laughing when I answered all thy civilities with my hat upon my
head and with thouing and thee-ing thee (_en te tutoyant_). Yet
thou seemest to me too well informed to be ignorant that, in
the time of Christ, no nation fell into the ridiculousness of
substituting the _plural_ for the singular. They used to say to
Cæsar-Augustus: ‘I love thee,’ ‘I pray thee,’ ‘I thank thee.’ He
would not allow himself to be called ‘Monsieur’ (_dominus_). It was
only a long time after him that men thought of causing themselves
to be addressed as _you_ in place of _thou_, as though they
were double, and of usurping impertinent titles of grandeur, of
eminence, of holiness, of divinity even, which earthworms give to
other earthworms, while assuring them with a profound respect (and
with an infamous falseness), they are their _very humble and very
obedient servants_. It is in order to be upon our guard against
this unworthy commerce of lies and of flatteries that we ‘thee’ and
‘thou’ equally kings and kitchen-maids: that we give the ordinary
compliments to no one, having for men only charity, and reserving
our respect for the laws. We wear a dress a little different from
other men, in order that it may be for us a continual warning not
to resemble them. Others wear marks of their dignities, we those
of Christian humility. We never use _oaths_, not even in law
courts: we think that the name of the _Most High_ ought not to be
pronounced in the miserable debates of men. When we are forced to
appear before the magistrates on others’ business (for we never
have law suits ourselves), we affirm the truth by a ‘yes’ or a
‘no,’ and the judges believe us upon our simple word, while so many
other Christians perjure themselves upon the _Gospel_. We never
go to war. It is not that we fear death, but it is because we are
neither tigers, nor wolves, nor dogs, but men, but Christians. Our
God, who has told us to love our enemies and to suffer without a
murmur, doubtless would not have us cross the sea to go and cut
the throats of our brothers, because assassins, clothed in red
and in hats of two feet high, enrol citizens to the accompaniment
of a noise produced by two little sticks upon the dried skin of
an ass. And when, after battles won, all London is brilliant with
illuminations, when the sky is in flames with musket shots, when
the air re-echoes with sounds of thanksgiving, with bells, with
organs, with cannons, we groan in silence over the murders which
cause the public light-heartedness.” (_Lettre II._)
About this period, frequenting less the fashionable and trifling
society of the capital, and contenting himself with the company of a
few congenial minds, he formed amongst others a sympathetic friendship
with the Marquise de Châtelet, a lady of extraordinary talents.
“I was tired [thus he begins his unfinished _Mémoires_], I was
tired of the lazy and noisy life led at Paris, of the multitude
of _petit-maîtres_, of bad books printed with the approbation
of censors and the privilege of the king, of the cabals and
parties among the learned, and of the mean arts of plagiarism and
book-making which dishonour Literature.”
The lady was the equal of Madame Dacier in knowledge of the Greek
and Latin languages, and she was familiar with all the best modern
writers. She wrote a commentary on Leibnitz. She also translated the
_Principia_. Her favourite pursuits, however, were mathematics and
metaphysics.
“She was none the less fond of the world and those amusements
familiar to her age and sex. She determined to leave them all and
bury herself in an old ruinous château on the borders of Champagne
and Lorraine, situated in a barren and unhealthy soil. This old
château she ornamented with sufficiently pretty gardens. I built
a gallery, and formed a very good collection of natural history,
added to which we had a library not badly furnished. We were
visited by several of the _savans_, who came to philosophise in our
retreat.... I taught English to Madame de Châtelet, who, in about
three months understood it as well as I did, and read Newton, and
Locke, and Pope, with equal ease. We read all the works of Tasso
and Ariosto together, so that when Algerotti came to Cirey, where
he finished his _Newtonianism for Women_, he found her sufficiently
skilful in his own language to give him some very excellent
information by which he profited.”
Voltaire had already (1741) given to the world his _Elémens de
Newton_--a work which, in conjunction with other parts of his writings,
proves that had he chosen to apply himself wholly to natural philosophy
or to mathematics he might have reached the highest fame in those
departments of science. It is in the _Elémens_ that Voltaire records
his noble protest at the same time against the monstrous hypothesis of
Descartes, to which we have already referred, and against the selfish
cruelty of our species.
