brilliant and aggressive, that in proportion to the many who admired would be the many who disliked him; while his writings had already irritated the sensitive suspicion of the clergy. But, besides this kind of animosity, there was another that was full of mischief—the jealousy which genius and success inspire in the unsuccessful. An author of our day can safely despise the rancours thus excited, which, indeed, rarely take the form of injurious or combined attack; but they were very formidable when they could find free vent in systematic misrepresentation of, and libels upon, any eminent object of envy who lacked powerful protectors, or had powerful ill-wishers; and all his life, Voltaire was beset by bravoes of the press—the Grub Street of Paris—who, sometimes set on by others, sometimes stabbing on their own account, made it their occupation, without having any personal quarrel to avenge, to malign him.
With his recollection of the Bastille still fresh, he thought it expedient to withdraw quietly to Rouen, causing a report to spread that he was returning to England. He had an abundance of literary projects to occupy him. The tragedies of the "Death of Cæsar," "Eryphile," and "Zaire;" the 'History of Charles XII.;' a satirical poem, the "Temple of Taste;" another poem, the "Temple of Friendship;" and the opera of "Samson,"—were the product of about two years' work at this time, besides the preparation for the press of his "Letters on the English," originally written from England to his friend Thiriot.
He had been accustomed to translate passages from the best English poets into verse for the benefit of his friends. Among these pieces was the scene between
