The French clergy of those days must bear, however, much of the blame. Voltaire ardently desired to crush a church which, in power, showed itself utterly devoid of the principles of Christianity. Arnaud, Fénélon, the recluses of Port Royal, and the Quietists, had been its victims. Racine, Boileau, men of highly moral and pious characters, were injured and calumniated; and this because they did not belong to the reigning party in the church. What wonder, then, that Voltaire and his friends were led to despise men who made their religion the pretence for indulging their worst passions, and were even induced to think ill of the system of which they proclaimed themselves the sole fitting supports. Let Christians be real disciples of the Gospel, and men like Voltaire will neither have the power nor the will to injure the religion they profess.
We have no space for elaborate criticism of Voltaire's works. We have alluded to many in the progress of this biography. His "Historical Essay on the Manners and Spirit of Nations," in spite of its mistakes in facts and errors of opinion, is a monument of vast genius. His "Age of Louis XIV." is a beautiful work, though we are not sure that his mode of dividing the subject is the best. Many long chapters, devoted to the narration of wars, unmixed by the detail of individual passions or public struggles, which are thrown into separate portions of the work, break and weaken the interest.
His plays have not the loftiness of Corneille, nor the soft tenderness of Racine; but many of them possess much passion and power. His poetic faculties, such as they were, decayed soonest; his latter tragedies are weak and poor compositions. As a didactic poet, he ranks low; as an epic, he is not considered in these days to take any rank at all; as a burlesque, grossness and indelicacy occasion his verses to be read only by those whose praise is not worth having; as a critic, he was unfair and uncourteous, always ready to make ridicule stand for argument, and not unwilling to advance what was false, when the truth did not sufficiently support him. Thus he could translate a speech of Falstaff, declaring that it was meant to be tragic, because it occurred in a tragedy. His lighter productions are among his best, and, though sullied by his peculiar defects, are full of genius. The great characteristic of Voltaire is, that he scarcely ever penned a line that is not instinct with spirit and life and genius. If you open by chance any volume of his works, you will be struck at once by the strength and felicity of his expressions—the vivacity of the sentiment—the penetration with which he detects the false—the wit which gives sparkle and point to all he says. He was, it is true, of the second order of minds, but first among the second; and such was his perfection in his art, as far as it went, that he contrived, while living, to fill a first place, and will always receive a larger share of attention and praise than his intrinsic merits deserve.
[1]His own high opinion of the "Henriade" is manifested in certain verses he wrote on the subject, which may be mentioned as proof, at once, of his vanity and his entire inability to understand and appreciate poetry. These verses, indeed, only embody, in a few lines, his "Essay on Epic Poetry," in which he proves that absence of imagination is the chief merit of a poet.
[2]That we may be impartial, we quote the opinion expressed of this poem by a modern French critic. Barante, in his "Essay on French Literature of the Eighteenth Century," remarks, "Voltaire has most fallen in his reputation as an epic poet. He flattered himself in vain that he had bestowed an epic on France. Such a work could not be produced in the times in which he lived, nor with a character like his. For epic poetry we need the lively and free imagination of the first ages: knowledge must not have weakened faith, enthusiasm of feeling, nor the variety and vigour of character. . . . . By a serious and melancholy character, and pure and true feelings, and the memory of adversity brooded over in solitude, an epic might be rendered as touching as it has been rendered sublime, and interest might stand in place of imagination. But if Virgil secluded himself from the influence of the court of Augustus, Voltaire was far from avoiding that of the court of the regent. He composed an epic poem with the same degree of interest as would have sufficed to enable him to write an epistle in verse. He fancied that an epic consisted in certain forms agreed upon, in prescribed supernatural agency. He fulfilled these rules, and believed that he had achieved a great work. He was not aware that it is not a dream, a recital, and the introduction of divinities, that constitutes an epic poem; but an elevated and solemn imagination; and, above all, simplicity and truth, under whatever form. The Iliad does not resemble the Odyssey in the arrangement of its parts: these poems have nothing in common, except the epic spirit." So far the enlightened critic speaks. Then, to soothe ruffled French vanity, he adds, "Nevertheless, it cannot by denied that the 'Henriade' contains great beauties; the poetry is not epic, but is sometimes elevated and pathetic."
[3]The love of scandal, which belongs to humanity, always busies itself in exaggerations. In a virtuous and primitive state of society, slight peccadilloes serve the turn of the backbiter; the inventions grow with the necessity of surpassing the fact. If the regent had been a Quaker, he would have been accused of kissing any favoured lady by stealth: being unfortunately a profligate, he was accused of incest; the next step beyond the fact which it was necessary for slander to make.
[4]Mémoires de Longchamp.
[5]It is difficult to decide on madame du Châtelet's character. With regard to the immorality of her liaison with Voltaire, we will merely refer to the clever preface of the English editor to madame du Duffand's correspondence with Horace Walpole, in which the stale of society in that age is so well described; and only remark, that such was the system, that a devoted and enduring friendship for so great a man was considered highly respectable, even though that friendship militated against our stricter notions of social duties; it not being considered the business of any one to inquire into, or concern themselves with, a question that related only to the persons immediately implicated. With regard to madame du Châtelet's general character, she was unpopular through the vehemence of her temper, and even the ardour with which she devoted herself to study. She had several of the faults attributed to literary women, which arise from their not having the physical strength to go through great intellectual labour without suffering from nervous irritation In other respects she was evidently generous and sincere. Her judgment was sound; her common sense clear and steady. She was witty and vivacious, and had as much to bear from Voltaire's petulance, whimsicalness, and vehemence, as he from her more imperious temper.
[6]When the correspondence was renewed between Frederic and Voltaire, they could not help alluding to the past, and their expressions show that each thought himself in the right. Voltaire says, "I am unutterably surprised when you write that I have spoken harshly to you. For twenty years you were my idol, 'je l'ai dit à la terre, au ciel, à Guzman même;' but your trade of hero, and your situation of king, do not render the disposition tender: it is a pity, for your heart was made for kindness; and were it not for heroism and a throne, you would have been the most amiable man in the world." Frederic replied, with greater force, "I well know that I adored you as long as I thought you neither mischievous nor malicious: but you have played me so many tricks, of all kinds. Let us say no more; I have pardoned you. After all, you have done me more good than ill. I am more amused by your works, than hurt by your scratches."
[7]Lettres de Madame du Deffand à Horace Walpole, vol. II.