"During dinner, M. de Voltaire was by no means agreeable; he appeared to be continually angry with his servants, calling to them so loudly that I started. I had been told beforehand of this habit, so singular before strangers; but it was evident that it was merely a habit, for the servants neither appeared surprised nor troubled. After dinner, knowing that I was a musician, Voltaire asked madame Denis to play. She had a method which reminded one of the music of the days of Louis XIV. She had just finished a piece of Rameau, when a little girl of seven years old entered, and threw herself into Voltaire's arms, calling him papa. He received her caresses with sweetness; and, seeing that I looked on the picture with extreme pleasure, he told me that this was the daughter of the descendant of the great Corneille, whom he had adopted. Several visitors from Geneva dropped in, and afterwards he proposed a drive, and he and his niece, madame de Saint Julien, and myself entered the carriage, and he took us to the village to see the houses he is building, and the charitable establishments he has founded. He is greater here than in his books, for so ingenious a goodness appears in all, that one wonders that the same hand which wrote so much blasphemy, could form such noble, wise, and useful works. He shows this village to all strangers, but unpretendingly. He speaks of it with kindness and simplicity; he mentions all that he has done, but with no appearance of boasting. On returning to the chateau, the conversation was very animated: it was night before I took my leave.
"The portraits and busts of Voltaire are all very like; but no artist has painted his eyes well. I expected to find them brilliant and full of fire; and they are, indeed, the most expressive of intellect that I ever saw; but they are full, at the same time, of softness and inexpressible tenderness. The very soul of Zaire shone in those eyes. His smile and laugh, which is very malicious, changed at once this charming expression. He is very decrepit; and his old-fashioned dress makes him look older. He has a hollow voice, which produces a singular effect, especially as he is in the habit of speaking very loud, although he is not deaf. When neither religion nor his enemies are mentioned, his conversation is simple, unpretending, and delightful. It appeared as if he could not endure the expression of opinions differing from his own on any point. On the slightest contradiction his voice became shrill and his manner decided. He has lost much of the manners of the world: and this is natural; ever since he has lived on this estate no one visits him but to cover him with flattery. His opinions are oracles; all around is at his feet. The admiration he inspires is the continual subject of conversation, and the most extravagant exaggerations now appear ordinary homage. No king has ever been the object of such excessive adulation."
Voltaire, however, though he liked flattery, often avoided it, by not receiving the guests that poured in. Madame Denis did the honours of the house; and many a traveller, who had gone far cut of his way to visit the Man of the Age, left the chateau without seeing him. It was thus he treated the comte de Guibert, esteemed in those days as a young man of promising talents, but who is best known to us as the object of mademoiselle de l'Espinasse's attachment. Guibert, after passing five days at Ferney, left it without seeing its master. Arriving at Geneva, he sent him four verses, which wittily, though somewhat blasphemously, expressed his regret. The wit pleased; the blasphemy, perhaps, pleased still more, as showing him to be of his own way of thinking; and Voltaire instantly sent after him, invited him back, and treated him with kindness and distinction. Many anecdotes are told of the bad reception he gave others. But as every one, and in particular every pretender to literature, thought it necessary to visit Ferney, no wonder that he was often pushed to extremities by their intrusion and pretensions, and, impatient and whimsical as he was, got rid of them, as the humour dictated, by open rudeness or covert ridicule.
The astonishing vivacity and energy of Voltaire's temperament led him to create, like Don Quixote, giants with whom to fight; but he was not always moved by the heroic benevolence that animated the Spanish knight, but by childish or more blameable whims. He had built a church at Ferney (the one belonging to the parish being mean and in disrepair), and went to mass, for the edification of his tenantry. After mass he delivered an exhortation against theft (some of the builders of his church having been guilty of carrying off old materials), which, being against all canonical rules, scandalised the congregation and incensed the priest. The bishop of the diocese, an ignorant, intolerant man, hearing of the desecration, applied to the king of France for a lettre de cachet against Voltaire. His request was not listened to; but the imagination of Voltaire was set on fire by the intelligence; nor can we wonder, considering that he had entered the Bastille, as a prisoner, three different times. He burnt a vast quantity of papers; he dismissed every guest; and remained alone with his secretary and father Adam, an ex-Jesuit, who resided with him. At first he thought it would be necessary to fly; but soon his restless fancy suggested another mode of defending himself. The bishop, carrying on the war, forbade any of his inferior clergy to confess, absolve, or administer the communion to the seigneur of Ferney. Considering his avowed and contemptuous disbelief in Christianity, it had been more dignified in Voltaire to abstain from participating in its mysteries; but he had not the most remote idea of the meaning and uses of dignity. His impetuosity, his love of the ridiculous, his determination to vanquish and crush his enemies, by whatever means, were paramount to any loftier sentiment of calm disdain. He said, "We shall see whether the bishop or I win the day." Accordingly, he feigned illness, took to his bed, and insisted on receiving religious consolations as a dying man. The priest of the parish refused to comply for a length of time; and Voltaire, to gain his point, signed a paper declaratory of his respect for the Catholic religion. The whole scene was indecorous,—insulting to the priest, and unworthy of the poet. He gained his point at last, and frightened the curate so much that he fell ill and died; while his conduct in the church, his angry expostulations with the clergy, and his confession of faith became the wonder and gossip of Paris.
