VISITORS TO FERNEY
While Voltaire was vexing the citizens of Geneva, he was also enjoying
the veneration of all educated Europe, and even of educated America.
He corresponded regularly with at least four reigning sovereigns, to
say nothing of men of letters, Cardinals, and Marshals of France; and
he kept open house for travellers of mark from every country in the
world. Those of the travellers who wrote books never failed to devote a
chapter to an account of a visit to Ferney; and from the mass of such
descriptions we may select for quotation that written, in the stately
style of the period, by Dr. John Moore, author of ‘Zeluco,’ then making
the grand tour as tutor to the Duke of Hamilton.
‘The most piercing eyes I ever beheld,’ the doctor writes, ‘are those
of Voltaire, now in his eightieth year. His whole countenance is
expressive of genius, observation, and extreme sensibility. In the
morning he has a look of anxiety and discontent; but this gradually
wears off, and after dinner he seems cheerful; yet an air of irony
never entirely forsakes his face, but may always be observed lurking
in his features whether he frowns or smiles.... Composition is his
principal amusement. No author who writes for daily bread, no young
poet ardent for distinction, is more assiduous with his pen, or more
anxious for fresh fame, than the wealthy and applauded Seigneur of
Ferney. He lives in a very hospitable manner, and takes care always to
have a good cook. He generally has two or three visitors from Paris,
who stay with him a month or six weeks at a time. When they go, their
places are soon supplied, so that there is a constant rotation of
society at Ferney. These, with Voltaire’s own family and his visitors
from Geneva, compose a company of twelve or fourteen people, who
dine daily at his table, whether he appears or not.... All who bring
recommendations from his friends may depend upon being received, if he
be not really indisposed. He often presents himself to the strangers
who assemble every afternoon in his antechamber, although they bring no
particular recommendation.’
[Illustration: A VAUDOISE: SUMMER]
It might have been added that, when an interesting stranger who carried
no introduction was passing through the town, Voltaire sometimes
sent for him; but this experiment was not always a success, and failed
most ludicrously in the case of Claude Gay, the Philadelphian Quaker,
author of some theological works now forgotten, but then of note.
The meeting was only arranged with difficulty on the philosopher’s
undertaking to put a bridle on his tongue, and say nothing flippant
about holy things. He tried to keep his promise, but the temptation
was too strong for him. After a while he entangled his guest in a
controversy concerning the proceedings of the patriarchs and the
evidences of Christianity, and lost his temper on finding that his
sarcasms failed to make their usual impression. The member of the
Society of Friends, however, was not disconcerted. He rose from his
place at the dinner-table, and replied:
‘Friend Voltaire! perhaps thou mayest come to understand these matters
rightly; in the meantime, finding I can do thee no good, I leave thee,
and so fare thee well.’
And so saying, he walked out and walked back to Geneva, while Voltaire
retired in dudgeon to his room, and the company sat expecting something
terrible to happen.