The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1855-05-16
SfEisttlIanIlellpgas. Illlg
VOLTAIRE.
BY THOMAS B. MAcAunEY.


by one of its most illustrious inmates, the
Palace of Alcina. At the first glance il
seemed to be delightful spot, where every
intellectual and physical enjoyment awaited
the happy adventurer. Every newcomer
was received with eager hospitality, intoxi-
Gated with fiattery, encouraged to expect
prosperity and greatness. 1t was in vain
that long succession Of favorites who had
entered that abode with delight and hope
and who, after short term of delusive hap
piness, had been doomed to expiate their
folly by years of wretchedness and degra-
ton, raised their voices to warn the aspir-
ant who approached the charmed threshold.
Some had wisdom enough to discover the
truth early. and spirit enough to fly without
looking back; others fingered on to cheer
less and unhonored old age. We have no
Hesitation in saying that the poorest author
Of that time in London, sleeping on bulk,
dining in cellar, with cravat of paper,
and skewer for a shirt-pin, was happier
man than any of the literary inmates OF
Fredricks court.
But of all who entered the enchanted gar
den the inebriaticn of delight, and quilted it
in the agonies Of rage and shame, the most re-
markable was Voltaire. Many circumstances
had made him desirous of finding a home at
distance from his country. His fame had
raised him up enemies. His sensibillty
gave them formidable advantage over him.
They were, indeed, contemplate assailants.
Ofall that they wrote nothing has survived,
except what he has preserved But the
constitution of his mind resembled the con-
stitution of those bodies in which the slight
est scratch of a bramble or the sting of a
gnat never fails to tester. Though his repu-
tation was rather raised than lowered by
the abuse of such writers as Freron and Des
ontaines-through the vengeance which
he took on Freron and Des Fontaines was
such that branding, scourging, pillorying
would have been trifle to it--there is rea-
son to believe that they gave him far more
pain than he ever gave them though. he en-
joyed, during his own lifetime, the reputa-
tion ofa classic-though he was extrolled
by his contemporaries above all poets, phil.
osophers and historians-though his works
were read with as much delight at Moscow
and Westminster, at Florence and Stock.
holm, as Paris itself, yet he was tortured by
that festless jealously which seem to belong
only to minds burning with the love of fame,
and yet conscious of impotence. To men
of letters who could, by no possibility, be
his revals, he was, if they behaved we'll to
him not merely just, not merely kind not
merely courteous, but often hearty friend
munifcent benefdctor. But to every one
who rose to a celebriety approaching his
own, he became either disgusted or an
avowed enemy. He slyly deprecated Mon
tesquien and Button. He publicly, and
with violent outrage, made war on Jean
Jacques Rousseau. Nor had he the art of
hiding his feelings under the semblance
of good nature or of contempt. With all
his great talents, and all his long experience
in the world, he had no more self-com-
niand than a petted child or a hysterical
woman. Whenever he was mortified, he
exhausted the whole rhetoric of sorrow and
anger to express his modification. His
torrents of bitter words; his stamping and
cursihg; his grimaces and his tears of rage,
were rich feast to those object natures
whose delight is in the agonies of powerful
spirits and In the abasement of immortal
names. These creatures had now found
a way of calling to the very quick In
6he walk, at least, it had been admitted by
envy itself that he was without living
Since Racine had been laid
among the great men whose ashes make
the holy precinct of Port Royal holier, no
tragic poet had appeared who could contest
the palm with the author Of Azsire, of Zaire
and Merope. At length rival was annonc-
ed, Old Crebillon who, may years before,
had obtained some theatrical success, and
who had long been forgotten, came forth in
his garret in one of the meanest lanes, near
the Rue st. Antoine, and was welcomed by
the acclamations of envious men of letters
and capricious populace. A thing called
Casaline, which he had written in his retire
ment, was acted with bouhdless applause.
Of this execrable piece it is sufficient to say
that the plot turns on love affair carried
On in all forms ofScudery, between Cataline,
whose confdante is Prster Lentulus, and
Tullia, the daughter of Cicero. Then thea
ter resounded with accfamations. The
king pensioned the successful poet, and the
Warehouses; pronounced that Voltaire was
> clever man, but that the real tragic in
spiration, the celestial fire which glowed in
and Racine, was to be found in
alone. n M
The blow went to Voltaire's heart. Had
and foftitude been in proportion
to the fetility of bis genius, and to the bril-.
fancy. of his wit, he would have seen that it
was out Of the power Of oil the. puffers and
dstractors In Europe to put Cdtaliae above
Zaire; but he had none of the magnaimous
patience with which Milton and Bently left
their clans to the unerring judgment Of
time. He eagerly engaged in an undigni-
fled competition with Crebillon, and pro-