persecuted for 
 their religious opinions. In modern times, Eras- 
 mus was the first on whom this honour was con- 
 ferred. His image was erected, whilst he was 
 still living, and whilst the displeasure of the 
 clergy against him was most violent ; it was ac- 
 cordingly put down soon afterwards, owing to 
 the influence of the monks, who made him an ho- 
 nourable distinction, which had been justly car- 
 ried subservient to their private views and blind 
 prejudices. 
 The money requisite for the expenses of the statue 
 
334< INSCRIPTION ON THE PEDESTAL. 
 
 of Voltaire was soon procured ; and it is worthy 
 of remark, that it was entirely conducted by men 
 of his own nation. The inscription on the pe- 
 destal indicated that it was a statue erected to 
 Voltaire, by friends who were his fellow-country- 
 men. Another circumstance is worthy of record; 
 namely, that a priest was the first who gave the 
 plan of the work, and subscribed to its comple- 
 tion. Men of fortune and high rank, who had 
 only these adventitious circumstances in their re- 
 commendation, were excluded from any participa- 
 tion in the honour. An exception was, however, 
 made in favour of a few foreigners, who solicited 
 permission. The King of Prussia referred to d'Alem- 
 bert the mention of the sum he should subscribe, 
 who replied in the name of the academy, " Sir, 
 your name alone, and a crown, are sufficient." 
 
 Whilst Pigal, one of the first artists in Europe, 
 was engaged with this statue, the enthusiasm 
 which the works of Voltaire excited inflamed many 
 literary societies, who, not being able publicly 
 to inaugurate a statue to his memory, determined 
 on it privately. The most splendid assembly 
 for this purpose was held at the house of Ma- 
 
335 
 
 demoiselle Clairon. This young lady had become 
 celebrated by her wit and social virtues, as well as 
 from having attracted great notice on the stage 
 by her superior talents for acting. She assembled 
 on this occasion those who were the most dis- 
 tinguished for their talents. After a splendid 
 repast, they ranged themselves in a circle, 
 in a room prepared for the occasion, and Made- 
 moiselle Clairon, habited as a priestess of 
 Apollo, holding laurels in her hand, and seated 
 on a throne, recited an ode in honour of Vol- 
 taire. When the priestess, herself in tears, pro- 
 nounced the verses, which recalled to mind 
 the moment when the learned must lose their 
 leader, and the wretched their protector, the 
 audience were melted into tears. The associa- 
 tions of the past, the present, and the future, 
 rushed to their recollection, and the rivalship of 
 genius, as well as the emulation of friendship, 
 sunk deep into every bosom, when they con- 
 trasted the probable existence of the statue with 
 the life of the man whom they envied and adored. 
 They considered that against death there is no 
 remedy ; that the grave must receive the offspring 
 
336 ANECDOTES RESPECTING LOUIS XV. 
 
 of mortality ; and that the brightest genius would 
 soon be as cold as the marble in which he must 
 inevitably be enclosed. 
 
 It has been asserted, that Louis XV. disliked 
 Voltaire; facts, however, appear against this sup- 
 position. He once observed to some courtiers, 
 who were jesting in his presence on these cere- 
 monies ; " I can easily imagine this enthusiasm." 
 They were from that moment silent. A short 
 time after, when he was hesitating whether he 
 should arrest Voltaire, they told him of the inten- 
 tion his friends had of erecting a statue to his 
 memory. " He deserves it ; but where will they 
 place it ?" " Sir," replied the young Lavalliere, 
 "I am pretty sure I know where they will not 
 place it. It will neither be at the gate of the 
 Sorbonne, nor in the chamber of your parlia- 
 ment." " You are right," replied the King, " it 
 would not remain long in either of those places." 
 Another anecdote is also related, which tends to 
 shew, that the King was not ill-disposed to Vol- 
 taire. The bishops, after one of their sittings, in 
 which they had condemned several of his works, 
 went to Versailles, according to the usual custom, 
 
Voltaire's liberal conduct. 337 
 
 to pay their respects to the King, and to solicit 
 his protection, in behalf of their religion, against 
 the philosophers. The King promised, as usual, 
 to watch over it with fidelity. Some days after, 
 hearing of the good the author of the Hen- 
 riade did among his tenantry, he asked if his 
 pension had been regularly paid ; upon which he 
 learned that, for fourteen years, he had never 
 received any. " I request," said he, " that in 
 future, this account may be regularly discharged." 
 
 His behaviour, with regard to Voltaire, has 
 been thought as inconsistent, and difficult to 
 estimate aright. Perhaps he considered it his 
 duty as a King, not publicly to countenance, 
 one, whom, as a man and a philosopher, he re- 
 spected and admired. 
 
 We now come to a period, when Voltaire was 
 principally engaged in defending the unhappy and 
 unprotected ; among these we must include the fif- 
 teen thousand slaves of the monks of Saint Claude, 
 whom he contributed to render free and happy. 
 Europe was for a long time infested with these 
 poor wretches, who, attached to the glebe, were 
 scarcely treated as well as horses ; and, although 
 
83H UNNATURAL CUSTOMS. 
 
 their masters had not the power of putting them 
 to death by the sword, yet they could cause them 
 to expire under the torture of the rod. This sort 
 of slavery, which was always equally revolting to 
 nature, and true policy, had been abolished in 
 France under the third race of its kings ; but still 
 existed in nearly its original state on Mount Jura, 
 in the county of Burgundy. 
 
 The inhabitants of these mountains, in mort- 
 main to the monks of St. Claude, were subject to 
 the worst and most unnatural customs. One of 
 them was, that a wife, after the first six months 
 of her marriage, could not sleep out of her pa- 
 ternal residence, under the penalty of losing all 
 right of inheritance ; and whatever property her 
 parents possessed, devolved to the monks, who 
 were also entitled to the possessions of those who 
 died without direct heirs. The abominable cus- 
 tom of the Veillee du Mouchon was the conse- 
 quence of this practice. The heads of families, 
 fearing to let their goods pass to the church, 
 made sure of an heir before they allowed their 
 children to marry. As soon as a boy and girl, 
 had attained a sufficient age, and the connexion 
 
PLANTER LE MOUCHON. 339 
 
 for life was approved, arrangements were made 
 for their future subsistence, and the parents left 
 them together in the same room, after having 
 placed a piece of fir- wood lighted in the fire-place 
 of the apartment. This ceremony was called 
 planter le Mouchon*. They then retired, and the 
 young couple were allowed to remain together 
 during the time the wood took for consumption. 
 
 The experiment generally proved successful, 
 and the lady, in due time, became pregnant, and 
 was then married ; but if, on the contrary, Pro- 
 vidence did not smile on their endeavours, lover 
 succeeded lover until the desired effect was pro- 
 duced. This custom, contrary to the canonical 
 laws, is calculated to deprive a lover and a hus- 
 band of an acquisition in matrimony, which, 
 though the most uncertain among the attributes 
 of a wife, is the one which is most re- 
 garded by her husband. There were very few 
 boys or girls, who, after having planted le Mouchon, 
 would not be ready to join again in the ceremony 
 
 * This expression had its derivation from the Valley of 
 Mouchon, where the custom originated. 
 
 z a 
 
340 voltaire's memorial. 
 
 without solicitation. The inhabitants and com- 
 munities of Mount Jura expected, that the Bene- 
 dictines of St. Claude, having become prebenda- 
 ries, would use their privileges with moderation : 
 in this, however, they were deceived. The exe- 
 cutions were raised to a height that excited the 
 indignation of all the deputies. 
 
 Those who suffered, proceeded to throw them- 
 selves at the feet of Voltaire, and to implore his 
 assistance against the tyranny of the children of 
 the church. The philosopher, aware that the 
 pretended privileges of these holy men were 
 usurped, addressed a petition to the King, in 
 which he shewed, that those whom he was pleased 
 to style his children, ought not to be treated by 
 the clergy as brutes. This memorial, which was 
 written with eloquence, excited attention. The 
 petitions of the slaves were sent to the Council 
 of DepSches ; and the Marquis of Montignard, 
 minister of war, was authorized to inquire into 
 the circumstances. 
 
 Voltaire sent Mr. Christin to Paris to support 
 the cause of liberty, which, however, encountered 
 strong opposition; it was first maintained that the 
 
CHAPTER OF SAINT CLAUDE. 341 
 
 complaints and petitions were entirely judicial, 
 and ought to be submitted to the consideration of 
 the parliament of Besancon. Voltaire replied, 
 that the right of emancipation, like that of 
 naturalization, was an act of sovereignty, and 
 that the King alone was possessed of its exercise. 
 They then objected, that the right of mortmain 
 existed still in several lordships of France, and 
 that a private law, which would particularly apply 
 to the serfs of Mount Jura, could not be granted, 
 and that a general one would cause unlimited 
 dissatisfaction. 
 