It is more pleasing to contemplate the good deeds of this versatile and extraordinary man, whose activity astonished his contemporaries[7], and, considering his infirmities and age, seem almost superhuman. The civil troubles of Geneva caused a number of exiles. The fugitives, destitute and suffering, were received at Ferney, and treated with hospitality and generosity. Voltaire's first idea was to found the little town of Versoi, on the banks of the lake of Geneva. He applied to the duke de Choiseul for protection and funds. These were at first granted; but the disgrace of the minister ruined the infant town, and its founder was obliged to restrict his exertions to his own colony at Ferney. He caused commodious houses to be built, and the place, which was before a miserable hamlet, inhabited by peasants in the last degree of penury, became a pleasant village, filled by industrious artisans, who carried on a considerable trade in watchmaking. It is to this village that Voltaire led madame du Genlis, and the sight of it filled her with respect for his enlarged views and benevolent heart.
Nor was this the only place that owed the blessings of prosperity to him. By most persevering and courageous representations he induced the chancellor Maupeou to enfranchise the peasants of a territory among the mountains of Jura, who were serfs to the monastery of St. Claude, and suffered the most unendurable grievances from the feudal laws still in force. Afterwards, when Louis XVI. came to the throne, he asked for various exemptions from taxes from the minister Turgot for the town of Gex, which flourished in consequence, till Turgot was exiled, his ordinances cancelled, and the town was ruined. His colony fell under the same ban, and he shared the general loss. He was grieved, but not disheartened. "It is true," he wrote to his valued and steady friend the comte d'Argental, "that I have had the folly, in my eighty-third year, to commence an undertaking above my strength. I must abandon it, and wait till I grow younger. My strange fate, which led me from Paris to the frontiers of Switzerland, and forced me to change a filthy hamlet into a pretty town, a quarter of a league long, follows me; she does not restore my youth, but crushes me with the stones of the houses I have built. A change of ministry in France has deprived my colony of all the advantages I had obtained; and the good I have done my new country has turned to mischief. I put the last drop of my blood into this useful establishment, without any view except that of doing good—my blood is lost, and all I have to do is to die of a consumption." He wrote to another friend: "Ferney, which you saw a wretched village, has become a pretty town. I scarcely know how this has been brought about; but I know that it has ruined me. It was ridiculous in so insignificant a man as me to build a town."
The correspondence which this undertaking necessitated was immense. To this occupation he added a dispute on the merits of Shakspeare, in which an entire want of taste and of knowledge, and a superfluity of flippancy and insult, were the prominent features. It raised a laugh among a few, but did no honour either to his cause or himself.
What, at its outset, seemed a more tranquil and happy reign, had begun in France. The latter days of Louis XV. were utterly disgraceful. He had dispersed the parliament, it is true, which, by its prejudices and injustice, had become odious; but it was replaced by another, which reformed no abuse, while it was conspicuous only for servile submission to the royal authority. Enlightened and popular ministers—Choiseul and Turgot—were exiled to make room for men of the old leaven, who had no apprehension of the growing necessities of the times; while his thrusting upon the court a low-born and infamous mistress, completed the degradation of the king's position: and the society of Paris, opposed to that of the court, acquired influence and dignity. The first acts of Louis the Sixteenth's reign, being to recal the disgraced and popular ministers, and to exhibit every token of sympathy for the distresses of the subject, inspired hope. Voltaire ardently desired to revisit the capital, to feel himself among his friends, and to enjoy the sensation which his presence, after so long an absence, would not fail to create. The inhabitants of Ferney saw their benefactor depart with tears. He promised to return in six weeks; and so firmly intended to keep this resolution, that he put no order into his affairs or papers before his departure, thinking it not worth while, as his absence would be so short.
1788.
Ætat.
84.
On the 10th of February he arrived in the capital, accompanied by monsieur and madame de Villette and madame Denis. Madame de Villette was a protégée of Voltaire. She had been destined for a convent by her parents; and, in despair, wrote to the patriarch of Ferney to extricate her from such a fate. He offered her a home in his house. She was gentle, beautiful, and clever. M. de Villette, a gentleman of fortune, fell in love with and married her. She went by the name of Belle et Bonne among her friends. Voltaire had the peculiarity, which usually attends men of genius, of gathering about him a society composed principally of women, and she was a chief favourite.