“There is in man a disposition to compassion as generally diffused
as his other instincts. Newton had _cultivated_ this sentiment of
humanity, and he extended it to the lower animals. With Locke he
was strongly convinced that God has given to them a proportion
of ideas, and the same feelings which he has to us. He could not
believe that God, who has made nothing in vain, would have given to
them organs of feeling _in order that they might have no feeling_.
“He thought it a very frightful inconsistency to believe that
animals feel and _at the same time to cause them to suffer_. On
this point his morality was in accord with his philosophy. _He
yielded but with repugnance to the barbarous custom of supporting
ourselves upon the blood and flesh of beings like ourselves_, whom
we caress, and he never permitted in his own house the putting them
to death by slow and exquisite [_recherchées_] modes of killing for
the sake of making the food more delicious. This compassion, which
he felt for other animals, culminated in true charity for men. In
truth, _without humanity, a virtue which comprehends all virtues_,
the name of philosopher would be little deserved.”[161]
At Cirey some of his best tragedies were composed--_Alzire_, _Mérope_,
and _Mehemet_; the _Discours sur l’Homme_, a moral poem in the style of
Pope’s Essays, pronounced to be one of the finest monuments of French
poetry; an _Essay on Universal History_, (for his friend’s use, to
correct as well as supplement Bossuet’s splendid but little philosophic
history), the foundation of perhaps his most admirable production the
_Essai sur les Mœurs et l’Esprit des Nations_, and many lesser pieces,
including a large correspondence. Besides these literary works, he
engaged in mathematical and scientific studies, which resulted in some
_brochures_ of considerable value.
About this time (1740) news arrived of the death of Friedrich Wilhelm
of Prussia. Most readers know the extraordinary character of this
strange personage, who caned the women and his clergy in the streets
of his capital, and who was with difficulty dissuaded from ordering
his son’s execution. Narrowly escaping with his life the prince had
devoted himself to literary pursuits, and had kept up a correspondence
with the leading men of letters of France, and above all with the
author of _Zaïre_ whom he regarded as little less than divine. The new
king set about inspecting his territories, and proceeded _incognito_ to
Brussels, where the first interview between the two future most eminent
persons in Europe took place. Repairing to his majesty’s quarters--
“One soldier was the only guard I found. The Privy-Councillor
and Minister of State was walking in the court-yard blowing his
fingers. He had on a large pair of coarse ruffles, a hat all
in holes, and a judge’s old wig, one side of which hung into
his pocket and the other scarcely touched his shoulder. They
informed me that this man was charged with a state affair of
great importance, and so indeed he was. I was conducted into his
majesty’s apartments, in which I found nothing but four bare walls.
By the light of a taper I perceived a small truckle-bed two feet
and a half wide in a closet, upon which lay a little man wrapped in
a morning dressing-gown of blue cloth. It was his majesty who lay
perspiring and shaking beneath a miserable coverlet in a violent
ague fit. I made my bow, and began my acquaintance by feeling his
pulse, as if I had been his first physician. The fit left him, and
he rose, dressed himself, and sat down to table with Algerotti,
Maupertuis, the ambassador of the States-general, and myself. At
supper he treated most profoundly of the soul, natural liberty,
and the _Androgynes_ of Plato. I soon found myself attached to
him, for he had wit, an agreeable manner, and moreover was a king,
which is a circumstance of seduction hardly to be vanquished by
human weakness. Generally speaking, it is the employment of men of
letters to flatter kings, but in this instance I was praised by
a king from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet at the
same time that I was libelled at least once a week by the Abbé
Desfontaines and other Grub-street poets of Paris.”
Voltaire received a pressing invitation to Berlin.
“But I had before given him to understand I could not come to stay
with him; that I deemed it a duty to prefer friendship to ambition;
that I was attached to Mdlle. de Châtelet, and that, between
philosophers, I loved a lady better than a king. He approved of the
liberty I took, though, for his part, he did not love the ladies.
I went to pay him a visit in October, and the Cardinal de Fleury
[the French premier] wrote me a long letter, full of praises of the
_Anti-Machiavel_, and of the author [Friedrich], which I did not
forget to let him see.”