 Voltaire was not, however, discouraged ; he 
 solicited the law, and the Chancellor Maupeou 
 promised it ; but the dismissal of the old parlia- 
 ment, and the formation of the new, hindered his 
 proceeding to fulfil his obligation. The case, 
 however, was laid before the parliament of Be- 
 sancon; and the chapter of Saint Claude was 
 condemned to restore all they had taken from the 
 house of a young woman, while she was occupied 
 in celebrating the funeral of her father ; and the 
 subsequent edict of Louis XVI. paved the way 
 for its total abolition. 
 
342 TOWN OF VERSOI. 
 
 During the time that Voltaire was occupied 
 with these affairs, he had his apartments, which 
 were used for acting plays, changed into shops 
 for artists. The dissensions, which had torn 
 Geneva for fifteen years, and caused commerce to 
 languish, had, in 1776, proceeded so far, as even 
 to cause open tumults in the streets. Many were 
 shot in these broils, and those who did not wish 
 to interfere on either side, left the town. Vol- 
 taire, however, detained many of the most in- 
 dustrious, and prevented them from removing their 
 talents out of the country. Those who remained 
 in his house found whatever was necessary 
 supplied by his generosity, and he soon esta- 
 blished a considerable manufactory for watches. 
 
 Under these circumstances, he formed the plan 
 for the establishment of the town of Versoi, upon 
 the lake of Geneva. The Duke de Choiseul em- 
 braced the project with eagerness. The situation 
 of the town was as advantageous as it was pic- 
 turesque. The workmen were from Ferney, where 
 Voltaire had formed a small colony, and built 
 them agreeable and commodious houses ; and this 
 village, which had originally been inhabited by a 
 
INSCRIPTION. : $i3 
 
 few wretched peasants, who were brutalized by 
 ignorance and dirt, was soon peopled by artisans 
 in easy circumstances, and good watchmakers, 
 whose exertions have since attained celebrity. If 
 Voltaire had lived a few years longer, he would 
 have seen the town acquire the character of opu- 
 lence. The following inscription, which the Abbe" 
 Belloni had already prepared, was intended for 
 its principal gate-way: 
 
 ** In Volteriopolim, 
 Sumptibus has propriis struxit Voltarius sedes, 
 Hie effudit opes dum scriptis edocet urbem ; 
 Moenia si starent vatis dum scripta manebunt, 
 Urbi seterna fores seternum riomen haberes." 
 
 It has been already observed, that the parliament 
 of Toulouse, bewildered by the cries of a supersti- 
 tious mob, caused the old and innocent Calas to 
 expire under the hand of the executioner; and 
 that the parliament of Paris sacrificed the Cheva- 
 lier de la Barre, a promising young officer, merely 
 for some youthful indiscretions; rendering the 
 punishment of licentiousness equal to that of 
 parricide, or arson. 
 But it is the task of the biographer to consider 
 
S44f SIHVEN SENTENCED TO DIE, 
 
 the errors and mistakes under which the judges 
 of the tribunals laboured, and the service which 
 Voltaire rendered to mankind by their detection. 
 The same false zeal which had persecuted Calas 
 and De la Barre, induced the magistrates of the 
 village of Mazanet, in Languedoc, to pass sentence 
 of death upon Sirven, a feudist of Castres. The 
 charge they laid against him was the horrible 
 crime of having drowned his daughter, who, it 
 afterwards appeared, had cast herself in a mo- 
 ment of frenzy into a pit of water. Sirven and 
 the whole family made their escape. His wife, 
 unable to bear the fatigues of the journey, soon 
 sunk under the weight of her misfortunes, and 
 one of his daughters gave birth to a child 
 in the midst of the snow on the mountains of 
 the Cevennes. Those of the family who escaped 
 from the severity of the weather, took refuge near 
 the residence of Voltaire, which was the asylum 
 for the wretched, and threw their persons at his 
 feet, and their poverty on his bounty. Their mis- 
 fortunes touched him, and he engaged the Kings 
 of Prussia, of Denmark, and of Poland, in their 
 cause, as well as the Empress of Russia, and se- 
 
BUT RESCUED BY VOLTAIRE. 315 
 
 veral others of high rank and great influence. 
 For nearly ten months Voltaire solicited the re- 
 versal of the decree respecting Sirven ; and 
 though he had innumerable obstacles to over- 
 come, his perseverance triumphed. 
 
 When Louis XV, had called another parlia- 
 ment to replace the one that caused Calas to be 
 burnt, Voltaire pleaded the cause before them, 
 and a decree in his favour was a stain of disgrace 
 upon the former judges, who were condemned to 
 pay the expenses of the proceedings. The whole 
 family returned to Ferney, and thanked Voltaire, 
 with tears of joy ; and this compensation of justice 
 consoled him for some unpleasant circumstances 
 which he experienced in his colony for artists ; and 
 he observes in a letter, " My manufactories were 
 only a work of supererogation ; but the affairs of 
 Sirven were of the first necessity." 
 
 The judges of that time were in the constant 
 habit of committing errors, in the most important 
 decisions. The judge of a village upon the con- 
 fines of Barois, on the most doubtful proofs, con- 
 demned a labourer of the name of Martin, to be 
 broke on the wheel, as guilty of theft ancl as- 
 
-346 CRIMINAL COURT OF PARIS. 
 
 sassination. The criminal court of Paris, who 
 had delegated their power to this judge, exa- 
 mined the proceedings carelessly, and put their 
 mark of approval to the sentence. The poor 
 man was sent back to the village to be exe- 
 cuted. A short time after, another man was 
 capitally convicted for robbery, and, before his 
 death, pleaded guilty to the crimes for which 
 Martin had been murdered. The judges merely 
 acknowledged their mistakes, without offering to 
 make any reparation for the crimes they had 
 committed ; nor, indeed, was there, at that time, 
 any superior tribunal, by which their conduct 
 could be censured. 
 
 Such arbitrary authority must be considered 
 as dangerous to the human race ; and a thousand 
 voices ought to have sounded the trumpet of re- 
 form in the common cause. Voltaire exerted him- 
 self on the death of this unhappy man: but his wri- 
 tings were circulated slowly ; and not having been 
 printed with the permission of the government, 
 they reached Paris too late to produce the de- 
 sired effect. Had the matter been otherwise, they 
 might have awakened justice, which was slum- 
 
JUDGES OF SAINT OMER. 347 
 
 bering on the judgment-seat, and prevented the 
 sentence of condemnation of the judges of Arras 
 against Mont Bailie? who was a good, though 
 obscure citizen of Saint Omer, and a gar- 
 dener by occupation. The mother of this un- 
 fortunate man, who was in the habit of drinking 
 spirits, was suffocated by the breaking of a blood- 
 vessel ; but the cries of a tumultuous mob accused 
 her son and his wife of having strangled her. 
 There were no circumstances to create suspicion ; 
 indeed, presumptive evidence was in their favour ; 
 for, by the death of his mother, the son lost a 
 small employment which afforded his family sub- 
 sistence. 
 
 The judges of Saint Omer having no proofs 
 against them, but yielding to the clamours of the 
 people, condemned the young couple to remain 
 in prison for a year, in order to secure what they 
 termed a more full investigation. The sovereign 
 Council of Arras, before whom the trial of Mont 
 Bailie was brought, caused the husband, who 
 asserted his ignorance to the last breath, to 
 be broken on the Wheel; his wife was also 
 sentenced to the same punishment ; but, being 
 
348 
 
 COUNT DE LALLY. 
 
 pregnant, they waited until she was brought to 
 bed to put the sentence into execution. Vol- 
 taire received intelligence l*f this in time ; and, 
 on the cause being again examined, the wife, who 
 expected nothing less than death, was reprieved, 
 and the character of her husband cleared from 
 the guilty imputation. 
 
 No redress, however, could be obtained ; and 
 thus one man had the power of assassinating 
 others, under the pretence of law, and could do the 
 same under the same pretence, if they were ac- 
 cused of injustice, or oppression. After having 
 effectually established the character of an ob- 
 scure citizen, and saved the life of one, whose 
 husband had suffered martyrdom, Voltaire inte- 
 rested himself in a political defence for the Count 
 de Lally, whom the parliament had caused to be 
 dragged, like a common malefactor* with a gag 
 in his mouth, to the place of execution ; a 
 mode of treatment which was not legal, and which 
 a special command from the king could alone 
 authorize. 
 
 The Count de Lally, as a private officer, had dis- 
 tinguished himself at the battle of Fontenoy, and 
 
COUNT DE LALLY. 349 
 
 Louis XV., who was a witness to his bravery, 
 made him a brigadier after the engagement. The 
 following year Lally formed a plan for a descent 
 on England ; and if Prince Edward had not been 
 defeated, he was to have had an office of high 
 command under the Duke of Richelieu. 
 
