I hope I need not assure you how agreable your letters are to
me. Letters such as you write would be highly pleasing from an
indifferent person, judge of the pleasure they must give me when
I receive them from a friend and a mother: I put the friend first
and I believe you will not blame me for it. I should be very glad
to hear somewhat oftener from my father; But tho' his dislike to
letter-writing is _inconceivable_ to me, I see I must be contented
with hearing from you that he is well. At this time especially I have
no hopes. He must be now (according to my reckoning) in the very
midst of Harvest, and I am very sensible, that
When Harvest is in the case
All other business must give place.
You will hardly expect news from me. We are buried in a quiet
Solitude, and seem separated from the rest of the universe by a
Wall of mountains, whose summits are at this instant covered with
snow. I have found most of my old friends well, and made some new
ones, and between the society of both, I lead a very agreable life.
I could talk to you with great pleasure about them did I not know
how very uninteresting an account of people you know nothing of must
be to you. I should be glad to know soon whether my father has any
objection to my passing the winter here. I do not dissemble that my
inclination would make me desire it; but I have a much better tho'
as real a motive to alledge to him; a considerable work I am engaged
in, which will be a most usefull preparation to my tour of Italy
and which I shall not be able to finish sooner. It is a Description
of the ancient Geography of Italy, taken from the Original writers.
If I go into Italy with a work of that kind tolerably executed, I
shall carry every where about with me an accurate and lively idea
of the country, and shall have nothing to do but to insert in their
proper places my own observations as they tend either to confirm, to
confute, or to illustrate what I have met with in books. I should
not even despair, but that this mixture of study and observation,
properly digested upon my return to England, might produce something
not entirely unworthy the eye of the publick on a subject, upon which
we have no regular or compleat treatise.
[Sidenote: VOLTAIRE AS HOST AND ACTOR.]
I made a little excursion some days ago to Geneva, not so much
for the sake of the town which I had often seen before, as for a
representation of Monsieur de Voltaire's. He lives now entirely
at Fernay, a little place in France, but only two leagues from
Geneva. He has bought the estate, and built a very pretty tho'
small house upon it. After a life passed in courts and Capitals,
the Great Voltaire is now become a meer country Gentleman, and even
(for the honor of the profession) something of a farmer. He says
he never enjoyed so much true happiness. He has got rid of most of
his infirmities, and tho' very old and lean, enjoys a much better
state of health than he did twenty years ago. His playhouse is very
neat and well contrived, situated just by his Chappel, which is
far inferior to it, tho', he says himself, _que son Christ est du
meilleur faiseur de tout le pays de Gex_. The play they acted was my
favourite Orphan of China. Voltaire himself acted _Gengis_ and Madame
Denys _Idamè_; but I do not know how it happened: either my taste is
improved or Voltaire's talents are impaired since I last saw him.[55]
He appeared to me now a very ranting unnatural performer. Perhaps
indeed, as I was come from Paris, I rather judged him by an unfair
comparaison, than by his own independent value. Perhaps too I was
too much struck with the ridiculous figure of Voltaire at seventy,
acting a Tartar Conqueror with a hollow broken voice, and making love
to a very ugly niece of about fifty. The play began at eight in the
evening and ended (entertainment and all) about half an hour after
eleven. The whole Company was asked to stay and set Down about twelve
to a very elegant supper of a hundred Covers. The supper ended about
two, the company danced till four, when we broke up, got into our
Coaches and came back to Geneva just as the Gates were opened. Shew
me in history or fable, a famous poet of Seventy who has acted in
his own plays, and has closed the scene with a supper and ball for a
hundred people. I think the last is the more extraordinary of the two.
You may imagine how glad I am to hear of the fall of our Tyrant[56]
and the accession of a just and righteous prince. Lord ____[57] was
always our utmost wish, and I have so very good an opinion of him
as to believe he will not even plague our enemies to oblige us. I
am very glad to hear the battalion addressed him, as you style it,
and as I could not sign the general letter, I apprehend a particular
compliment to his Lordship cannot displease him. I have accordingly
wrote to him this post. My father had formerly some thoughts of
resigning the Majority to me. It is a matter of great indifference
at present, but if he has a mind to provide against a future
storm, I suppose it would be very easily settled at present, and
that my friend Poussy (who has never answered me any more than Sir
Thomas[58]) would have the Company of course. I wish my father would
consider too, whether changes of much greater consequence might not
be effected, such as the incorporation of both battalions, &c. But
these are only hints.
Present, Dear Madam, my love and duty to my father, my sincerest
Compliments to your Brothers, and believe me ever
Most affectionately and entirely yours,
E. GIBBON, JUNIOR.
[55] At Monrepos in 1757-58, when Voltaire was living at _les
Délices_, Gibbon had heard him in his tragedies of _Zaïre_,
_Alzire_, _Zulime_, and his sentimental comedy _L'Enfant
Prodigue_. Voltaire settled at Ferney in 1758.
[56] Charles Paulet, fifth Duke of Bolton, who committed suicide
in 1765, was succeeded in the Lord Lieutenancy of Hampshire by
James Brydges, Marquess of Carnarvon. Lord Carnarvon resigned the
post in 1764, because Mr. Stanley was appointed Governor of the
Isle of Wight (_Grenville Correspondence_, vol. ii. pp. 399-403).
[57] Name illegible. Probably Lord Northington.
[58] Sir Thomas Worsley, Bart.
28.
_To his Father._
Lausanne, September the 10th, 1763.