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the hearts of the spectators; and, had love been rendered too pathetic, it would have been to be feared that love would have destroyed the cause of liberty. It was aber chas piece had been acted that Fontenelle told Voltaire, "He did not think proper for tragedy, and that his style was too bold, pompous, and splendid." * replied Voltaire, "I will go and read your pastorals.'

But he had The fat De one of their

Be supposed, at this time, he might aspire to a place in the French academy; might well have been thought modest to have waited so long. much as the honour of dividing the votes of the academicians. Be pronounced, in a dictatorial tone, that Voltaire should never be tigated members.

De Bose, whose name is now forgotten, was one of those men who, with and and not too much knowledge, obtain admission among men of rank and and succeed precisely because they neither have the wit to inspire fear, nor le the self-love of those who seek the reputation of patronising men of De Bose was become a person of importance. He exercised the office of of new publications; which is a usurpation on the part of the magistrate of letters, to whom the avidity of the rich and the powerful have left no ents but those whose execution requires the exertion of knowledge and Brutas," Voltaire wrote the "Death of Cæsar;" a subject which had sly been chosen by Shakspere, some scenes of whom he imitated and emThe tragedy was not played till several years had elapsed, and then in ; be durst not risk a piece on the stage, destitute of love and of women, ich was likewise a tragedy in three acts: for it is not the most trifling inwhich excite the least clamour among the enemies of novelty; little things ly impress themselves on little minds. Still, however, a bold, noble, and ve, yet natural style, sentiments worthy of the conqueror of the freest people , and that force and grandeur of character and deep thought, which pervade age of these last Romans, could not but be felt by spectators capable of inng such merit, and men whose hearts and minds were related to these great ges, as well as by those who might love history, and such young minds as the course of education had lately been occupied by similar objects. The Death of Caesar" was not allowed to be printed: the republican sentiit contained were attributed as crimes to the author. This was a ridiculous anton; each character spoke his own language; and Brutus was not more the ly, with strict impartiality. But, under the government of the Cardinal de das Casar; the poet, treating an historical subject, drew his portraits after

me old appear to be innocent.

F to quit the metropolis, where he knew that absence would fortunately cause Our could have been made a subject of serious persecution, and have obliged Vo could, at present, suppose that the eulogy on the death of Mademoiselle le algs to be forgotten, and even the frenzy of persecution? It is a singular ty, that in a country in which the dramatic art has been carried to the highest pe of perfection, the actors, to whom the public are indebted for the noblest of er pleasures, should be condemned by religion, and shunned from the most ridiThe prejudices Voltaire strongly opposed. Indignant to behold an actress, Jong been the object of enthusiastic applause, after being carried off by a and cruel death, deprived of the rites of burial, because in a state of excomion, he loudly reproached a frivolous nation which with cowardice bent the

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neck under so shameful a yoke, and the pusillanimity of those people in power w peaceably suffered the memory of her, whom they had so much admired, to be th insulted. Though nations are slow to correct themselves, they still suffer ther selves to be told of their faults with patience. But the priests, whom the parli ments would suffer to excommunicate none but wizards and players, were irritat to see a poet dare to dispute the half of their empire, and the people in power cou not pardon him for having proclaimed their unworthy cowardice.

Voltaire felt that some great theatrical success could alone secure him the hear of the public, and shield him from the attacks of fanaticism. In a country i which no popular power exists, each class has some point at which to rally, an forms itself into a species of power. A dramatic author is under the protection those societies who resort to the theatre for amusement. The public, by applaudir allusions, flatter or offend the vanity of men in office, discourage or reanimate the opponents, and cannot for this reason be openly defied. Voltaire, therefore, pr sented his "Eriphile," which did not effect his purpose; but, far from being di couraged by want of success, and delighted with the subject of Zaïre, he finishe that tragedy in eighteen days, and it made its appearance on the stage four month after "Eriphile."

Its success surpassed his hopes. This was the first piece in which, forsaking th track of Corneille and Racine, he discovered art, style, and talents entirely his own Never did love more true, or more impassioned, draw tears more sweet; never di poet before so depict the fury of jealousy in a mind so simple, so affectionate, and so generous. We love Orosmanes at the very moment he makes us shudder. With what art has the poet painted the Christians, whose interference disturb so sweet union-a feeling and pious woman who has sacrificed her life and her love to he God; while the man who believes not in Christianity weeps for Zaïre, whose min is distracted by filial affection, and who is the willing victim of a superstitious pre judice which forbids her to love a man of a different sect. This is the masterpiec of art. Whoever does not believe in the Old Testament, discovers in Athali nothing but the school of bigotry, falsehood, and murder; but to all sects, and in all countries, "Zaïre" is the tragedy of the feeling and the innocent heart.

This tragedy was followed by that of "Adelaide de Gueschlin," which had like wise love for its subject; and in which, as in "Zaïre," French heroes and French history were recited in beautiful poetry, so as to increase the interest. But it was the patriotism of a citizen who delighted in the recollection of respected names and great events, and not the patriotism of the ante-chamber which has since been s applauded on the French theatre.

