A young poet having consulted him on a tragedy full of extraordinary incidents, Voltaire pointed out to him the defects of his piece. The writer replied, that he had purposely forsaken the beaten track of Corneille and Racine. “So much the worse,” replied Voltaire, “originality is nothing but judicious imitation.”
One day when his Irene was performing at the house of the marquis de Villette, a celebrated actress reciting her part rather negligently, Voltaire said to her, “Really, mademoiselle, it is unnecessary for me to write verses of six feet, if you gulp down three of them.”
On the performance of one of his tragedies, the success of which was equivocal, the abbe Pellegrin complained loudly that Voltaire had stolen some verses from him. “How can you, who are so rich,” said the abbe, “thus seize upon the property of another?” “What! have I stolen from you?” replied Voltaire; “then I no longer wonder that my piece has met with so little approbation.”
KNOW THYSELF.
There is an anecdote related in the Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV, which reflects some credit on that monarch’s understanding, and may be of service to multitudes of the bourgeoisie of every city in the world, if properly digested and acted upon.
A negociant, who took the lead of all the rest in Paris, was in particular favour with the king, and without formality consulted by him, in all that he wished to know relating to mercantile affairs. At length the man of the counting-house, whose wealth was enormous, felt his ambition excited, and nothing would content him but a title. After many fruitless overtures, Louis at last granted his request, and never treated him with friendly familiarity again. The trader, exceedingly hurt at this neglect, made free one day to inquire the cause. “It is your own fault,” said the monarch, “you have degraded yourself—you were the first as a merchant—you are the lowest as a peer.”