The life of Voltaire

by Evelyn Beatrice Hall

For all his “stately irony,” for all his recluse student ways and frugal life, d’Alembert inspired his century not so much with admiration as with love. Once, when Voltaire was asked to write something in an album, he saw in it the name of d’Alembert. Beneath, he wrote his own—Hic fuit Dalemberti amicus.

D’Alembert arrived at Délices some time about August 10, 1756. He stayed five weeks. It must have been a delightful visit. Voltaire had that rare combination of qualities as a host—he knew both how to amuse his guest and how to leave him to amuse himself. It was during this stay that at a dinner party at Délices, at which Dr. Tronchin and others were present, the company began telling robber stories. Each anecdote was more thrilling than the last. Then Voltaire looked up—“Once, Gentlemen, there was a Farmer-General ...” and he relapsed into silence, with the honours of the evening. That ancient story still has point. How much more it must have had when it was new—in 1756!

The five weeks passed only too quickly. Summer was on that beautiful country. Madame de Fontaine was also staying at Délices. She was now a widow of about forty, rather tall and good-looking, and with a taste for painting—the subjects not too decorous, for choice. Madame was not exactly decorous herself. When she arrived at Délices she had brought with her the Marquis de Florian, her lover. Uncle Voltaire accepted that intimacy with perfect nonchalance and amiability. On the present occasion Madame de Fontaine was useful to keep Madame Denis company, and so leave Voltaire and d’Alembert to themselves.

They had much to do and to say. From 1746 they had been correspondents; but the “Encyclopædia” was a link which had bound them closer far. Founded on the “English Encyclopædia” of Chambers, which had been translated into French about 1743, the “immense and immortal work” of Diderot and d’Alembert wholly eclipsed its prototype. It was, is, and will be, not an “Encyclopædia” but the “Encyclopædia.” It includes, indeed, neither history nor biography: the vast discoveries of modern times make men smile to-day at its science; and its hardy philosophy seems timid to our bolder age.

But it was not the less the Guide to the Revolution, the first great public invitation to all men to drink of that knowledge which enfranchises the soul. To it Grimm, Rousseau, Holbach, Marmontel, and Condorcet were contributors. There was not an enlightened man in France who did not recognise it as the primer of a new language—the handbook to a better country. The authorities burnt it. Voltaire loved it. It suggested to him his own Philosophical or, as he called it, “pocket Dictionary.” To the “pocket Dictionary” could be relegated what was too bold even for the Encyclopædia. It has been seen that in Prussia he wrote articles for it, and reams of letters about it. It was not his own. He called himself “the boy in your great shop”; and his contributions to it “pebbles to stick into the corners of the immortal edifice you are raising.” But he loved it as if it had been his own, and as he loved the d’Alembert who had created it.

That summer visit at Délices was the cause of the most famous and fought-over article the “Encyclopædia” contains. Geneva delighted in d’Alembert. Besides being gentle, modest, and accomplished, it also knew him to be hostile to the Church of Rome; and naturally concluded that hostility to Rome meant friendliness to Calvin. The ministers flocked to Délices, and gave parties themselves for their host and his guest. The guest was quite as charmed with them as they were with him. They were so free from superstition, so learned, tolerant, and open to reason! It was equally pleasant and surprising to find a religion—and the ministers of a religion—nearly as agnostic as the philosophers themselves.

The next thing to do when I get back to Paris is to write an article on Geneva and compliment the children of Calvin on their freedom of thought! There is no doubt that d’Alembert talked over that proposed article with his host. Nor is there any doubt that Voltaire knew perfectly well that such compliments would set all the Calvinists in Geneva by the ears and create a fracas which would ring through Europe; nor that he anticipated that fight with the richest enjoyment, and secretly and gleefully rubbed his hands together at the prospect of it.

And as you are going to write the article, my dear d’Alembert, can you not put in just a few lines to say that the only thing the Genevans really need to make them entirely delightful is to permit theatrical representations among them—not for enjoyment, of course, but just to “improve their taste” and give them “tact and feeling”?

The amiable d’Alembert naturally agreed to oblige his host on so small a matter.

In September he packed up his boxes and went back to Paris with the article on Geneva much in his mind; and those casual observations on play-acting, not to be forgotten.