The French court wished to secure the alliance of Friedrich. No one
seemed a more fitting mediator than his early counsellor, who was
induced to accept the mission, and to set out for Berlin, where an
enthusiastic welcome awaited him, apartments in the palace being
placed at his disposal. Yet, in spite of the success of this and other
public services, his enemies in Paris remained in full possession of
the field. For the second time Voltaire sought admission into the
_Académie_--an empty honour, the granting or refusal of which could
neither add to nor detract from his fame. The prestige of that society,
however, he seemed to consider essential to his safety against the
increasing violence and formidable array of his enemies, who were bent
on crushing him, by whatever means. It was only by submitting to the
mortification of qualifying some of his opinions that he at length
succeeded in his object. Notwithstanding the address with which he
manages his language, it were better, as his biographer--the Marquis de
Condorcet--justly remarks, he had renounced the _Académie_ than have
had the weakness to submit to so evident a farce.
On succeeding to a vacant chair it was customary, besides a eulogy
upon the deceased member, to speak in set terms of praise of Richelieu
and Louis XIV. This traditional and servile practice the new
Academician was the first to break through. Philosophy and literature
were treated of in unaccustomed strains of freedom, and his good
example has been influential on after generations.
“I was deemed worthy [writes Voltaire] to be one of the forty
useless members of the _Académie_, was appointed historiographer of
France, and created by the king one of the gentlemen in ordinary
of his chamber. From this I concluded it was better, in order to
make the most trifling fortune, to speak four words to a king’s
mistress, than to write a hundred volumes.”
A sort of experience he has finely illustrated in his romance of
_Zadig_.
Stanislaus, the ex-king of Poland, was keeping his Court at Luneville,
not far from Cirey, where he divided his time between his mistress and
his confessor. To this royal retreat the friends of Cirey were invited,
and the whole of the year 1749 was passed there. Meanwhile Madame de
Châtelet died, and Voltaire, much affected by his loss, returned to
Paris. Friedrich redoubled his solicitation with new hope.
“I was destined to run from king to king, although I loved liberty
to idolatry.... He was well assured that in reality his verse and
prose were superior to my verse and prose; though as to the former,
he thought there was a certain something that I, in quality of
academician, might give to his writings, and there was no kind of
flattery, no seduction, he did not employ to engage me to come.”
The philosopher at length set out for Berlin, and his reception must
have reached his highest expectations. We have no intention to repeat
the account of this singular episode in his life, which has been
so often narrated. Evenings of the most agreeable kind, abundance
of wit, unrestrained conversation, the society of some of the most
distinguished men of science of the time, the unbounded adoration
of a royal host, eager, above all things, to retain so brilliant a
guest--such were the pleasures of this palace of Alcina, as he calls
it. But the imperious tempers of the two unequal friends soon proved
the impossibility of a lasting _entente_, and rivalries amongst the
literary courtiers hastened, if they did not effect, the final rupture.
After his escape from Berlin Voltaire passed a few weeks with the
Duchess of Saxe-Gotha, “the best of princesses, full of gentleness,
discretion, and equanimity, and who, God be thanked, did not make
verses” (alluding to his late host’s proclivities), and some days with
the Landgrave of Hesse on his way to Frankfort. Literature had not
suffered during the life at Berlin. Finishing touches were put to many
of the tragedies--the _Âge de Louis XIV._ was completed, part of the
_Essai sur les Mœurs et l’Esprit des Nations_ written, _La Pucelle_
(the least worthy of all his productions) corrected, and a poem, _Sur
la Loi Naturelle_, composed (a work of a far better inspiration than
the poem just mentioned, but which was publicly burned at Paris by the
misdirected zeal of the bigots). In a later poem on the destruction of
Lisbon, as well as in the romance of _Candide_, fired with indignation
at the hypocrisies and mischiefs of the easy-going creed of Optimism
(as generally understood), so welcome to self-complacent orthodoxy,
he displayed all his vast powers of sarcasm in exposing its fatal
absurdities. Leibnitz had been one of its most strenuous apologists.
