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begin reading, he finds that his audience is gone, Dorante having promptly vanished, for fear of missing his antagonist.

In the fourth act we learn that the young men have met and fought, but have been separated before more serious consequences ensued, and that the poet has acquitted himself quite as well as his adversary.

In one of the following scenes Dorante confesses to Lucile that the verses he has sent her from time to time are not his own, but he adds that it was he who inspired the poet, and that his passion is far beyond anything which words or verses could express. Lucile forgives him on account of his sincerity and says:

De vos rivaux du moins vous n'avez rien à craindre.
Mon père pourra bien, en ce commun danger,
Désapprouver mon choix, mais jamais le changer.

Lisette, who has found out Damis' secret, informs Dorante that the poet is the author of the piece which is to be performed that evening at the Théâtre Français, and which has caused M. de Francaleu's guests to desert him and his private theatricals wholesale. She insinuates that his supposed rival has written a letter to his (Dorante's) father, probably betraying his secret love for Lucile, and suggests that he should get up a cabal to hiss Damis' piece off the stage, adding: Monsieur de Francaleu, vous dis-je, va la voir.

Il n'a déjà que trop ce bel auteur en tête.

S'il le voit triompher, c'est fait, rien ne l'arrête;
Il lui donne sa fille, et croirait aujourd'hui

S'allier à la gloire en s'alliant à lui.

DORANTE. Ah! tu me fais frémir! et des transes pareilles

Me livrent en aveugle à ce que tu conseilles.

The fifth act brings about the dénouement of this complicated but clever intrigue. M. Baliveau and M. de Francaleu return from the theatre; the latter does not yet know that Damis is the author of the piece, which has been hissed by a pitiless cabal.

Jamais le public n'eut moins de complaisance.
Comment veut-il juger d'une pièce en effet,
Au tintamarre affreux qu'au parterre on a fait?
Ah! nous avons bien vu des fureurs de cabale;
Mais jamais il n'en fut ni n'en sera d'égale.
La pièce était vendue aux sifflets aguerris

De tous les étourneaux des cafés de Paris

The young poet however is by no means discouraged and means before long to take his revenge.

When M. Baliveau has been left alone with his old friend, he calls on him to fulfil his engagement and hand over the lettre de cachet he has promised him. M. de Francaleu confesses that he has not got it yet, but declares he is sure of obtaining it, as the worthy young man who has just left them, M. de l'Empyrée, has engaged to procure it for him. At these words Baliveau flies into a passion. He tells the old gentleman that he has made a pretty mess of it, informs him that his M. de l'Empyrée is no other than the very scamp who is to be consigned to the Bastille and showers a perfect storm of reproaches on his old friend. But M. de Francaleu answers:

Si j'admire en Damis un don qui vous irrite,

Votre chagrin me touche autant que son mérite;
Afin donc que son sort ne vous alarme plus,
Je lui donne ma fille avec cent mille écus.

The poet is sent for and is apprised of M. de Francaleu's kind intentions. He professes himself deeply grateful, but declares that previous engagements prevent him from accepting the honour of becoming his son-in-law. His refusal is the signal for another outburst on the part of his uncle; M. de Francaleu also shows his displeasure, but when Damis informs him that the lady he loves is a poetess of the greatest merit, a muse, who has for a long time exchanged verses with him in the Mercure and tells him her name is Mlle Mériadec de Kersic, of QuimperCorentin, the old gentleman goes into a fit of laughter and cries:

Oh! disposez-vous donc, monsieur, à m'épouser;

A m'épouser, vous dis-je. Oui, moi! moi! C'est moi-même
Qui suis le bel objet de votre amour extrême.

It was the old métromane himself who had been a contributor to the
Mercure under the nom de plume, Mlle Mériadec de Kersic.

DAMIS. Vous ne plaisantez point?

FRANCALEU. Non; mais, en vérité,

J'ai bien à vos dépens jusqu'ici plaisanté,

Quand, sous le masque heureux qui vous donnait le change,
Je vous faisais chanter des vers à ma louange.
Voilà de vos arrêts, messieurs les gens de goût!
L'ouvrage est peu de chose, et le seul nom fait tout.

After this burlesque explanation, nothing further seems to stand in the way of the proposed marriage, when Lucile and Lisette appear. The latter informs M. de Francaleu that Damis is the author of the unsuccessful comedy and this announcement singularly cools the enthusiasm of the old gentleman for the match. Lucile confesses her love for Dorante and the latter appearing on the scene reproaches his former friend with his treachery. Great is his astonishment and confusion, when he learns that this generous friend, whom he has falsely suspected and accused, had privately written to his own father and obtained the consent of M. de Francaleu's old friend to his son's marriage with Lucile. In an agony of shame he cries:

DORANTE. Je suis un monstre!

