Voltaire/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
EARLY SOCIAL AND LITERARY LIFE.
It was at this time he carried into effect a design which his recent misfortunes had inspired, and abandoning the name of Arouet, took that of Voltaire, thus adding a new adjective, voltairien, to the French language. Why he chose that particular name is an enigma not yet solved. One solution is, that it was the anagram of Arouet l. j. (le jeune); but, besides being so far-fetched, it is burthened with the improbability that he ever did so style himself. The theory that he adopted the name of a small estate in his mother's family would be much more plausible but for the circumstance that it could hardly have remained doubtful, yet has never been established, that there ever was such a place. Such changes of name were not uncommon, of which there are two notable examples—Molière's real name was Poquelin, and Montesquieu's was Secondat.
He tells us that he was at this time very poor, and lived, when left to his own resources, very frugally, but happily. Often he was not left to his own resources, for he tells a correspondent of those days that he passes his life from country house to country house. It was in an interval between these visits, however, that he formed the second of the attachments before adverted to. Suzanne de Livry was a young girl who, desirous of being an actress, had sought the author of the successful tragedy in the hope of getting some good advice. Of this, in a professional sense, he gave her plenty, and instruction also; and in the course of the lessons, fell violently in love with his pupil, who appeared no less ardently to return the passion. It was for her his portrait was painted by Largillière, of which mention has been made. Possibly he might have married her, had she not run away with his particular friend, M. de Genonville. Voltaire was at first furious: he pursued the treacherous pair, but not overtaking them, had time to forgive them, though his despair made him seriously ill. He even wrote to De Genonville a poetical epistle, in which, while reproaching him, he expresses all his former attachment for him. This disloyal associate died a few years afterwards: by that time Suzanne had joined a company of strolling players, who extended their circuit as far as England. Their venture was unsuccessful, and Mademoiselle de Livry was living in great privation, when the Marquis de Gouvernet saw and fell in love with her. He proposed marriage, but Suzanne magnanimously refused him, on the score that she was penniless. Upon this he made her buy a lottery-ticket: it turned up a prize of several thousand pounds (supplied by the gallant lover, not by the lottery), and she became the Marquise de Gouvernet. This marriage did not take place till several years after the episode with Voltaire. She became a great lady, and took out of pawn Voltaire's portrait, which was hung up in the Marquis's hotel, apparently as a family picture.
The eight years succeeding the performance of "Œdipus," though no doubt very profitably employed by Voltaire, were the least productive of his literary life. In 1720 he produced another tragedy—"Artémise;" next year a third—"Mariamne;" and, in 1725, his first and best comedy—"L'Indiscret." But it is remarkable that while his tragedies kept the stage so long, and have been held in so high esteem as works of art, this pre-eminently witty man of the world and skilful writer did not succeed in comedy. His most noticeable work of this period is a poem, "Le Pour et le Contre; ou, Epître à Uranie." The nymph to whom it was addressed was a Madame de Rupelmonde, his companion in a journey to Brussels. She had spiritual doubts (which she finally settled, St Simon says, by going into a convent), and she appealed to Voltaire to tell her what she ought to believe in. He shaped his reply into verse, first stating how the acts of the Deity of the Old Testament and the life of the Messiah of the New seemed to him inconsistent with the character of eternal powers; then he appeals to the Deity, as he imagines Him to be, "to listen to a voice sad and sincere"—"the insensate blasphemes Thee," he says, "while I—I revere Thee… Believe, Uranie, that the everlasting wisdom of the Most High has graven in the depths of thy heart a natural religion. Know that before His throne, in all times, in all places, the heart of the just man is precious; know that a humble bonze, a benevolent dervish, will find grace in His eye sooner than a merciless Jansenist or an ambitious pontiff. What matters the title under which we implore Him? He accepts all homage, but none can reflect honour on Him. The Almighty has no need of our officious care: if it is possible to offend Him, only unjust acts can do it. He will judge us by our virtues, and not by our sacrifices."
At Brussels, on this occasion, he met with a French poet, Jean Baptiste Rousseau,[1] with whom he had had some friendly correspondence; but their personal intercourse was not so happy, and produced a permanent hostility. Rousseau, in the pride of a poet's heart at meeting an appreciative listener, read to him a poem he had just finished, an "Ode to Posterity." Voltaire expressed a doubt "whether it would reach its address." Having delivered himself of this conciliatory witticism, he, being also actuated by the pride of a poet rather than by the prudence of a man of the world, chose that fortunate moment to recite his "Epistle to Uranie" to the injured bard. Rousseau, despising the fact that his own writings and his own life were both scandalous, begged to know why Voltaire had chosen him for the confidant of such impious views; and upon these uncomfortable terms the minstrels parted.