In 1722, while at Brussels, Voltaire met Jean Baptiste Rousseau, whose misfortunes he deplored, and whose poetic talents he esteemed. Voltaire read some of his poems to Rousseau, and he in return read to Voltaire his "Ode addressed to Posterity," which Voltaire, it is asserted, told him would never arrive at the place to which it was addressed. The two poets parted irreconcileable foes.
In 1725, Voltaire was again shut up in the Bastile, through attempting to revenge an insult inflicted upon him by a courtier. At the end of six months he was released, but ordered to quit Paris. He sought refuge in England, in 1726. He was the guest in that country of a Mr. Falconer, of Wandsworth, whose hospitality he remembered with affection so long as life lasted. Voltaire was known to most of the wits and Freethinkers of that day in England. At this early age he was at war with Christianity. "His visit to England," says Lamartine, "gave assurance and gravity to his incredulity; for in France he had only known libertines—in England he knew philosophers." He went to visit Congreve, who had the affectation to tell him that he (Congreve) valued himself, not on his authorship, but as a man of the world. To which Voltaire administered a just rebuke by saying, "I should never have come so far to see a gentleman!"
Voltaire soon acquired an ample fortune, much of which was expended in aiding men of letters, and in encouraging such youth as he thought discovered the seeds of genius. The use he made of riches might prevail on envy itself to pardon him their acquirement. His pen and his purse were ever at the service of the oppressed. Calas, an infirm old man, living at Toulouse, was accused of having hung his son, to prevent his becoming a Catholic. The Catholic population became inflamed, and the young man was declared to be a martyr. The father was condemned to the torture and the wheel, and died protesting his innocence. The family of Calas was ruined and disgraced. Voltaire, assuring himself of the innocence of the old man, determined to obtain justice for the family. To this end he labored incessantly for three years. In all this time, he said, a smile did not escape him for which he did not reproach himself as for a crime. His efforts were successful. Nor was this the only cause in which he was engaged on the side of the weak and the wronged against the powerful and the persecuting. His whole life, though maligned as an Infidel and a-scoffer, was one long act of benevolence. On learning that a young niece of Corneille languished in a condition unworthy of his name, Voltaire, in the most delicate manner, invited her to his house, and she there received an education suitable to the rank that her birth had marked lor her in society. "It is the duty of a soldier," he said, "to succor the niece of his general."
Voltaire lived for a time at the Court of Frederick the Great of Prussia, and for many years carried on a correspondence with that monarch. He quarrelled with the king, and left the court in a passion. An emissary was despatched to him to request an apology, who said he was to carry back to the king his answer verbatim. Voltaire told him that "the king might go to the devil!" On being asked if that was the message he meant to be delivered! "Yes," he answered, "and add to it that I told you that you might go there with him." In his "Memoirs," he has drawn a most amusing picture of his Prussian Majesty. He, also says, "Priests never entered the palace; and, in a word, Frederick lived without religion, without a council, and without a court."
Wearied with his rambling and unsettled mode of living, Voltaire bought an estate at Ferney, in the Pays des Gex, where he spent the last twenty years of his life. He rebuilt the house, laid out gardens, kept a good table, and had crowds of visitors from all parts, of Europe. Removed from whatever could excite momentary or personal passion, he yielded to his zeal for the destruction of prejudice, which was the most powerful and active of all the sensations he felt. This peaceful life, seldom disturbed except by the threats of persecution rather than persecution itself, was adorned by those acts of enlightened and bold benevolence, which, while they relieve the sufferings of certain individuals, are of any service to the whole human race. He was known to Europe as the "Sage of Ferney." After an absence of more than twenty-seven years, he re-visited Paris in the beginning of 1778. He had just finished his play of "Irene," and was anxious to see it performed. His visit was an ovation. He had outlived all his enemies. After having been the object of unrelenting persecution by the priests and corrupt courtiers of France for a period of more than fifty years, he yet lived to see the day when "all that was most eminent in station or most distinguished in talents—all that most shone in society, or most ruled in court, seemed to bend before him." At this period he, for the first time, saw Benjamin Franklin. They embraced each other in the midst of public acclamations, and it was said to be Solon who embraced Sophocles.
Voltaire did not survive his triumph long. His unwearied activity induced him, at his great age, to commence a "Dictionary" upon a novel plan, which he prevailed upon the French Academy to take up. These labors brought on spitting of blood, followed by sleeplessness, to obviate which he took opium in considerable quantities. Condorcet says that the servant mistook one of the doses, which threw him into a state of lethargy, from which he never rallied. He lingered for some time, but at length expired on the 30th of May, 1778, in his eighty-fifth year.