It is said that the success of " Adelaide" was injured by the "Temple of Taste,' in which charming work Voltaire had passed sentence on the writers of the past age, and even on some of his contemporaries. Time has confirmed all his decisions which each then appeared sacrilegious. In observing such literary intolerance, the necessity, under which every writer labours who wishes to live in peace, of respecting opinions already formed of the merit of an orator or a poet, and the fury with which the public pursues those who dare even on the most indifferent subjects to think differently from themselves, we should be tempted to imagine that man is intolerant by nature. Wit, reason, and genius, cannot always guard us against this misfortune. There are few men who have not some secret idols, the worship of which they cannot calmly see destroyed.

Voltaire had, in his retirement, conceived the happy plan of bringing his nation acquainted with the philosophy, the literature, the opinions, and the sects of England; to effect which, he wrote his "Letters on the English Nation." Fontenelle

the first who made reason and philosophy speak an agreeable and inviting ge: be had the art to mingle reflections, sage, delicate, and frequently probed, with the sciences. In the "Letters of Voltaire," we discover the merit or Famele with more taste, simplicity, boldness, and gaiety. No rooted attach

the errors of Descartes interfered to spread a shade over, and to disfigure, He possessed the logic and pleasantry of the "Lettres Provinciales," but sed them on greater subjects; nor were they injured by a varnish of monkish The work was the era of a revolution in France; it gave rise to a taste for phipy, and English literature; it interested us in the manners, policy, and comal knowledge of that nation; and it brought us acquainted with the English

publication of these letters excited persecution, the bitterness of which, to altim at present, could scarcely be conceived: but innate ideas were opposed and our doctors of that day believed, if there were no innate ideas, there e no sufficiently marked characters to distinguish between the souls of men brates. Beside, it was there maintained, after Locke, that there was no proof that God had not the power, if he had the will, to impart to matter the of thinking. This was to infringe on the privilege of the divines, who preto know accurately and exactly, they and they alone, all that God has , and all that he could do, or has done, since, and even before, the beginmg of the world.

a fine, Voltaire criticised some passages of the "Thoughts of Pascal :" a work de Jesuits, in their own despite, were obliged to respect as much as the of St. Augustin. It gave scandalous offence to see a poet-nay, more, a -dare to sit in judgment on Pascal. It appeared to be an attack on the blender of the Christian religion, who, among the fashionable world, had the on of being a great man. It was to attack religion itself: and how much the proofs of religion be weakened, should the mathematician Pascal, who had y devoted himself to its defence, be convicted of having often reasoned ill? The clergy demanded that the "Letters on the English Nation," should be suppred; and they were so, by an arret of council. These arrets were given, withemmation, as a kind of retribution, for the subsidy which government obtained from the assemblies of the clergy: and as a reward for the facility with which they

ranted, the parliament burnt the book, according to a custom formerly inby Tiberius, and rendered ridiculous since the invention of printing. But tom are certain people for whom the experience of three ages are necessary, before they begin to perceive absurdity.

So much persecution, exercised at the very time when the miracles of the Abbé Part those of Father Girard were acting, loaded the two persecuting parties andicule and opprobrium. It was natural that they should unite against a

daringly preached reason; and they went so far as to order informations ed against the author of the "Letters." The keeper of the seals banished Vie, who, being at that time absent, received early information, and avoided people teat to conduct him to the place of his exile; rather choosing to combat dance, and where he could be in safety. His friends proved that he had forced his promise, not to publish his "Letters" in France; and that they had made their appearance from the treachery of a bookbinder. Fortunately, the

of the seals had more zeal for his authority than for religion, and was much of a mmister than of a devotee. The storm was hushed, and Voltaire bad pon to return to Paris.

This calm was but of momentary duration. The epistle to Urania, which, till then, had been kept in secret, was printed; and Voltaire, to escape a new persecution, was obliged to disavow and attribute it to the Abbé de Chaulieu, who had been dead several years. The imputation did the abbé honour as a poet, without injuring his fame as a Christian.

The necessity of falsehood, in disavowing a work, is an act of extremity, alike repugnant to conscience and to dignity of character; but the crime is in the injustice of those men who render such a disavowal necessary for the safety of the author.

We do not, however, disculpate Voltaire, for having attributed his work to the Abbé de Chaulieu, but such an imputation is in itself indifferent, and a mere act of pleasantry; it is affording an excuse to people in power who are disposed to be indulgent without daring to confess themselves so, by the aid of which they may repel such persecutors as are over-serious in their zeal.

The indiscretion with which some of the friends of Voltaire repeated fragments from his "Maid of Orleans," was the cause of a new persecution. The keeper of the seals threatened to confine the poet in the worst and deepest of dungeons, if any part of the poem made its appearance. Remembering the long space of time during which such subaltern tyrants, inflated by momentary power, have dared to hold similar language to men who have been the glory of their country and their age, the sensations of contempt rise in us and smother those of indignation. The oppressor and the oppressed are now both in the grave; but the name of the oppressed will be borne, on the wings of fame, to future ages, and singly preserved from oblivion; while eternal shame will pursue the memory of his cowardly per

secutors.