 In the year 1755, he was sent to India, in or- 
 der to ameliorate, if possible, the affairs of France, 
 which then appeared in a desperate state, as far 
 as regarded their settlements in Asia. He was 
 fixed upon for the command, because he was 
 known to be an active and intelligent man. The 
 distinction of his first appearance induced Louis XV. 
 to appoint him commander-in-chief of the expedi- 
 tion. His efforts, however, were not well second- 
 ed ; and the minister omitted for a considerable 
 time to furnish him with supplies. The merchants 
 of Pondicherry also, occupied with their com- 
 mercial views, interfered a good deal with his 
 arrangements ; and his army was turbulent, and 
 badly disciplined. The loss of d'Estaing, who 
 had been made prisoner at the siege of Madras, 
 and who united the coolness and intelligence of a 
 great commander, with the audacious intrepidity 
 
350 COUNT DE LALLY. 
 
 of a common soldier, was another of the evils 
 he experienced. The English had been rein- 
 forced with troops and money, and the two last 
 years that the French remained in India, were a 
 series of continued calamities. The parliament 
 of Paris was charged with the judgment of Lally, 
 who himself was desirous of being tried by a 
 court-martial of military officers, capable of ap- 
 preciating his conduct. This, however, was re- 
 fused, and being found guilty of want of duty 
 in his charge, and of being the cause of the 
 loss of Pondicherry, he was beheaded. 
 
 Voltaire, who had considered the subject, se- 
 cluded in his retreat, could not persuade himself 
 that a general officer of the most upright cha- 
 racter, and one who was an enemy to the English, 
 would have betrayed the interests of his King, and 
 of his countrymen, in the manner which had been 
 represented. He examined the conduct of Lally, 
 his defence, and the charges of the accusers, 
 together with some of the pieces on which they 
 founded the proofs of the crime of which he was 
 accused. In most of these, he only found errors 
 that the general had not the power of avoiding, 
 
COUNT DE LALLY. 351 
 
 and in none of them crimes which could deserve 
 the punishment he experienced. Two things, 
 also, materially prepossessed Voltaire in his fa- 
 vour. The one was, that, all the witnesses 
 brought against him, were men of no consi- 
 deration, or respectability, and some of them not 
 even known to possess any character. The second 
 was, that the memorial, which the attorney- 
 general made use of to denounce M. de Lally, 
 was the work of a monk, who was unworthy of 
 belief, and a truly bad character. What other 
 term can be applied to the Jesuit Lavaur, sent to 
 reform the infidels, and who, instead of so doing, 
 intermeddled with the Christians, who solicited 
 a pension of six hundred francs to go and live as 
 he called it, and die in the retreat of Perigord ; and 
 who, after his death, was found to be possessed 
 of a million of money in diamonds, and bills of 
 credit. In the same case which contained this 
 property was found the memorial against Lally. 
 
 Voltaire, in his history of this unfortunate war in 
 India, exposed facts with impartiality ; and neither 
 lessened the character of M. de Lally, nor exte- 
 nuated his faults, nor impeached the character of 
 
852 COUNT DE MORVENGIES. 
 
 the enemies he made by the impetuosity of his 
 character ; and, in undeceiving a populace, who 
 were then calmed, but who are as difficult to be 
 undeceived, as they are easy to be imposed upon, 
 he left to Count de Lally Tollendal the task of ob- 
 taining judges for his father, and of proving his 
 innocence to all Europe. 
 
 The magistrates were much displeased at the 
 active interference of Voltaire with their sentences 
 of condemnation ; this, however, he only did when 
 they were deceived, and exposed fellow-citizens 
 to an unjust punishment. The death of an inno- 
 cent man, murdered under the pretence of law, 
 is a crime against the community. In England 
 every individual may defend his cause and his 
 life in public; but each nation has its own pe- 
 culiar laws. Voltaire thought that the criminal 
 code of his country was defective, and all that 
 he wrote on that subject tended to make the 
 people desirous of a reformation. 
 
 The Count de Morvengies was another of those 
 for whom Voltaire exerted himself. This general 
 officer was ensnared in the nets of sharpers, 
 and was seized and thrown into prison for debt. 
 
A RIDICULOUS STORY. 353 
 
 The sum was laid at a hundred thousand francs, 
 which, however, in reality, he did not owe, but 
 which the judge of the case sentenced him to pay. 
 The Count had considerable property in lands and 
 in forests, but he had also large debts, and was in 
 immediate want of money. Some usurers pro- 
 mised to advance him the amount; and, under 
 pretence of accelerating the business, they per- 
 suaded him to give bills for three hundred thou- 
 sand francs, of which, when they got possession, 
 they boldly declared they had given him the 
 full value. 
 
 To persuade the public of the truth of this, they 
 fabricated a ridiculous story; asserting, that a 
 woman, named Veron, eighty-six years of age, 
 who lived in a garret, had supplied the money, 
 and that her grandson, one Jonquieres, had con- 
 veyed it in thirteen different parcels, to the Count 
 de Morvengies, who lived at the distance of near 
 a league from Madame Veron. Voltaire heard of 
 this strange law-suit, and read the memoirs of both 
 parties. The regulations of commerce were against 
 the accused; for when a bill is delivered, the 
 money is supposed to have been received ; but 
 
 1A 
 
354* voltaire's beneficence. 
 
 the contradictions on the part of the lenders left 
 no doubt in the mind of the philosopher, that the 
 loan of the hundred thousand francs was a fabrica- 
 tion. Accordingly, with M. Linguet, he cleared 
 the honour and fortune of M. de Morvengies, and 
 the parliament declared M. Jonquieres to be a 
 cheat and an usurer. 
 
 " There are some men/' observes Rochefou- 
 cault, " who would not dare to appear enemies of 
 virtue; but when they wish to persecute, they 
 deny its existence." This was the case with the 
 enemies of Voltaire ; they attributed all he did to 
 the motive of vanity. He only delights, say they, 
 in gaming renown for his actions. His prevailing 
 passion is to hear himself spoken of, and his great 
 talent is to choose his opportunities for action 
 skilfully. The charitable persons who judged so, 
 certainly did not know, or affected not to know, 
 that every man in distress applied to his bounty ; 
 that he delighted in assisting the wretched, in 
 whatever class of life they might be placed ; and 
 that, in the obscurity of his retreat, he was per- 
 petually performing good actions. 
 
 A fact, that is little known, but one that de- 
 
FATHER TESSE. 355 
 
 serves to be more so, upon the authority of Du- 
 vernet, is, that he rescued from the hands of the 
 Jesuits the estate of six gentlemen of the name 
 of Crassi ; several of whom were minors. The 
 scarcity of the times, and the expenses which the 
 military service requires in time of war, had 
 obliged them to borrow money, and make over 
 their property to their creditors. Several of these 
 were Genevoise and Jesuits. The reverend Father 
 Tesse, their rector, applied to the council in the 
 name of the Society of Jesus, to reimburse all the 
 other creditors. This put him in their place, and 
 gave him the right of making away with the pro- 
 perty of the plaintiffs, and reducing them to 
 poverty. Father Tesse was just on the point 
 of completing this holy purpose, when Voltaire 
 interfered. Upon hearing of the case, he sent the 
 whole money to the registrar of Gex, which 
 was due to the creditors of these gentlemen. 
 This stratagem, practised upon the Jesuits, but 
 particularly upon Father Tesse, was one of the 
 actions which most delighted the mind of the 
 philosopher. It was similar to the rescue of six 
 lambs from the jaws of a wolf. He had also the 
 
 ?A2 
 
356 A LABOURER RESORTS TO VOLTAIRE, 
 
 satisfaction of seeing every thing regularly arranged 
 in the family ; and that, at the destruction of the 
 Jesuits, they were in a state to buy all their pro- 
 perty, and to make a house of their college. 
 
 We may also relate another action, which, per- 
 haps, would never have been divulged, had not 
 those who were its object made it public. A la- 
 bourer, who was not his own vassal, had lost a law- 
 suit at the parliament of Besancon, which com- 
 pletely ruined him. In his despair, he came with 
 his wife, to implore the charity of Voltaire, who 
 enjoyed, all over France, a character for libe- 
 rality ; and the assistance he wanted was to have 
 the decision set aside. Voltaire, affected by his 
 story, took the papers of the proceedings, and 
 delivered them to M. Christin, his steward; 
 who, after having given them a careful perusal, 
 was of opinion, that these unhappy people had 
 lost a good cause, and that the nullity of the pro- 
 ceedings left hope in an appeal. At this intelli- 
 gence he went into his study, and returned, bear- 
 ing in the lap of his dressing-gown three bags of 
 a thousand francs each. " There," said he to the 
 unfortunate labourer, " is something to compensate 
 
AND EXPERIENCES HIS BOUNTY. 357 
 
 you for the wrongs you have suffered in a court of 
 justice; a fresh law-suit would be a source of new 
 trouble to you ; and, if you are wise, you will go 
 to law no more. If you wish to establish yourself 
 on my property, I will take charge of you." 
 
 These anecdotes are related by Duvernet, and 
 agreed to by Condorcet, though hardly noticed by 
 Mr. Lepan. It is, however, the duty of a just 
 writer to mingle the praises due to liberality even 
 with the austere condemnation of religious pre- 
 judice. 
 