DAMIS. Non: mais, en termes honnêtes, Amoureux et Français, voilà ce que vous êtes.

DORANTE (aux autres). Un furieux! qui, plein d'un ridicule effroi, Tandis qu'il agissait si noblement pour moi,

Impitoyablement ai fait siffler sa pièce.

DAMIS. Quoi?... Mais je m'en prends moins à vous qu'à la traîtresse Qui vous a confié que j'en étais l'auteur.

Je suis bien consolé: j'ai fait votre bonheur.

DORANTE. J'ai demain, pour ma part, cent places retenues;

Et veux, après-demain, vous faire aller aux nues.

DAMIS. Non; j'appelle, en auteur soumis, mais peu craintif,

Du parterre en tumulte au parterre attentif.

Qu'un si frivole soin ne trouble pas la fête.

Ne songez qu'aux plaisirs que l'hymen vous apprête.

Vous à qui cependant je consacre mes jours,

Muses, tenez-moi lieu de fortune et d'amours.

VOLTAIRE.

SKETCH OF HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 1

FRANÇOIS-MARIE AROUET, who assumed the name of VOLTAIRE

was born in 1694 at Châtenay, a village near Paris. His first tutor was the abbé de Châteauneuf, who taught him from his earliest infancy to lisp out sentences of infidelity. The boy, when he was sent to the collége Louis-le-Grand at Paris, which was then under the direction of the Jesuits, was already deeply tainted with the infidel doctrines of the age; but his cleverness and brilliant successes dazzled his tutors, the most distinguished of whom remained his friends during life.

Arouet's father, who was a notary, wished his son to enter the magistrature, and gave him up as utterly lost, when he heard that he wrote verses. However he allowed him to try the diplomatic career, and to accompany to the Hague the marquis de Châteauneuf, the French ambassador in Holland. This first attempt was a failure and soon came to an end. On his return to Paris young Arouet resigned himself to his fate and was articled to a solicitor; but he spent all his time in composing elegant trifles in verse and satires, which made him known in society. This precocious reputation was the cause of his being suspected of the authorship of a bitter satire against the government, and as a natural consequence he spent some time in the Bastille. When his innocence became established, he received a handsome compensation from the duke of Orléans, and gained his good graces by a witty mot: »I thank your Royal Highness, he said, for so kindly continuing to provide for my board, but I beg that you will not again trouble yourself about my lodging.«<

In 1718 Voltaire (it was then he assumed the name) began his literary career with Edipe, a tragedy he had sketched out at the age of seventeen and which he finished when twenty-four. Some other pieces of little merit, which followed Edipe were unsuccessful on the stage. In 1725 the unfinished poem La Henriade, which Voltaire had begun at the age of nineteen and whose second canto he had written in the Bastille, was published through the indiscretion of a friend. In spite of the omissions and the interpolations of the editor, the poem met with great success, and Voltaire, who in a fit of spleen had almost thrown the manuscript in the fire, set to work to finish it. But he was not destined to do so in France.

The young poet had had some words with a gentleman of the court, the chevalier de Rohan. To avenge himself for his sarcasms, the latter was cowardly enough to entice Voltaire into an ambuscade, when he was cruelly beaten by the nobleman's lackeys. The scoundrel who was guilty of this infamous action was too highly connected for the law to reach him, and when the poet challenged him to fight, he was himself consigned to the Bastille. There he remained six months and was then ordered to leave Paris. He retired to London.

In England a splendid edition of the Henriade was published by subscription. This, it is said, laid the foundation of Voltaire's fortune,

We have followed Geruzez' Études and Condorcet's Vie de Voltaire.

which he subsequently increased to opulence by bold and lucky speculations. During his exile he studied the English language, literature and philosophy and became confirmed in his religious unbelief by his intercourse with such men as the famous Bolingbroke.

He remained three years in England (1727-1729) and brought back with him the tragedies Brutus and La Mort de César. Shakespeare's Othello supplied him with the model of his Zaïre, the most popular and the most touching of all his plays.

