1807.] 
thefe words; no doubt he thought to 
flatter me: “ Sir, (laid he,) your works 
will remain to all future times the f{tand- 
ard of tafte, of philofophy, of obfcenity, 
and of blafphemy.” ~It is. pretty cer- 
tain, that if my writings had been as 
little known as thofe of the reverend 
Father Hayer, or the advocate M. Soret, 
T could not have corrupted all mankind. 
J ought now to inform you, that [ fhall 
not confine myfelf to the order of events, 
I have forgotten dates, and I had always 
an infuperable averfion to chronological 
ates. T fhall endeavour to be con- 
cite, plain, and exact; but being unac- 
cultomed to adapt my ftyle furictly to the 
occafion, I may chance to fly out into 
profunenefs of expreifion. The impe- 
tuofity of my imagination will fometimes 
hurry me away, in {pite of all my efforts 
to refiit it. 
A Friend.—My good Sir, do not fuffer 
yourfelf to be tied down to rules and re- 
gulations, All will be well, provided 
you are, as you promife us to be, inte- 
refiing, ingen uous, and impartial. 
Voltaire.—W ell then, to make a be- 
ginning.—-I muft premife, my friends, 
that a {pint of independence was a very. 
early paflion with me, as was a tafte or 
turn for poetry. At the age of ten years 
I compofed fome very pretty little pieces 
in verie ; I could repeat the beft pieces 
of Corneille, and had all La Fontame’s 
tales by heart. 1 was fent to college, 
where I made a rapid progrefs in fever al 
branches of knowledge. My fondnefs 
for philofophy difeovered itfelf very early ; 
I openly ridiculed many of the tenets of 
religion, and in fome of my boyifh pro- 
duétions had made a difplay of what was 
then deemed impiety. One of the pro- 
feflors came up to me one day, and feiz- 
ing me by oe collar in an emotion of 
zealous rage, cried out, in a prophetic 
firain, “ You little fcoundrel ! you will 
be certainly at the head of the free- 
thinkers :” I hailed the prophecy ; for it 
flaitered my vanity not alittle; and I 
think I have fulfilled it. 
My firit work after I left college was 
au ode, which I wrote with a reliance 
that it would obtain the French Acade- 
my’s prize, It was a good one ; and for 
that reafon, I fappofe, was not “crowned 
with the fuccefs [looked for. I followed 
it with an epigram, in which the French 
Academy was expofed to ridicule. I was 
difgufted with the Academy, and refolv- 
ed to have no connexion withit. I ra- 
ther gave too much into fatire, and I 
may fay, without flattering mylfeli, that I 
‘hiftory. 
Foltaire’s Literary Confeffions. 249 
had merit in-that kind of compofition, 
About this time my Epiitle to Urania was 
publithed: the publication of it was, 
however, unknown to me. In this per- 
formance is allowed to be an excellent 
colouring, great harmony, and corre¢t- 
nets; with fome fire, but too much 
bolduefs. I had put the name of the 
Abbé Chaulieu to it; but I honetily con- 
fefs I fhould have been very forry if any 
one had thought that he wrote it. You 
have, undoubtedly, read my fatirical 
poem upon Fleuri’s Ecclefiattical Hiftory. 
Whatever people may fay, this writer is 
neither philofopher nor painter. His 
w eons is crammed with miracles and pue- 
ities; his hiftory of Conftantine is an 
enigma which I could never make out, 
any more that I could comprehend an 
infinite number of other relations in that 
I could never reconcile the 
extraordinary praifes which this author, 
who is always very moderate and jult, 
has lavifhed on a prince whofe whole 
life is made up of vices. Murderer of his 
wife and his wife’s father ; wholly refioned 
to eifeminate pleafures, with a patton 
for pomp and-fhew ; ee pone, fuper- 
{titious ;—fuch is his character: in ‘the 
light it appears to me. The ftory- of his 
wife Faufta and his fon Crifpus, would 
be an excellent fubject for tragedy; but 
it would be another tragedy of Pedra 
under different names. His conteft with 
Maximianus Herculius, and his excefiive 
ingratitude to him, has furnifhed Thomas 
Corneille with the fubject of a tragedy ; 
and Thomas has modelled it in his owa 
manner. Fauita is introduced in this 
picte betwixt her hufband and father, 
and fome tender fcenes are worked up. 
The plot is very intricate; 1t is written la 
the tafte of Camma and Timocrates, 
Tt had good fuccefs whi 1t was firit pro- 
duced, but it is now forgotten; as are 
almoft all the pieces of Thomas Corneille. 
This will always be the cafe when the 
plot is too much perplexed; becaufe in 
fuch pieces the paifions have not room 
tod Mifpolc ry themfelves: befides, Corueille’s 
vertes are weak; and, in thort, his plays 
wait that energy sabieh can only hand 
own any performan ice whatever, whe-~ 
ther it be in profe or yerfe, to pote: ity. 
Mad. Denys.—My dear uncle, perinit 
me to obferve to you, that you have 
run away from the fubjeét of your dite 
courfe. 
Volt.—Very “right, niece. At my age 
digreffions are rather more pardonable 
than ftarts of paifen. But let me go on 
with iy coutellions; aad let me lirive to 
be 