At a time when there was much conversation concerning a man who had been arrested by a supposed forged lettre de cachet, Voltaire asked the lieutenant of the police, Herault, what punishment would be inflicted on those who should fabricate false lettres de cachet. "They will be hanged." "That will be but doing right: let us hope the time will come when those who sign the true will be served in the same way."

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Wearied by so much persecution, Voltaire thought it necessary to change his mode of life; to effect which, fortune secured him the means. The fortune which descended to him from his father and his brother was ample, and had been increased by the London edition of the "Henriade," and fortunate speculations in the public funds. Thus, to the advantage of possessing wealth, which ascertained independence, he added that of being indebted for it to himself. The use he made of riches might prevail on envy itself to pardon him their acquirement.

Much of his wealth was expended in aiding men of letters, and in encouraging such youth as he thought discovered the seeds of genius. This, in particular, was the application he made of the trifling profits he derived from his works and his theatrical productions, when he did not make a free gift of the latter to the comedians. Yet never was author more cruelly accused of injuries done to his booksellers; but the whole swarm of literary insects were at their command, and were themselves anxious to decry the conduct of a man whose works they were conscious they could not bring into disrepute. But proofs of the falsehood of these imputations, as well as the favours heaped by Voltaire on some of his detractors, still subsist; nor can we remember these proofs without a sigh, at the misfortune of genius thus condemned to suffer, and at that shameful facility men have to credit whatever can relieve them from the necessity of admiring. Such sighs are the melancholy retribution of fame.

Having no more need, for the security of his fortune, to court patronage, solicit places, or to traffic with booksellers, Voltaire renounced all residence at the capital. Previously to the administration of Cardinal de Fleury, and his journey to England, his intercourse had been among people of the first fashion. Princes and nobles, those who were at the head of affairs, people of fashion and women most in vogue, were courted by him and were equally desirous of his company. He was every where received with pleasure and welcome, but he everywhere inspired envy and fear. Superior, in genius, he was even more so in the wit of conversation, into which he infused whatever can render frivolity amiable, and at the same time interspersed traits of a more elevated nature. Born with the talent of humour, his repartees were often repeated; nor was there any want of an application of the word malignant to what was no more than the decision of the understanding rendered acute by native wit.

On his return from England, he felt that in society, where men assemble from motives of vanity and self-love, he should meet but with few friends. He, therefore, though he did not quarrel with such societies, frequented them less. The taste he had acquired for magnificence, grandeur, and whatever is uncommon and splendid, had become habitual, and he preserved it even in retirement. By this taste his works were often embellished, and it occasionally influenced his judgment. On his return to his country, he confined himself to live familiarly with only a few friends. He had lost M. de Génonville and M. de Maisons, but he still possessed M. d'Argental, who, during his long life, preserved sensations of affection and admiration for Voltaire, and who was rewarded by his friendship and his confidence. Madame Forment and Madame Cideville were likewise his friends, and the confidants of his works and his projects.

But about the time when he suffered such various persecution, friendship, still more tender, afforded him consolation, and increased his love of retirement. The Marchioness de Châtelet was, like him, passionately enamoured of study and fame, as well as of philosophy; but it was of that kind of philosophy which springs up in the strong and free mind. She had studied metaphysics and geometry sufficiently to analyse Leibnitz, and translate Newton. She cultivated the arts; but not undistinguishingly-not so as to prefer them to the knowledge of nature and man. Superior to prejudice, as well from strength of character as from reason, she had not the weakness to conceal how much prejudice was despised by her. Indulging in the trifling amusements of her sex, rank, and age, she yet could contemn and abandon them without regret in favour of retirement, labour, and friendship. Her superiority excited the jealousy of women, and even of most of the men, with whom she necessarily associated. Yet she could pardon their envy without an effort. Such was the friend that Voltaire selected with whom to pass his days; which were ever consecrated to works of genius, and embellished by mutual friendship. She retired with Voltaire to Cirey, on the borders of Champagne and Lorraine, where they led a life of study and retirement, interrupted and varied by an occasional quarrel. At Cirey, Voltaire wrote several of his plays-" Alzire," " Mahomet," Mérope," and others; and he collected materials for the "Essai sur les Mœurs et l'Esprit des Nations," which, with all its defects, is one of his best works. Here also he finished his "Pucelle," which he had commenced some time before. Several fragments of it had been circulated before he left Paris.

It was in the year 1736, during his residence at Cirey, that a correspondence commenced between Prince Frederick, the son of Frederick William, King of Prussia, and Voltaire; it began by Frederick writing to him to express his admiration, and to solicit the favour of Voltaire's literary counsel. Voltaire's residence at

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