358 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1 II E beneficence of the philosopher had, to a certain 
 degree, made him the tutelar genius of the place ; 
 and the veneration with which he inspired his followers 
 was general. Whenever he walked out he was surround- 
 ed by clients, who showered upon him their bless- 
 ings. Labourers might be sometimes seen returning 
 from their work, and kneeling before his mausoleum, 
 like Mahometans before that of their prophet ; and if 
 his fame had been as extensive as that of Theseus or 
 Hercules, he would have enjoyed a translation to 
 divinity. " If he procures our freedom," said the in- 
 habitants of Mount Jura, " we will tear St. Claude 
 from his niche, and put his statue in the place." 
 When he was made acquainted with their desire, 
 Voltaire replied, " Tell these honest people, that I 
 thank them, but there is no hurry." 
 
 Amidst all the occupations of establishing manu- 
 factures, and assisting the cause of those in distress, 
 
CATHERINE II. 359 
 
 he had time left to instruct and amuse his contem- 
 poraries ; and, it was in these years of multiplied 
 toils, that he produced the tragedy of The Law of 
 Minos, and a number of smaller pieces ; in which vi- 
 vacity and good taste are blended with philosophy and 
 morality. 
 
 At the court of Louis XV., in 1773 and 1774, all 
 was managed by party manoeuvres and intrigue ; and 
 the courtiers took little interest in the good which 
 Voltaire performed, or the knowledge which he dis- 
 seminated. They enjoyed the benefits of the sun, if 
 the expression may be permitted, without knowing 
 the true value of its splendour ; and if, owing to any 
 partial obscurity, it was the topic of conversation, 
 mention was only made of the spots upon its surface. 
 The favours, however, of the sovereign of the north, 
 made up to him for the disappointments and neglect 
 which he experienced at the Court of Versailles. 
 
 Catherine II., who was a great legislator, and 
 appears to have completed what was begun by the 
 Czar Peter the Great, before she mounted the throne, 
 and while she was yet in a secluded station, 
 imbibed much of the spirit, and many of the opi- 
 nions, foiind in the works of the philosopher of Fer- 
 
360 PRINCE KOSTLOWSKI. 
 
 ney. As soon as she was Empress she realized some 
 of the philosophical views of Voltaire in Russia; and 
 it was this woman who wrote with her own hand the 
 three words, " Destruction to Persecutors." The moral 
 forms a lesson to nations. 
 
 Prince Kostlowski, accompanied by Mr. Presba- 
 senski, an officer of the guards of Catherine II., had 
 an order to repair to Ferney. They presented them- 
 selves in the name of their sovereign, with the letters 
 which she wrote to the philosopher, and papers which 
 contained the rules, according to which twenty law- 
 givers were engaged in forming a code of laws that 
 was to govern ten different nations, which were under 
 her sway. A box of ivory, which she had worked 
 with her own hands, some precious furs, her portrait, 
 and twenty large diamonds, accompanied this homage, 
 which the discernment of the female sovereign of the 
 Russias publicly tendered to the talents of the French 
 philosopher. In proportion as those in power are 
 enlightened, their minds gain energy, and they more 
 easily appreciate the value of a man so rare and so 
 unparalleled. 
 
 The attentions he received, on the other hand, 
 from Frederic, were of a different kind ; but not less 
 
VOLTAIRE GENERALLY RESPECTED. 361 
 
 flattering in their way. It was a present from a king 
 who had been in strict habits of correspondence and 
 intimacy with a philosopher. He caused a statue of 
 Voltaire to be made in his best manufactory of porce- 
 lain, and wrote beneath with his own hand the two 
 expressive words, Viro ImmortalL The answer Vol- 
 taire gave to this was equally complimentary : " Sire, 
 you give me an estate in your dominions*." When 
 some visitors at Ferney were remarkiug its elegance, 
 and paying the owner some compliments on the inter- 
 pretation of the motto, he said, " It is the signature 
 of the donor f." 
 
 Voltaire was at this period the wonder and admira- 
 tion of Europe. His writings, which were disse- 
 minated every where, almost universally extended 
 the use of the French language. All the artists, 
 sculptors, medallists, and painters were occupied 
 in taking his likeness, and varied his form under 
 every appearance, and in every attitude. No man 
 ever before enjoyed, at the same time, such constant 
 and universal respect. There were many, who from 
 
 * Sire, vouz me donnez une terre dans vos domaines. 
 f Cest la signature de celui qui me l'envoie. 
 
362 LOUIS XVI. BEGINS HIS 
 
 malice and envy, attempted to blacken his fame, and 
 his character. Pere Viret accused him of being in 
 love with Catherine II., and addicted to the pleasures 
 of women in his eighty-third year ! The Abbe de 
 Mabli accused him, in a most eloquent manner, of 
 not being able to see farther than his nose ; and Mr. 
 Duval d'E'premenil asserted that he was without 
 property, before the parliament of Rouen. Among 
 others, who have written the most inconsiderately 
 against Voltaire, are the Abbe* Sabattier, de Castres, 
 Madame de Genlis, and FreVon. The last, however, 
 candidly confessed, " If I did not slander him, no- 
 body would read my pages*." 
 
 It was now the time that young Louis XVI. assumed 
 the reins of government, and consoled the French 
 by his wisdom and moderation, whilst the Sage of 
 Ferney, from his retirement, applauded the actions of 
 the new monarch. Louis XVI., at the age of 
 twenty, was astonished, and, perhaps, alarmed, at 
 finding himself King. The art of governing ap- 
 peared quite unknown to him; his grandfather, 
 Louis XV., having always impeded his acquaintance 
 
 * Si je n'en dirais pas de mal, on ne lirait pas mes feuilles. 
 
REIGN WITH DISCRETION. 8$3 
 
 with state matters. The first step he took on ascend- 
 ing the throne was marked by wisdom ; he recalled to 
 court the Count de Maurepas, who had been for a long 
 time in disgrace. France, which, at first, was alarmed 
 at a new government, imagined it had now hopes of 
 enjoying a prosperous one ; and its wishes were not 
 deceived. The administration of the treasury, full of 
 disorder in every branch, was mangled by the Abbe 
 Terray, who retired from Paris loaded with public dis- 
 approbation. The Chevalier Mausseou was exiled and 
 forgotten ; the Marshal de May was made minister of 
 foreign affairs ; the management of the navy was under 
 the care of M. de Sartine; and M. Turgot was 
 comptroller-general. The former parliament was re- 
 called ; but the literary world had no reason to com- 
 plain of Mausseou, the President. Although this 
 parliament was attacked by a thousand different sa- 
 tires, none of the authors were denounced or accused 
 of impiety. Upon one occasion a magistrate ex- 
 claimed, that philosophy undermined the throne ; a 
 prediction which was in the sequel too awfully ful- 
 filled. The wife of one of the new magistrates had 
 the folly to receive a hundred louis from a petitioner, 
 to obtain for him an audience with her husband, 
 
364 ATTACKS UPON THE LITERATI. 
 
 which was granted, but in a very rude manner ; this 
 occasioned a law-suit between the judges and the 
 client ; the result of which gave rise to the recall of 
 the former parliament. 
 
 It was expected that its members, who had suf- 
 fered a long exile, would have profited by this period 
 of disgrace and inactivity ; and that, improved by 
 reflection and information, they would act differently. 
 To the great joy of Paris they resumed their func- 
 tions ; but to the great discontent of all who were in- 
 terested in the progress of knowledge, they renewed 
 their attacks upon the literati. There were two phi- 
 losophers in the ministry, M. de Malesherbes and M. 
 Turgot. These men, during their leisure hours, 
 amused themselves with entering into the views of 
 the economists, who were engaged with the amelio- 
 ration of commerce and agriculture ; as also with re- 
 pairing the errors, which, under the preceding reign, 
 had been introduced into the administration of the 
 finances. To establish a free trade in corn was one of 
 the first operations of M. Turgot ; and the price of 
 bread was immediately lowered. The taxes upon arti- 
 cles of necessary consumption were rendered much 
 more moderate; by which the King lost nothing, 
 
PROGRESS OF REFORM. 365 
 
 because the demand for provisions was increased. 
 La Caisse de Poissy, which was proclaimed by many 
 as usurious, and a burthen upon the people, was 
 immediately suppressed, and the price of meat was 
 diminished one sou the pound. Labourers and pea- 
 sants were no longer compelled to make new roads ; 
 and the statutes were laid, by a proportionate tax, 
 equally upon all classes of citizens. 
 
 This reform, which of itself alone deserved the 
 greatest praise, made him a number of enemies 
 among the nobility, the magistracy and the clergy, 
 the wardens and corporations, which shackle industry, 
 and are so ruinous to those who have recourse to 
 them, and an interminable quantity of law-suits were 
 abolished. A still more abundant source of law- suits 
 is to be found in the rights of feudal tenure. M. 
 Turgot formed a project for their abolition. He also 
 attempted to take off the duties on salt. He wished 
 to reform the economy of the royal household, which 
 had been so often prayed for in the petitions of the 
 parliament, and which M. Necker had finally the 
 courage to perform. 
 
