THERE is, perhaps, in the whole range of historical inquiry, no subject more important, at least, more interesting to the literary man of modern days, than the life and age of Voltaire. Aside from the intrinsic merits and demerits in the character of this man, we are met at the first step of our investigations by a circumstance as remarkable for its nature as for the novelty of its occurrence, and unparalleled, we venture to assert, in the history of any other personage, the multitude of conflicting opinions which have been zealously circulated by friend or foe, ever since he began to exert an influence on the feelings, habits, and interests of mankind. Already, in his lifetime, had those streamlets of public sentiment begun to form their fountain-head, which were to increase through succeeding ages into the mighty current of general approval or condemnation; at this early period were apparent those differences of judgment which surrounded him, with the several classes of obedient worshipers, admirers, opponents, or rancorous backbiters.

Nor does this distinction cease when mankind has begun to deal with his memory. Here, also, the same thorough dissection is prac ticed, and, as before, the same contrariety of conclusions arrived at. Unlike the treatment which most historical personages receive at the hands of posterity, no universal spirit of complacency or detestation is observed towards his memory. Every one desirous of an acquaintance with his character seems to have betaken himself to a temporary seclusion, and finally to have come forth from his retirement with a conclusion of his own, independent of, and oftentimes completely at variance with, that of his nearest neighbor. And still more curious than all this, are the several particular opinions entertained by those who, in common with each other, admire or dislike his general charWe refer now, not to the lovers of the poet, historian, or wit Voltaire, but to the eulogists of the author of the poem Zayre, as distinguished from the author of Henriade; to the admirers of the master spirit of the Philosophical Dictionary, as opposed to that of the Essay on the Manners of Nations;" or yet farther, to the encomiasts

acter.

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of the Philanthropist, devoting his wealth and energies to the alleviation of the wants of his suffering fellow-beings, as contrasted with the powerful capitalist enriching himself by sagacious, well-conducted moneyed operations. Upon all these phases of character, biographers and critics have, directly or indirectly, by flattery or severity of comment, joined issue with each other, and after tugging at their labors long and most unmercifully, have arrived at no other apparent result than that of confirming themselves in their former convictions.

In some instances, those who eulogize his religious, or rather antireligious principles, found their conclusions upon totally different grounds from others of their same party. Again, many who seem to take pride in contributing their efforts to his immortality as a man of genius, lavish their praises upon productions of his mind, which others, equally as ardent enthusiasts, denominate common-place, nay, almost worthless. An eminent modern critic, for instance, speaks of "the Diatribé of Doctor Akakia" as impossible to be read, even at this late day, without making "one laugh till he cries," while a contemporary critic, fully as celebrated, characterizes the book as liable to injure the literary reputation of its author, rather than that of the object of its ridicule. Historians, too, have been chided for their partiality to their favorite, by writers attached in the same degree to his memory. In short, every minute portion of his life, character, and writings, has been differently commented upon by those who, however, unite in the same undisguised devotion or inveterate hostility to his general influence.

All this is strange, very strange, and can, perhaps, be only accounted for, by at least allowing that for good or evil he was an extraordinary man, of whose nature power and address were the elemental traits; that in every effort which he made for the propagation of his peculiar principles, there was a language appealing strongly to the human heart, which, by enlisting sympathy or exciting fears, elicited admiration or provoked hostility. There were striking qualities existent somewhere, capable of vast influence upon the human mind, and fully justifying the decision of friends and foes, who place his name high on the list of master-minds.

This is not the proper place for an extended notice of the life and writings of Voltaire. The accomplishment of a design requiring so great labor and delicacy in its treatment, we would not attempt, were we even possessed of the ability and desire. A few, perhaps somewhat unconnected remarks, upon the most prominent traits of his moral and intellectual character, upon those which have induced the most decisive criticisms, is all we have in view.

One suggestion, even at first sight, cannot escape us, the peculiar adaptation of the times and customs under which Voltaire lived, to the part which he was to act in life. The reign of Louis XIV was just closing, when Voltaire was forming his first impressions in religious, political, literary, and social matters. The reign of that monarch was commenced, and for a short time sustained, in real power and glory. French genius and French arms had won, oftentimes at

the sad cost of their pupils, a deservedly high reputation throughout Europe. The government of state affairs was entrusted to a prime minister of acknowledged sagacity and adroitness; a splendid array of military talent successfully asserted the rights of France among foreign nations; and more than all else, a prince was upon the throne, the favorite of his subjects, affable but courtly in his manners, stern, yet not bigoted. This state of affairs, however, was of short duration, and it were difficult to expect otherwise. The court of Louis degenerated from the bands of sagacious statesmen and wise counselors, into a fashionable circle of beautiful and ambitious women; and the power which had formerly been wielded by masterly skill for patriotic purposes, passed under the management of wily priests and intriguing female favorites. The arena which had been filled by daring masculine spirits, was turned into the cabaling saloon, whose chief actors were brainless lovers and effeminate women, whose armor was spiced compliments and melting glances. One mistress after another absorbed the attention of the king, and long after the true efficiency of royalty had passed away, there remained the magnificent pomp and imposing grandeur of imbecility.