In the person of the wretched Pangloss the theory of “the best of
all possible worlds,” and of the “eternal fitness of things,” is
overwhelmed, indeed, with an excess of ridicule. It is to be lamented
that the satirist allowed his _sæva indignatio_ to overpower a
proper sense of the proprieties of language and expression.
Voltaire was now become a potentate more dreaded than a
sovereign-prince on his throne, an object of hatred and terror to
political and other oppressors. After some hesitation he had chosen
for his retreat the ever-memorable Ferney--a place within French
territory, on the borders of Switzerland--and also a spot near Geneva,
where he alternately resided, escaping at pleasure either from Catholic
intolerance or from Puritanic rigour, with his niece--Madame Denis,
who had anxiously attended him during a recent illness. From these
retreats he made himself heard over all Europe in defence of reason and
humanity. It was about this time (1756) that he employed his eloquence
to save Admiral Byng, a victim to ministerial necessities, who was
nevertheless condemned, as his advocate expresses it in _Candide_,
“pour encourager les autres.” A like philanthropic effort, equally
vain, was made on behalf of the still more unfortunate Comte de Lally.
The year 1757 is memorable in literature as that in which he gave
to the world an accurate edition of his already published works,
enriched by one of his most meritorious productions, the _Essai sur
les Mœurs et l’Esprit des Nations_, which now appeared in its complete
form. History, the author justly complained, had hitherto been but a
uniform chronicle of kings, courts, and court intrigues. The history
of legislation, arts, sciences, commerce, morals, had been always, or
almost always, neglected.
“We imagine [says Condorcet], while we read such histories, that
the human race was created only to exhibit the political or
military talents of a few individuals, and that the object of
society is not the happiness of the Species but the pleasure of the
Few.”
If the best historical works of the present day are a considerable
improvement upon those which were in fashion before Voltaire’s
_critiques_, the remarks of Condorcet are not altogether inapplicable
to the popular and school manuals still in vogue. At all events this
style of composing “history,” ridiculed by the wit of Lucian sixteen
centuries before, was the universal method down to the appearance of
the celebrated _Essai_.
Beginning with Charlemagne, it presents, in a rapid, concise, and
philosophic style, the most important and interesting features, not
only of European but of the world’s history, adorned with all the grace
and ease of which he was always so consummate a master. Many there
always are who conceive of philosophy and erudition only as enveloped
in verbosity and obscurity. Dulness and learning in the common mind
are convertible terms. The very transparency and clearness of his
style were reproached to him as a sign of superficiality and want
of exactness--the last faults which could be justly imputed to him.
However, the influence of Voltaire became apparent in the productions
of the English historical school, till then unknown, which soon
afterwards arose. The Italian Vico, and Beaufort, in France, in the
particular branch of Roman antiquity, and Bayle in general, had already
contributed in some degree towards the founding of a critical school;
but these attempts were partial only. To Voltaire belongs the honour
of having applied the principles of criticism at once universally and
popularly.
In reviewing the history and manners of the Hindus he repeatedly
expresses his sympathy, more or less directly, with their aversion from
the coarser living of the West:--
“The Hindus, in embracing the doctrine of the _Metémpsychosis_, had
one restraint the more. The dread of killing a father or mother, in
killing men and other animals, inspired in them a terror of murder
and every other violence, which became with them a second nature.
Thus all the peoples of India, whose families are not allied either
to the Arabs or to the Tartars, are still at this day the mildest
of all men. Their religion and the temperature of their climate
made these peoples entirely resemble those peaceful animals whom we
bring up in our sheep pens and our dove cotes for the purpose of
cutting their throats at our good will and pleasure....
“The Christian religion, which these _primitives_ [the Quakers]
alone follow out to the letter, is as great an enemy to bloodshed
as the Pythagorean. But the Christian peoples have never practised
_their_ religion, and the ancient Hindu castes have always
practised theirs. It is because Pythagoreanism is the only religion
in the world which has been able to educe a religious feeling from
the horror of murder and slaughter....