 Voltaire, who loved the state, the King, and M. 
 Turgot, and whose views were those of a philosopher, 
 
366 M. TURGOT ACCUSED. 
 
 wrote three small poems, Le Temps Present, Les 
 Finances, and SSsostris, applauding the prudent mea- 
 sures of the new reign. The last is an agreeable al- 
 legory, in which the bard of Henry IV. celebrates the 
 wisdom of his descendant. Voltaire took advantage 
 of the momentary favour he held at court, to obtain 
 the suppression of the excise, to which the country 
 of Gex was then subject; and for this he was prin- 
 cipally indebted to M. Turgot. The influence of the 
 minister was, however, on the decline. The parlia- 
 ment opposed him, and burnt some writings of Vol- 
 taire in his praise ; whilst his friends supported him 
 in an intemperate manner, and spoke of the parlia- 
 ment with open contempt. 
 
 M. Turgot was accused of having written Le 
 Monarque Accompli, a heavy and voluminous work, 
 addressed to the Emperor Joseph II., in which 
 it was imagined there were revolutionary doc- 
 trines. Complaints were made to the King, who, 
 perpetually harassed by the perfidious representations 
 of the enemies of the minister, commissioned the 
 Baron D'Ogny to ascertain the opinion of the 
 people in general. A number of false petitions were 
 handed to him, which he was led to believe contained 
 
EPISTLE TO A MAN. 367 
 
 the general sense of his subjects, and M. Turgot 
 was dismissed. 
 
 Malesherbes was desirous of following his friend 
 into retreat, and the same day gave in his resignation 
 of the department of Paris. The retirement of these 
 two men gave Voltaire much uneasiness. He testified 
 his concern in a small tract, entituled, E'pitre d un 
 Homme. The subject was M. Turgot, who must, no 
 doubt, have been much flattered by such a mention. 
 The disgrace of the economists soon followed that of 
 the minister. An action was instituted against him 
 for having said that the caisse of Poissy was usurious. 
 He came to the chatelet, pleaded his cause himself, 
 and gained the suit. His cause was that of the peo- 
 ple; who, after judgment had been passed, recon- 
 ducted him home amidst shouts of applause. 
 
 This triumph, however, was not of long duration. 
 The government banished him to Combroude in 
 Auvergne ; but, on his return, granted him a pension 
 of four thousand francs, to console him for his 
 exile. The Abb6 Roubeau, his colleague, in the 
 E'phemerides du Citoyen, was sent into Normandy ; 
 and as he pleaded the excuse of poverty, for not 
 being able to betake himself to his retreat, fifty 
 
368 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 louis-d'ors were paid for his expenses. The govern- 
 ment conceived themselves under the necessity of hav- 
 ing recourse to these punishments, in order to stop 
 all writings which related to the public welfare. 
 
 The adventure of M. Delisle, which happened 
 at the same time, is of another nature. Two ma- 
 gistrates, burning with zeal for the holy taber- 
 nacle, and among the most enlightened of those who 
 were in the parliament, proceeded to search for 
 works of philosophy. In a short time, they bought as 
 many as amounted to fifteen thousand francs, and 
 caused them to be burnt, in order, said the other 
 members jestingly, to expiate the sins of their youth. 
 In one of those searches they discovered the Philo- 
 sophy of Nature*, a work in six volumes, which had 
 been approved, and printed six years. These two 
 words, " philosophy" and " nature," made their zeal 
 for combustion still more ardent, and the work ap- 
 peared to them a very worthy object of suspicion. 
 They purchased of the librarian, Saillant, all that 
 remained of the edition. They then borrowed the 
 manuscript; but, in confidence, it was carried by 
 
 * La Philosophie de la Nature. 
 
DELISLE S RIGHTS RESTORED. 
 
 369 
 
 two counsellors of the parliament to the advocate- 
 general of the Chatelet, who seized and condemned 
 both the work and its author. Although it was a 
 sort of philippic against M. Delisle, who composed 
 it, he was imprisoned, and sentenced to perpetual 
 exile, and the confiscation of his property. 
 
 The confiscation of a proscribed man's property is 
 absurd ; for there are few who wish to live, after being 
 deprived both of their honour and their fortune : if he 
 be a philosopher and a man of courage, he will deprive 
 himself of life: and if a theologian, and not deficient 
 in resolution, he will do the same. The parliament 
 of Paris, however, annulled the judgment of that of 
 the Chatelet, and restored M. Delisle to society, to 
 his country, and to all the rights of citizenship. De- 
 lisle was no sooner liberated than he went to stay 
 sometime with Voltaire. Our philosopher was enjoy- 
 ing the satisfaction of affording an asylum to a man 
 of talents under persecution, when Joseph II. of Aus- 
 tria pased near Ferney. He did not visit its owner, 
 and proceeded on without seeing him. This might 
 have been mortifying ; but Voltaire never testified any 
 disappointment ; and the subsequent homage he re- 
 ceived in the capital fully counterbalanced this slight. 
 
 * B 
 
370 IRENE AND AGATHOCLES. 
 
 He had been absent from Paris for thirty years, and 
 was now verging towards his eighty-fourth. His appear- 
 ance was venerable, and he was living free and happy 
 amongst a people whose opinions and views he had 
 formed and directed, and whose benedictions he was 
 in the daily habit of receiving. In 1777, he united 
 in marriage the Marquis de Villette, a man of con- 
 siderable property at Paris, who was on a visit to 
 Ferney, to Mademoiselle Varicour, the daughter of 
 a gentleman of Gex. For this young lady, who was 
 brought up under his eyes, he had the tender anxiety 
 of a father; and her beauty and goodness of dispo- 
 sition gained her the appellation of bonne et belle, 
 of which, says Duvernet, she is still deserving. In 
 the society of the Marquise de Villette, Voltaire found 
 the cultivated and pliant conversation, which recalled 
 to his mind the days he had formerly spent with the 
 Chaulieus and the La Fares. 
 
 In the course of the same year, Voltaire had sent to 
 Paris the two tragedies of Irbne and Agathocles. The 
 actors were not able to adapt themselves to the cha- 
 racters, and this misconception on their part rendered 
 him impatient ; making light of mistakes in trifling 
 things was not one of the virtues of our philosopher. 
 
voltaire's arrival at Paris. 371 
 
 Yielding therefore at once to the different inducements 
 that called him to Paris ; to the Marquise de Villette, 
 who had returned thither with her husband ; to the 
 exhortations of his friends, who were most of them 
 very old, and desirous of seeing him before he died ; 
 and, perhaps, yielding still more to the ambition of see- 
 ing himself applauded upon the first theatre of Europe, 
 he set off in the midst of the most severe winter, and 
 arrived at Paris, at a time he was least expected. In 
 this he hazarded his life. On the road he was will- 
 ing, as much as possible, to dispense with all honours ; 
 he could not, however, avoid those of the postmasters. 
 They did not dare to trust him to their postillions, 
 but accompanied him themselves. One old man, who 
 was not able to drive, after having intrusted him to 
 his servant, said, " Consider the honour you have in 
 driving this great man ; and although there are ten 
 kings in Europe, there is but one Voltaire." 
 
 On his arrival at Paris, on alighting from his car- 
 riage, although he was overwhelmed with fatigue, and 
 in spite of the inclemency of the weather, he ran on 
 foot to the house of the Count Dargental, to whom, for 
 ferty years, he had given the name of Ange Tutelaire ; 
 
 his soul burnt again to see and embrace this old friend, 
 
 hi 
 
372 franklin's visit. 
 
 In the interval of a few years, most of the sovereigns 
 of Europe had visited Paris ; but their arrival had 
 given rise to much less wonder and agitation than that 
 of the philosopher of Ferney. In all the public walks, 
 theatres, and places of amusement, nothing was men- 
 tioned but his arrival. The French academy sent 
 three deputies to welcome him, instead of two, as was 
 usual, at the head of whom was the Prince Beauveau; 
 I the rest of the academy followed their representatives. 
 The French comedians went also to pay him their 
 homage. Voltaire replied to them, " Gentlemen, I 
 live only by you, and for you." Mademoiselle Clairon, 
 like a second priestess of Apollo, cast herself at his 
 knees, in the midst of a numerous assembly. The 
 ministers sent congratulations ; a great number of 
 courtiers followed their example ; and the men of 
 letters made this pleasure their duty. During a con- 
 siderable time, the philosopher was the subject of all 
 conversations ; his observations were repeated from 
 mouth to mouth. Franklin, who was, at the time, 
 ambassador from the United States of America, one 
 of the great men of the age, and of the first who 
 disseminated the principles of liberty throughout a 
 nation, came to see him, and brought his son to re- 
 
TRAGEDY OF IRENE. 378 
 
 ceive his benediction. Voltaire placed his hand on his 
 head, and exclaimed in English, " God and liberty. 5 
 
 Whilst these honours were gratuitously heaped upon 
 him, his health experienced an alteration ; and the 
 alarm was increased at Paris, when Tronchin, his 
 physician, announced in the public papers that those 
 who loved him most would soon be the accomplices 
 of his death. By degrees, this danger passed away, 
 but other fears succeeded. A report prevailed that 
 the Archbishop of Paris petitioned Louis XVI. to 
 order Voltaire to leave the capital. It was also men- 
 tioned, that M. Seguier had an order to denounce 
 him to the parliament. Voltaire, although he was still 
 unwell, received the actors and actresses, who were 
 to perform in Irkne, at his house. They rehearsed 
 before him as he lay in bed ; and, at this time, he sat 
 up a whole night, correcting the fifth act of the tragedy. 
 