We can easily conceive that for the display of powers like those of Voltaire, this state of affairs was peculiarly fit, in two respects, as an incentive to himself, and as affording a strong probability of a favorable reception to his writings. To a mind thus constituted, bold and inquisitive, in the ineffectual attempts made to remedy, by external show and magnificence, the deficiency of true strength and glory, and in the abuses practiced in the name of religion by crafty, unprincipled priests, in whose hands the holy faith was made a covering for the enactment of all sorts of ridiculous farces, there would very reasonably be suggested skepticism upon most of the pretended realities of life-realities which to his sad experience had fully proved themselves empty, worthless vanities.

Again, pleasure may cloy, but it cannot satisfy the appetite; and pleasure, in its attraction and fullness, had been followed at the royal court. By a series of at least questionable modes of enjoying life, the government would fain seal oblivion among its subjects to disgrace abroad and misery at home. The race had at last been run, and, as it would appear, no further possibility of innovation or improvement remained. There was an utter want of that commodity so eagerly coveted by that restless, fickle people-excitement-novelty. Here, then, was a demand for such an entertainment as a genius like Voltaire could offer. The market was empty or filled with unsaleable articles, and it is not, therefore, remarkable that his wares, so novel, and yet so intrinsically valuable, should meet with a ready disposal.

With the death of Louis XIV passed away even the shadow of glory with which royalty had still been dimly enveloped. A change, if possible for the worse, was made, and imbecility incorporated itself into every branch of government.

At such a felicitous conjuncture of circumstances, at a period so

peculiarly befitting, and, as it were, inviting the originality and spirit of such a person, did Voltaire appear, and assiduously employ a life, remarkable for its longevity and wonderfully sustained energies, in uniting the reputation of a poet and metaphysician, of a historian and wit, of a philosopher and man of pleasure. Nor in any of these respects can he be said to have attained mere mediocrity. In the province of poetry he contests the palm with Corneille and Racine, and has left not a few pieces which can be forgotten only with the French language. His sparkling wit and sharp-toned ridicule circulated with wonderful popularity throughout all Europe; the one, by its brilliant repartee and humorous spicedness, provoking the mirth of monarchs and princes; the other, by its caustic irony and burning satire, torturing like lash the objects of its wrath. And still further, to put, as it would seem, an appropriate crowning to this medley of astonishing gifts, he aspired to the reputation of a man of pleasure and popular attainments. In this respect history affords not his parallel. Some few instances are doubtless on record of those who, in addition to vast acquaintance with contemporary customs, have excelled in branches requiring seclusion and deep thought. But even these, although confined to one sphere of intellectual labor, must here yield to this favorite of society. From a party of pleasure, wherein wit and conviviality had reigned till midnight, he would retire to his study and devote the remainder of the night to metaphysical inquiry and historical researches. With one hand he would dispense gifts to the needy poor, while holding in the other an unfinished tragedy. At a time when his contemporary literati in England were hiding themselves in rickety garrets from the sight of importunate creditors, or enjoying themselves in a private party upon the humblest of fare, he, their superior in almost every other respect, was enjoying the munificence of princes.

The character which he seems to have formed in beardless youth, and which is best illustrated by a bon-mot of his own, when sitting down to a supper with royal company, that "here we are all poets or princes," he maintained throughout life, ever the same companionable associate, the fascinating wit, the leading spirit of fashionable society. Of his reasonable claim to all the qualities here enumerated, there seems to be but little dispute. About his merits as a philosopher, however, there is not equal unanimity of sentiment. Many, and those too of undoubted judgment, are very skeptical upon this point, and very disposed to deny the proud distinction which his admirers set up for him. In their opinion, there are perceptible in his intellectual character very few of those creative, positive powers, which are the distinguishing traits of a philosophical mind. The deep, searching caste of intellect, the thoughtful, laborious spirit, are nowhere discoverable; but rather the piercing first glance, which satisfies its possessor at the instant. Nor do they stop here. The metaphysician is transformed into a satirist, the philosopher into a literary brigand. His theories are nonentities, supported by argumentative ridicule.

We cannot consider this criticism as wholly just, or at least as