“Some have supposed the cradle of our race to be Hindustan,
alleging that the feeblest of all animals must have been born in
the softest climate, and in a land which produces without culture
the _most nourishing and most healthful fruits_, like dates and
cocoa nuts. The latter especially easily affords men the means
of existence, of clothing and of housing themselves--and of what
besides has the inhabitant of that Peninsula need?... Our Houses of
Carnage, which they call Butcher-Shops [_boucheries_], where they
sell so many carcases to feed our own, would import the plague into
the climate of India.
“These peoples need and desire pure and refreshing foods. Nature
has lavished upon them forests of citron trees, orange trees, fig
trees, palm trees, cocoa-nut trees, and plains covered with rice.
The strongest man can need to spend but one or two sous a day for
his subsistence.[162] Our workmen spend more in one day than a
Malabar native in a month....
“In general, the men of the South-East have received from Nature
gentler manners than the people of our West. Their climate
disposes them to abstain from strong liquors and from the flesh
of animals--foods which excite the blood and often provoke
ferocity--and, although superstition and foreign irruptions have
corrupted the goodness of their disposition, nevertheless all
travellers agree that the character of these peoples has nothing of
that irritability, of that caprice, and of that harshness which it
has cost much trouble to keep within bounds in the countries of the
North.”
In noticing the comparative progress of the various foreign religions
in India, Voltaire observes that--
“The Mohammedan religion alone has made progress in India,
especially amongst the richer classes, because it is the religion
of the Prince, and because it teaches but the divine unity
conformably to the ancient teaching of the first Brahmins.
Christianity [he adds, only too truly] has not had the same
success, notwithstanding the large establishments of the
Portuguese, of the French, of the English, of the Dutch, of the
Danes. It is, in fact, the conflict of these nations which has
injured the progress of our Faith. As they all hate each other,
and as several of them often make war one upon the other in their
climates, what they teach is naturally hateful to the peaceful
inhabitants. Their customs, besides, revolt the Hindus. Those
people are scandalised at seeing us drinking wine and eating flesh,
which they themselves abhor.”[163]
This--one of the chief obstacles to the spread of Christian
civilisation in the East, and especially in India, viz., the eating of
flesh and the drinking of alcohol, its legitimate attendant--has been
acknowledged by Christian missionaries themselves of late years.
Employed as he was in various literary undertakings he had been
watching with great interest, not, perhaps, without a secret wish
for vengeance, the important political and military complications of
Europe. After some brilliant successes the Prussian king had been
reduced to the last extremity. At this juncture the former friends
agreed to forget, as far as possible, their old quarrel, and Voltaire
enjoyed the satisfaction of having succeeded in dissuading Friedrich
from suicide. The victories of Rosbach and Breslau not long afterwards
changed the condition of things once again. From this time the prince
and the philosopher resumed the name, if not the cordiality, of
friends. A curious accident put the arbitrament of peace and war
for some weeks into the hands of Voltaire. The Prussian king, while
inactive in his fortified camp, wrote, as his custom was, a quantity
of verse and sent the packet to Ferney. Amongst the mass--good, bad,
and indifferent--was a satire on Louis and his mistress. The packet had
been opened before reaching its destination.
“Had I been inclined to amuse myself, it depended only on me to
set the King of France and the King of Prussia to war in rhyme,
which would have been a novel farce on earth. But I enjoyed another
pleasure--that of being more prudent than Friedrich. I wrote him
word that his Ode was beautiful, but that he ought not to publish
it.... To make the pleasantry complete I thought it possible to lay
the foundation of the peace of Europe on these poetical pieces.
My correspondence with the Duc de Choiseul [the French Premier]
gave birth to that idea, and it appeared so ridiculous, so worthy
of the transactions of the times, that I indulged it, and had the
satisfaction of proving on what weak and invisible pivots the
destinies of nations turn.”
Several letters passed between the three before the danger was averted.
The limited space at our disposal will allow us only rapidly to notice
some of the remaining _chefs-d’œuvre_ of Voltaire. The celebrated
_Encyclopédie_, under the auspices of D’Alembert and Diderot, had been
lately commenced. To this great work, to which he looked with some hope
as promising a severe assault on ignorance and prejudice, Voltaire
contributed a few articles. It is not the place here to narrate the
history of the fierce war of words to which the _Encyclopédie_ gave
birth. It was completed in about fifteen years, in 1775--a memorable
year in literature.