 During one of the rehearsals, he broke a blood- 
 vessel. The Abbe Gaultier came to visit him, but 
 required a public profession of his faith, and the 
 wits in Paris wrote a parody on the priest and the 
 profession. The day after the visit of the Abbe, he 
 recommenced the rehearsals oflrhne, of which he had 
 not a very favourable opinion ; and it was on this occa- 
 
374 RESPECT AND COMPLIMENT 
 
 sion, that he observed with pleasantry, u It would be 
 sad for me to have come to Paris, only to be confessed 
 and hissed*." 
 
 This play had already arrived at its sixteenth re- 
 presentation ; but he had not been able to attend, 
 although perpetually called for by the public. The 
 illness from which he had just escaped (which is 
 dangerous at all ages, and generally mortal at so ad- 
 vanced a period of life), added to the interest which 
 the public took in him, and rendered them more 
 solicitous in their visits. Two sentinels were placed at 
 the box-door of the gentlemen of the bedchamber to 
 the King, where he sat with the Marquise de Villette. 
 He had hardly entered, when the spectators rose, 
 some incited by the pleasure of seeing him in better 
 health; others by the respect they considered they 
 owed to a philosopher, who had filled all Europe 
 with his fame and literary glory. This was the 
 first homage he received. The audience then 
 simultaneously clapped their hands witli excessive 
 joy, and a thousand voices from every corner ex- 
 claimed, " Let him be crowned." Buzard, the 
 
 * " II serait triste pour moi de n'etre venu k Paris, que pour 
 tre confesse et siffle." 
 
PAID TO VOLTAIRE. 375 
 
 actor, who performed so well the character of a high 
 priest, in obedience to the public voice, proceeded 
 to the coronation. The modesty of Voltaire for 
 some time hesitated in receiving the honour, the 
 first of that sort hitherto known in France ; but at 
 last he accepted it amidst cries of " It is the public 
 that sends it*." 
 
 Shouts of applause continued till the close of the 
 theatre, indeed for nearly four hours. During the two 
 representations of the tragedy, and the after-piece, the 
 comedians paid him a compliment, equally unexpected 
 by himself and by the public. It was the inaugura- 
 tion of his statue. The curtain rose, displaying, in 
 the middle of the stage, his bust, done by Cafneri, 
 and placed on a pedestal. All the actors and actresses, 
 each in an appropriate dress, were grouped in a semi- 
 circle around it, holding in their hands a crown of 
 laurel, after which they chanted the name of Voltaire 
 at distinct intervals. 
 
 Madame Vestris, advancing to the front, addressed 
 some verses to him, which were twice recited, and 
 each time, the acclamations were re-doubled. Then, 
 
 * " C'est le public qui l'envoie." 
 
376 OPPOSITION OF THE PRIESTS. 
 
 each actor, passing, and inclining towards the statue, 
 placed a crown of laurel upon its head. Each coro- 
 nation was hailed by the audience with shouts of ap- 
 plause. After this performance, the enthusiasm still 
 continued during the rest of the evening ; and, on his 
 way home, he was preceded by persons hailing him as 
 the Sophocles and Homer of France. On his arrival 
 at the court-yard of the hotel of the Marquis de Vil- 
 lette, he found it full of his admirers ; and, turning to 
 the public, he thanked them for the honours they had 
 heaped upon him, " and the glory," added he, " under 
 which I am going to expire*." 
 
 In 1 770 a clergyman of Paris preached against the 
 statue they had raised to him ; and another of Saint 
 Andre* des Arts, thought it his duty to preach against 
 the coronation. The force of the enthusiasm, however, 
 drowned the remonstrances of the priests ; and what 
 would, at another time, have caused much discussion, 
 was now hardly noticed. 
 
 A number of engravings were struck off relating to 
 this event. Among the figures introduced are those of 
 the poet Freron and Guilbert. The latter is said to 
 
 ' Et de la gloire sous laquelle je vais expirer." 
 
HONOUR SUCCEEDED BY SATIETY. 37T 
 
 have been so violently affected at the demonstrations of 
 respect shewn to his enemy, as to become deranged. 
 On his recovery, however, in a fresh fit of frenzy, he 
 swallowed a key, and cried out, in expiring, " Say 
 nothing about it to the philosophers." 
 
 Paris and its tumults soon became burthensome to 
 one broken down with age and decrepitude. The 
 honours, of which he had to a certain degree become 
 satiated, left a void in his heart, which study, applica- 
 tion, and the desire of seeing those in whom he was in- 
 terested happy, could alone fill up. His dependants 
 at Ferney sighed for his return, and indeed offered to 
 convey him on their shoulders the whole distance : but 
 the pleasure which he received in the society of the 
 Marquise de Villette was a strong tie on his affections ; 
 and in this state of uncertainty he undertook the task 
 of contributing to the formation of a good French dic- 
 tionary, which he had proposed to the academy ; a 
 work which was at that time essentially wanted. 
 Each member had a letter assigned to him, and Vol- 
 taire undertook the first, A. 
 
 Continued labour during the night, and a very free 
 use of coffee, to prevent sleep, threw him into a fever, 
 to relieve which he had recourse to opium ; but, hav- 
 
378 APPROACHING DISSOLUTION. 
 
 ing taken too large a dose, he fell into a lethargy, from 
 which he never completely recovered. Whilst he was 
 in this state, he heard that M. Lally Tolendal had 
 procured the repeal of the sentence, which had caused 
 his father to die on the scaffold. This news raised 
 him from his stupor, and he replied to Madame Tol- 
 lendal, in a note, of which the following was the sub- 
 stance : " I see that the King is just; I die content." 
 This was the last letter he dictated. His torpor now 
 became continued and complete : he could not arti- 
 culate, and seemed to be insensible to every thing 
 around. 
 
 The Curate of Saint Sulpice, and the Abbe* Gaul- 
 tier, who had formerly attended him, being made ac- 
 quainted with his danger, were permitted to see him 
 in the presence of his niece, his nephews, and his 
 friends. The curate approached the pillow of the 
 dying man, and asked him whether he had faith in the 
 divinity of Jesus Christ. The philosopher was insen- 
 sible, and did not hear the question ; or, if he did, did 
 not deign to answer. The curate profited by the si- 
 lence to explain to his friends and his relations his 
 reasons for such a demand. " As," said he, " in the 
 works attributed to him, the divinity of Jesus Christ is 
 
DEATH. 379 
 
 strongly attacked, I think it my duty to acquaint my- 
 self with these points of his belief." M. le Marquis 
 de Ville Vieille then addressed him, and thinking that 
 he should not be heard, cried in his ear with a loud 
 voice, " Here is the Abbe Gaultier, your confessor.*' 
 The philosopher, probably delirious, to the great asto- 
 nishment of the assistants, replied, " The Abbe Gaul- 
 tier, my confessor; pray make my compliments to 
 him." They then announced the curate of Saint Sul- 
 pice. Voltaire is said to have raised himself from his 
 bed, and extended his hand for salutation. When the 
 clergyman said, " Sir, do you acknowledge the divinity 
 of Jesus Christ ?" he replied, " For the love of God, 
 do not mention that man's name." These were his last 
 words ; at which, observes Duvernet, " All free-thinkers 
 will be very much delighted, but which are certainly 
 calculated to make Christians shudder." 
 
 The Curate of Saint Sulpice, no doubt alarmed at 
 this reply, retired, and announced to the rest of his 
 fraternity at Paris, that Voltaire had died as great a 
 Deist as he lived ; that he would not bury him ; and 
 that, if the commands of his superior obliged him to 
 perform the office, he would have the body dug up dur- 
 ing the night. This report, although not very probable, 
 
380 FALSE ANECDOTES AND 
 
 as it was mentioned publicly, I have thought it my 
 duty to record. It may be also right to contradict a 
 common belief that was then circulated, which said, 
 that as soon as the Abbe* Gaul tier had left the apart- 
 ment, Voltaire raised himself on his pillow, and re- 
 peated the four following lines : 
 
 Tandis que jai vecu, on m'a vu hautement, 
 Aux badauts effares, dire mon sentiment, 
 Je veux le dire encore dans les royaumes sombres 
 S'iis ont des prejuges, j'en guerirai les ombres. 
 