It was the custom in those days, and prevails to a considerable extent even in our own time, for the religious world to fabricate "horrible death-beds" of all Freethinkers. Voltaire's last moments were distorted by his enemies after the approved fashion; and notwithstanding the most unqualified denial on the part of Dr. Burard and others, who were present at his death, there are many who believe these falsehoods at this moment. Voltaire died in peace, with the exception of the petty annoyances to which he was subjected by the priests. The philosophers, too, who wished that no public stigma should be cast upon him by the refusal of Christian burial, persuaded him to undergo confession and absolution. This, to oblige his friends, he submitted to; but when the cure one day drew him from his lethargy by shouting into his ear, "Do you believe the divinity of Jesus Christ?" Voltaire exclaimed, "In the name of God, Sir, speak to me no more of that man, but let me die in peace!" This put to flight all doubts of the pious, and the certificate of burial was refused. But the prohibition of the Bishop of Troyes came too late. Voltaire was buried at the monastery of Scellieres, in Champagne, of which his nephew was abbot. Afterwards, during the first French Revolution, the body, at the request of the citizens, was removed to Paris, and buried in the Pantheon. Lamartine, in his "History of the Girondists," p. 149, speaking of the ceremony, says:—
"On the 11th of July, the departmental and municipal authorities went in state to the barrier of Charenton, to receive the mortal remains of Voltaire, which were placed on the ancient site of the Bastile, like a conqueror on his trophies; his coffin was exposed to public gaze, and a pedestal was formed for it of stones torn from the foundations of this ancient stronghold of tyranny; and thus Voltaire when dead triumphed over those stones which had triumphed over and confined him when living. On one of the blocks was the inscription, 'Receive on this spot, where despotism once fettered thee, the Honors decreed to thee by thy country'.... The coffin of Voltaire was deposited between those of Descartes and Mirabeau—the spot predestined for this intermediary genius between philosophy and policy, between the design and the execution."
The aim of Voltaire's life was the destruction of prejudice and the establishment of Reason. "Deists," said W. J. Fox in 1819, "have done much for toleration and religious liberty. It may be doubted if there be a country in Europe, where that cause has not been advanced by the writings of Voltaire." In the Preface and Conclusion to the "Examination of the Scriptures," Voltaire says:—
"The ambition of domineering over the mind, is one of the strongest passions. A theologian, a missionary, or a partisan of any description, is always for conquering like a prince, and there are many more sects than there are sovereigns in the world. To whose guidance shall I submit my mind? Must I be a Christian, be-cause I happened to be born in London, or in Madrid? Must I be a Mussulman, because I was born in Turkey? As it is myself alone that I ought to consult, the choice of a religion is my greatest interest. One man adores God by Mahomet, another by the Grand Lama, and another by the Pope. Weak and foolish men! adore God by your own reason.... I have learnt that a French Vicar, of the name of John Meslier, who died a short time since, prayed on his death-bed that God would forgive him for having taught Christianity. I have seen a Vicar in Dorsetshire relinquish a living of £200 a year, and confess to his parishioners that his conscience would not permit him to preach the shocking absurdities of the Christians. But neither the will nor the testament of John Meslier, nor the declaration of this worthy Vicar, are what I consider decisive proofs. Uriel Acosta, a Jew, publicly renounced the Old Testament in Amsterdam; however, I pay no more attention to the Jew Acosta than to Parson Meslier. I will read the arguments on both sides of the trial, with careful attention, not suffering the lawyers to tamper with me; but will weigh, before God, the reasons of both parties, and decide according to my conscience. I commence by being my-own instructor.... I conclude, that every sensible man, every honest man, ought to hold Christianity in abhorrence. 'The great name of Theist, which we can never sufficiently revere,' is the only name we ought to adopt. The only gospel we should read is the grand book of nature, written with God's own hand, and stamped with his own seal. The only religion we ought to profess is, 'to adore God, and act like honest men.' It would be as impossible for this simple and eternal religion to produce evil, as it would be impossible for Christian fanaticism not to produce it.... But what shall we substitute in its place? say you. What? A ferocious animal has sucked the blood of my relatives. I tell you to rid yourselves of this beast, and you ask me what you shall put in its place! Is it you that put this question to me? Then you are a hundred times more odious than the Pagan Pontiffs, who permitted themselves to enjoy tranquillity among their ceremonies and sacrifices, who did not attempt to enslave the mind by dogmas, who never disputed the powers of the magistrates, and who introduced no discord among mankind. You have the face to ask what you must substitute in the place of your fables!"