"You are right," said I, "kindly send Le Duc to me."

Next morning I had a letter from Geneva. It came from my Epicurean
syndic, who had presented M. de Voltaire with my translation of his play,
with an exceedingly polite letter from me, in which I begged his pardon
for having taken the liberty of travestying his fine French prose in
Italian. The syndic told me plainly that M. de Voltaire had pronounced my
translation to be a bad one.

My self-esteem was so wounded by this, and by his impoliteness in not
answering my letter, with which he could certainly find no fault,
whatever his criticism of my translation might be, that I became the
sworn enemy of the great Voltaire. I have censured him in all the works I
have published, thinking that in wronging him I was avenging myself, to
such an extent did passion blind me. At the present time I feel that even
if my works survive, these feeble stings of mine can hurt nobody but
myself. Posterity will class me amongst the Zoiluses whose own impotence
made them attack this great man to whom civilization and human happiness
owe so much. The only crime that can truthfully be alleged against
Voltaire is his attacks on religion. If he had been a true philosopher he
would never have spoken on such matters, for, even if his attacks were
based on truth, religion is necessary to morality, without which there
can be no happiness.




CHAPTER V