 This anecdote is false, as well as many others, then 
 in circulation. The verses had been written ten years 
 before, and when Voltaire was in the full enjoyment 
 of health. It appears like an idle boast his repeating 
 them on his death-bed ; but the truth is, that he died 
 peaceably, with the resignation and calmness of a phi- 
 losopher. His body was embalmed, and carried at 
 night out of Paris to the convent of Sellieres, of which 
 his nephew, Mignot, was abbot. His heart was sent 
 to his friend the Marquise de Villette, enclosed in a 
 sarcophagus, which was placed in the chamber in which 
 he used to study, and on which the following inscrip- 
 tion was written : " His heart is here, and his genius is 
 every where*." 
 
 * " Son coeur est ici, et son esprit partout." 
 
OPINIONS RESPECTING VOLTAIRE. 381 
 
 Opinions have been, and are likely to remain, 
 various, with regard to the real state in which Voltaire 
 expired. His friends describe him as sinking into the 
 grave like a philosopher : others, among whom are the 
 physicians in attendance, describe him as suffering 
 great agonies, and terrified by his approaching disso- 
 lution. Between two such different accounts, pro- 
 bability might induce those unbiassed to incline to 
 the former. No doubt the opium which he had 
 swallowed might cause delirium ; and the religious 
 would magnify indications of weakness, to which 
 the strongest minds are liable, into fear of a future 
 existence ; whilst d'Alembert would be unwilling to 
 allow, that the tortures of his body on so trying an 
 occasion would ever cause even a temporary perver- 
 sion of his sentiments. 
 
 The writings of Voltaire were composed in quiet and 
 seclusion : and, from all that can at present be judged, 
 indicated his genuine belief. Their coincidence with 
 those of others ought not to be on this occasion the ques- 
 tion. No one would all his life deliberately maintain 
 what his reason decided to be false ; and the state in 
 which a man dies, is not always a fair criterion of the 
 vigour of his understanding, or an estimate of his fears 
 
382 DEATH OF ROUSSEAU. 
 
 for future welfare. Physical force supports the 
 mental faculties ; and even tranquil resignation to fate 
 is not always accompanied by devotion. A saint has 
 been known to expire in torments ; and Sir Thomas 
 More jested upon the scaffold. 
 
 The death of Rousseau soon followed that of Vol- 
 taire. His obsequies gave no trouble. M. de Girar- 
 din, at whose house he died at Ermenonville, caused 
 his body to be carried to a small island in the neigh- 
 bourhood, where a mausoleum was erected amidst 
 some poplars, which soon became an object of curiosity 
 to strangers, and of veneration to his admirers. 
 
 The following account is given of Ferney, in the 
 work of M . Lepan, by a person who visited that place 
 in August, 1817. "All the lands which form the domain 
 round the house, about a league in extent, have been 
 sold by the heirs to different Genevoise, or French pro- 
 prietors. The garden and surrounding plantations are 
 not worthy of being dignified by the name of a park. 
 The high trees, which are seen on the right on entering 
 the gardens, were planted by Voltaire himself, and are 
 those under which he used to repose. The trees oppo- 
 site to Geneva were also planted by the philosopher of 
 Ferney. M. Burette, a Genevoise gentleman, the pre- 
 
FERNEY. 883 
 
 sent owner, has made openings from different points, 
 in order to enjoy the view of the country. As to the 
 present shape of the garden, it resembles in nothing 
 the former arrangement. M. Burette, having built 
 a very fine front, it was necessary to uncover all the 
 land, which was before it, and to substitute for those 
 plantations a large platform covered with grass, which 
 is surrounded by trees. As to the interior, two rooms 
 only, on the first floor, the parlour and bed-room, have 
 been kept in the state in which they were at the death 
 of the former owner. 
 
 " This is all that remains to be seen in the local 
 distribution. Neither the shape of the parlour, nor 
 its ornaments, are remarkable for their taste. It is 
 arranged in the style of architecture which was in 
 fashion under Louis XV. The sitting-room, besides, 
 has a mean appearance ; and it is difficult to conceive, 
 that it could have contained the number of the curious 
 who visited the author of Zara, when he performed 
 his plays. As these amusements only took place in 
 summer, it is probable the visitors walked about in 
 the gardens, till the actors began to perform. The 
 furniture of the bed-room is in its original state. This 
 is also very small. The walls were covered with 
 
384 FERNET. 
 
 tapestry from Lyons, which is still seen. The canopy 
 of the bed was of the same stuff; but nothing remains 
 of it; the religious of all countries having taken away 
 small portions. 
 
 " Two pictures are to be seen on each side of the 
 bed, the one on the right represents the Marquise du 
 Chatelet, and the other the Empress of Russia. The 
 bed was opposite the garden, and has not a view over 
 Mont Blanc, as one might suppose from Voltaire's 
 correspondence. On each side of the window are 
 still seen the engraved pictures of all the philosophers 
 of his time, such as D' Alembert, Diderot, Helvetius, 
 Thomas, fyc. We might also notice the picture of a 
 little peasant, of whom Voltaire was very fond, and 
 which is not without merit. 
 
 ff After his death, Madame Denis erected the small 
 monument which is seen opposite the chimney, on 
 which this verse is engraved, 
 
 His virtues are here, his genius is every where*. 
 
 The main front of the house is very elegant. In 
 1765 (the year in which it was built,) he wrote to 
 M. D'Argental, speaking of the building, ' It is of 
 
 * Ses vertus sont ici, son genie est partout. 
 
FERNEY. 385 
 
 Palladio quite pure*.' Indeed, its lines are correct, 
 and its ornaments well drawn ; but the building is 
 badly disposed on the ground. The house is parallel 
 to the high road which leads from Geneva to Gex, and 
 it ought, on the contrary, to have been placed opposite 
 to Geneva and Mont Blanc. The result of that 
 bad situation is, that the beauties of the architecture 
 cannot be seen, on account of the trees, which hide 
 the entrance ; and, towards Geneva, whence the 
 habitation is observed at the distance of a league, it only 
 appears to be a small pavilion. Before entering the 
 house, on the left, you see the small church, which 
 Voltaire built to impose silence on his enemies. Be- 
 tween that church and the mansion was the play- 
 house, which has been demolished. 
 
 "Ferney, so celebrated for more than twenty years 
 during which time it was inhabited by Voltaire, and 
 constantly visited by the great and learned, is now 
 almost forgotten. Some admirers still pay their 
 homage at his shrine, but they do not discover 
 the residence of the muses ; no echoes repeat his 
 verses; and the alteration is complete. I visited 
 
 * C'est du Palladio tout pur, 
 
 20 
 
386 THEATRE AT FERNEY. 
 
 Ferney myself in September, 1820, and found it 
 much in the same state as described by M. Lepan. 
 On one side of Voltaire's bed, there is a picture of 
 himself, and, on the other, of the King of Prussia. 
 In the sitting-room, there is a curious tablet also after 
 his own design, in which the author of the Henriade 
 is represented ascending to the embraces of immor- 
 tality, while a host of enraged critics are plunged 
 mid-way in a morass, which is supposed to represent 
 oblivion, a striking example of vanity, and a humi- 
 liating instance of the weakness even of a superior 
 mind. " 
 
 The author of so many works of different kinds 
 was, at the end of his life, not only the undertaker of 
 a manufactory of watches, and the temporary father 
 of the Capuchins of Gex, but also the manager of 
 a theatre ; for he had one built at Ferney at his own 
 expense, where Le Kain was to perform, according to 
 an agreement made with the Sieur Saint G eran. He 
 was the director of that operation, which Madame 
 Denis said her uncle thought the finest enterprise in 
 the kingdom ; and consented, at the age of eighty- 
 three years, to communicate articles to the journal 
 which was edited by La Harpe, and printed by Pan- 
 
voltaire's character. 387 
 
 coucke. He wished it to be kept secret, and trans- 
 mitted several extracts from new works. 
 
 Voltaire was of a middling stature, and very thin. 
 His countenance expressed wit, mingled with malig- 
 nity. His eyes were small and vivid, and charac- 
 terized the activity of his disposition. His address 
 was frank ; he was very agreeable in society, but did 
 not like appearing there except in the evening. As he 
 advanced in age, his appearance gained much in 
 dignity and reverence. During his residence at 
 Ferney, he generally wore a loose, dark-coloured 
 dressing-gown ; a white satin waistcoat, full wig, with 
 a small black cap. He was extremely kind and at- 
 tentive to all young persons ; often stopping to con- 
 verse with the children he might accidentally meet. 
 He used to dine almost always alone in his own 
 apartment ; even during his residence with the King 
 of Prussia, he visited him only at supper-time. 
 When he enjoyed the society of persons with whom 
 he was at his ease, his conversation was lively and 
 entertaining. It was a combination of witticisms 
 interesting reflections, and learned discussions, without 
 pomposity, or pedantry. 
 
