Voltaire had first thought that he saw in that dreadful story l’infâme in the garb of a cold and cruel Calvinism, changing the tenderest instincts of the human heart into a ferocity which made a father the murderer of his own son. And then he had discovered that it was that old l’infâme he knew better—l’infâme who in the person of priest and magistrate kept the people ignorant, and then inflamed that ignorance for their shameful ends.
What Calas had suffered, others might suffer. While he was unavenged, while that criminal law and procedure which condemned him went unreformed, while his judges were not rendered execrable to other men and hateful to themselves, who was safe?
To Voltaire the cause of Calas was the cause of Tolerance; that Tolerance which was the principle and the passion of his life.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE “TREATISE ON TOLERANCE”
One of the disadvantages of biography as compared with fiction is, that in real life many events occur simultaneously, and the dramatic effect of a crisis is often spoilt by that crisis being extended over a long period of time and being interrupted by trivialities.
The Calas case, at whose “dragging” Voltaire had cried out at the end of nine months, lasted for three years—a period which is certainly a severe test of enthusiasm. Voltaire’s triumphantly survived that test. At the end of those three years he was only more eager, passionate, and laborious than he had been at the beginning.
But in the meantime there were Ferney, Tourney, and Délices to manage; Madame Denis always needing amusement and Marie Corneille always needing instruction; that busy, hot-headed rival, Rousseau, to be taken into account, to say nothing of friends and enemies, visitors and plays.
On March 25, 1762—just about the time when the first rumours of the Calas story reached Voltaire—“Olympie” took what may be called its trial trip at Ferney. Two or three hundred people sobbed all through it in the most satisfactory manner, and all felt cheerful enough to enjoy a ball and a supper afterwards.
In April, these enthusiastic amateurs were once more delighted by a visit from the great actor Lekain. He had been at Délices in 1755; but there was a beautiful new little theatre at Ferney now, where “Olympie” was played again. Lekain looked on as a critic; and Voltaire did the same, being debarred from his dear acting by a cold in the head. “Tancred” was played too, and when there came that line:
Oh cursed judges! in whose feeble hands—