Having returned to Paris without leave in 1730, he published besides the tragedies we have mentioned, the Vie de Charles XII, roi de Suède, a masterpiece of narration, of which a detailed account will be found below. But Voltaire was not to be left in peace for long. The scandal raised by the French edition of the Lettres philosophiques or Lettres anglaises, which he had already published in English during his exile, compelled him once more to leave Paris and seek a refuge elsewhere. He found it with the marquise du Châtelet at the Castle of Cirey in Lorraine. There he studied science and composed Alzire, Mahomet and Mérope, three plays which worthily upheld his reputation as a dramatist; he began his Siècle de Louis XIV, which he subsequently finished at Berlin, and sketched out his Essai sur les mœurs et l'esprit des nations. It was about this time that he began to correspond with the Crownprince of Prussia, afterwards Frederick the Great. This friendship was partly the cause of the short gleam of royal favour which he then enjoyed for the last time. In 1743 he was sent on a secret political mission to Frederick II, of which he skillfully acquitted himself. On his return he obtained the title of royal historiographer and was appointed gentleman in waiting. He also became a member of the French Academy, after having written a letter to Father Latour in which he avowed his respect for the established religion.

His favour at court was of short duration. To annoy him, the king affected a preference for the decrepit old poet Crébillon, and Voltaire who was excessively vain was intensely mortified at this slight; but he cleverly revenged himself by composing a number of tragedies on the same subjects as some of his rival's, but infinitely superior to them. Such was the origin of Semiramis (1748), Oreste (1749) and Rome sauvée (1752). About the same period he wrote Nanine, his best comedy. Weary of the French court, neglected by Louis XV, whom he never managed to conciliate, Voltaire at last responded to the repeated invitations of Frederick the Great and took up his abode at Berlin. The king appointed him his chamberlain, lodged him in the palace and gave him a pension of 20,000 livres, his only duty being to correct his Majesty's French verses. But the king and the poet soon discovered that they were better fitted to admire each other at a distance than to live in close proximity. Voltaire's position excited much envy; his sarcastic utterances made many enemies, especially among the French men of letters established at Berlin; his pride, duplicity, avarice and rapacity made him unbearable as a companion. He had some violent quarrels with Maupertuis, the perpetual president of the Berlin Academy of Science, whom he held up to ridicule in his

Diatribe du docteur Akakia. The king laughed immoderately over this skit, but having done so, obtained, as a personal favour, a promise from Voltaire that he would abstain from publishing it. Voltaire pledged his word and broke it immediately after by publishing the book, which the king then caused to be burned by the common hangman. This was the chief cause of the final rupture which took place between Frederick and the famous author in 1753.

Voltaire, compelled to leave Prussia, began to negotiate with the French court, with a view to regaining the post he had abandoned; but he was not successful; he was not even allowed to come to Paris. He first lived at the Délices, in the territory of Geneva, where he composed Tancrède, and afterwards (1758) settled at Ferney, near Gex, at the foot of the Jura and on the shores of the lake of Geneva, being then sixty-four years old. There he spent the last twenty years of his life, during which he exercised a sort of dictatorship on the mind of his contemporaries. His countryhouse became the meeting-place of men of letters and princes, whose homage he accepted as a tribute due to him.

During his residence at Ferney, Voltaire took up the cause of Calas, Sirven and Lally, three victims of deplorable judicial mistakes. He published his Commentaries on Corneille, with the object of procuring a dowry for a niece of the great poet, wrote the History of Russia under Peter the Great (1759-1763), composed a number of poems on a variety of subjects, satires, epistles, tales, epigrams, and even a few tragedies, and wrote his novels in prose, which are full of wit, but also of malice and cynicism. At the same time he kept up an extensive correspondence, breathed his spirit into the authors of the Encyclopædia, and scattered abroad a host of pamphlets, in which he used against his adversaries the weapons of satire, but too often also of invective. Against the Christian religion he maintained a constant and bitter struggle and published anonymously a large number of blasphemous writings.

Voltaire had reached the age of eighty-four, when at the request of his niece Madame Denis he determined to pay a visit to Paris, where he had not been for twenty-eight years. The reception he met with was nothing short of a triumph. The Academy, the Comédie Française, the citizens of every grade, from the nobility to the poorest artisans, vied with each other in doing honour to the greatest genius of the age. His bust was crowned with laurels in a crowded theatre; but so many emotions proved fatal to him; after a stay of three months in Paris he broke down under them and died at the house of the marquis de Villette on the quai des Théatins, which was thenceforth called quai Voltaire. The Parisian clergy refused to bury the corpse of a writer, who had made himself conspicuous by so many irreligious works, but the body was secretly taken to the abbey of Scellières in Champagne, and that so rapidly, that the bishop of Troyes' injunction not to bury it came too late. The man who did this last friendly office to the great poet was a clergyman and his nephew. In 1791 Voltaire's remains were taken up and transferred to the Panthéon (or church of Sainte-Geneviève), where his tomb is still to be seen.

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