 He spoke with plainness, and distinctly, and was 
 
 2C2 
 
388 . ANECDOTE. 
 
 desirous of finding the same qualities in those with whom 
 he conversed. One day, he received the visit of a 
 learned man, who was in the habit of speaking fast, 
 and between his teeth ; the first phrase which Voltaire 
 did not understand, he told him politely, " I beg 
 your pardon, Sir ;" the next he did not answer ; and 
 to the third he said, with warmth ; " but speak in 
 such a way that I may understand you." This vivacity 
 exhibited itself in all his actions. Dorn, at Franc- 
 fort, had very nearly fallen a victim to his impe- 
 tuosity ; and a bookseller of the same town suffered, 
 but in a less serious manner. He had brought a bill 
 for works which he had sold, and not being able at 
 that moment to speak to the master of the house, it 
 had been left. When Voltaire saw it, he found the 
 sum required was for copies of his own works, and 
 was enraged with the attempt at imposition. The 
 bookseller came back in the evening, while Voltaire 
 was walking in the garden with his secretary ; he im- 
 mediately went up to the librarian, and gave him a 
 slap in the face, leaving to Collini the task of ex- 
 plaining to him the cause. 
 
 His impatience to finish a work was extreme : 
 it was ao sooner begun, than he desired to see it 
 
USUAL HABITS. 389 
 
 finished ; and it was scarcely finished, before he de- 
 si red to see it printed. He used sometimes to 
 commit to the press works which were but half 
 finished. His method was to compose as he was cor- 
 recting the first sheet struck off; " because," said he, 
 " the mind seems more enlightened, when the eyes 
 are satisfied." When in health, Voltaire used to 
 write his own compositions ; when indisposed, he 
 could dictate with as much facility as he could write 
 when well. But it was only his correspondence that 
 he used to dictate in this manner to his secretary. 
 As to the works, he was in the habit of writing them 
 himself, as he composed them ; and afterwards got 
 them copied. Collini said, he never could catch him 
 in the moment of composing verses. 
 
 Towards the latter part of his life, Voltaire never 
 used to eat in the middle of the day. He supped 
 between nine and ten ; ate little and slowly ; went to 
 bed between eleven and twelve, and slept about four or 
 five hours. He sometimes, notwithstanding, spent six- 
 teen or eighteen hours in bed ; but when a thought 
 came into his head, he used to ring the bell for his 
 secretary, whose room was just underneath, and who 
 was obliged to be ready to write any thing he should 
 
390 DUREY DE MORSAN. 
 
 dictate. During the night, he had three wax-candles 
 burning near his bed. Upon being asked how he 
 could have finished so many works, he replied, " By 
 not living in Paris." It may also be added, that his 
 fortune enabling him to have well-informed secretaries 
 and transcribers, he employed the time which is, in 
 general, spent in making extracts, or in copying manu- 
 scripts, in planning new compositions. Father Adam, 
 an old Jesuit, who remained in Ferney about fifteen 
 years, did not confine himself, as was said, to playing 
 chess with the master of the house ; he helped him in 
 making researches, and in extracting from Greek and 
 English translations, which he understood very well. 
 
 M. Durey de Morsan, an old counsellor, and 
 member of the academy of Nancy, from whose ac- 
 counts Duvernet is said to have written the life of 
 Voltaire, was also very useful in making extracts of 
 the Italian and Spanish translations, which he knew 
 perfectly. This person was very much attached to 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau, with whom he had lived at 
 Neufchatel. He one day wrote the following dis- 
 tich beneath his picture, which was under a crucifix : 
 
 Ante meos oculos pendet tua, Rufe, tabella; 
 Pendentes colitur, sic mihi forma Dei. 
 
voltaire's family. 891 
 
 Voltaire, having entered the room while the other was 
 absent, and seeing the verses, erased the last, and 
 substituted another, so that the distich remained as 
 follows : 
 
 Ante meos oculos pendet tua, Rufe, tabella ; 
 Sed, cur non pendet vera figura viri ? 
 
 Durey knew Voltaire's hand-writing, and pretended 
 to take no notice of the change. Our indefatigable 
 author said jestingly, speaking of his habit of being 
 able to apply to so many different works at the same 
 time : " Shall I always be like Harlequin, who 
 wished to exercise twenty-two trades at once * ?" 
 
 We have seen Voltaire with his friends, his pro- 
 tectors, his favourites, with his critics, and with his 
 panegyrists ; but we have not yet seen him with his 
 family. If we except Madame Denis, to whom he 
 did much good, and Madame Fontaine, his other 
 niece, who became Madame de Florian, and to 
 whom he wrote often^ he spoke very seldom of his 
 relations. His eldest brother, the companion of his 
 infancy, was only mentioned in his correspondence, 
 
 * Serai-je toujours comme Artequin qui voulait faire vingt- 
 deux metiers a la fois. 
 
392 COMPARISON BETWEEN 
 
 as a debtor for an income, which he was desirous of 
 having regularly paid. 
 
 We may now proceed to say a few words on the 
 most leading characteristics of the intellectual faculties 
 of Voltaire. Those which appeared most prominent 
 were genius, great fertility of imagination, and a pecu- 
 liar happiness of diction, which of itself fascinates 
 the reader, and embellishes the subject. In the Maid 
 of Orleans and Candide, he has displayed greater 
 powers of ridicule, and acquaintance with life and 
 manners, than any writer with whom we are ac- 
 quainted ; and the Life of Charles XII. indicates a 
 classical taste in the author, and a purity of style, 
 worthy of the ancient annals of biography. As a 
 poet he has been censured for monotony of tone, 
 so that the perusal of his softest verses soon becomes 
 fatiguing. He does not appear to have possessed 
 great profundity, or extent, of knowledge in the 
 dead languages, and his acquaintance with Greek 
 has been sometimes with justice questioned ; but 
 the power of his abilities placed him almost be- 
 yond the reach of criticism, and from a comparison 
 with D'Alembert we may more easily appreciate the 
 characters both of the master and disciple. 
 
VOLTAIRE AND DALEMBERT. 393 
 
 D'Alembert was always on his guard; cautious, 
 prudent, and afraid of a defeat. He proceeded, 
 enveloped by clouds, and preferred seeing his ene- 
 mies fall by the stratagems he had planned, to 
 the risk of an open engagement. If obliged to en- 
 counter an adversary, it was with the reluctance of 
 a general who makes a sally from his batteries. 
 Voltaire was bold, hasty, and intemperate : fond 
 of pomp and splendour, he preferred defeat to 
 flight, careless of his own safety if he could inflict a 
 wound, and ready to sacrifice his person upon the 
 victims he had slain. In their attacks upon religion, 
 D'Alembert may be compared to Paris, who, fa- 
 voured by concealment, slew his adversary while 
 kneeling at the altar of the gods : Voltaire to Cam- 
 byses, who, irritated by superstition, wounded the 
 idol of the Egyptians, regardless of the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 * D 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 
 Northumberland-court . 
 
NEW CIRCULATING LIBRARY, 
 
 167, NEW BOND-STREET, 
 
 NEAR GRAFTON-STREET. 
 
 J. ANDREWS 
 
 Begs most respectfully to inform the Public, that he 
 has opened a Library at the above residence, which will be 
 principally confined to a liberal supply of New Works 
 of general interest. Fourteen years' experience has con- 
 vinced J. Andrews, that the Public principally expect 
 new books, and are anxious to procure them from the 
 Libraries ; consequently, ijt is his determination to furnish 
 an unlimited supply of the most modern publications for 
 the accommodation of his Subscribers. 
 
 By this arrangement it is not his intention to ex- 
 clude any old work of established character, which he 
 may be required to procure. 
 
 J. Andrews's establishment is conducted on the same 
 plan as Mr. Ebers's. Bookselling, Stationery, Book- 
 binding ; Visiting and other Cards, engraved and printed ; 
 Boxes and Tickets for the Opera, by the night or 
 season ; and Private Boxes at Co vent-garden and Drury- 
 lane Theatres. 
 
167, Kcw Bond-Street, 
 near Graf ton-Street. 
 
 OPERA. 
 
 JOHN ANDREWS 
 
 Has made extensive arrangements for Opera Boxes for 
 this Season, 1821; and begs to announce that he has 
 the whole, or the alternate, weeks of several of the best 
 Boxes to let for the Season, and Boxes and Tickets by 
 the night. Boxes belonging to Subscribers let on com- 
 mission, or taken till Easter, or for any period that may 
 suit the convenience of the proprietors. 
 
 COVENT GARDEN 
 
 AND 
 
 DRURY-LANE THEATRES. 
 
 Boxes, including one large down-stairs Box at Covent- 
 Garden, to let by the night. Also excellent Boxes at 
 Drury-Lane ; and the whole, alternate weeks, or alternate 
 nights, of a Box at each Theatre for the Season. 
 
 J. Andrews has just left Mr. Ebers, and avails himself 
 of this opportunity to announce, that he is the person 
 who principally conducted the business in Old Bond- 
 Street, during the last twelve years, and who was generally 
 considered as Mr. Ebers's brother. 
 
' TTQP 
 
 DESK ** 
 
 REt ^ronli^y USE 
 
 LOAN 
 
 Mediate 
 
 f ecali. 
 
 &* 
 
 Berkeley ' to ">ia 
 
 nm 
 

 
 4 
 
 V