The Portable Voltaire (Portable Library)

by Francois Voltaire

  Your philosophy has never been misled by the wild dreams which have confused heads otherwise strong enough. You have never been, in any sort, either an impostor or the dupe of impostors, and I count that as one of the most uncommon advantages of this brief life.

  TO M. DE FARGÈS33

  Ferney, February 25, 1776.

  Sir, since thou wouldest enter into judgment with thy servant, permit me to tell you that, if I could leave my bed (being now in my eighty-third year and the victim of many maladies), I should hasten to throw myself at the feet of the Controller General: and this is how I should prose on the subject of our states:

  Our little country is worse than Sologne and the miserable land of Champagne, and worse than the worst parts of Bordeaux.

  Notwithstanding our wretchedness, eight and twenty parishes sang eight and twenty Te Deums and shouted eight and twenty “Long live the Kings and Long live M. Turgots!” We shall cheerfully pay thirty thousand francs to the sixty sub-kings—being delighted to die of hunger, on condition of being delivered from seventy-eight rogues who made us die of rage.

  We agree with you that near Paris, Milan, and Naples the land can support all the taxes, because the land is productive: but it is not the same with us: in good years the yield is three to one, often two, sometimes nothing, and needs six oxen to plow it. Seeds are fruitful once only in ten years.

  You will ask what we live on: I answer, On black bread and potatoes, and principally on the sale of the wood which our peasants cut in the forests and take to Geneva. Even this means of subsistence constantly fails, for the forests are devastated here much more than in the rest of the kingdom.

  I may remark, in passing, that timber will soon be scarce in France, and that lately wood for firing is being bought in Prussia.

  As I want to be perfectly frank, I own that we make certain cheeses on some of the Jura mountains in June, July, and August.

  Our chief means of livelihood is at the end of our fingers. Our peasants, having nothing to live on, have been diligently working at watchmaking for the Genevese—the Genevese making thereat ten millions of francs per annum, and paying the workmen of the province of Gex exceedingly badly.

  An old man, who took it into his head to settle between Switzerland and Geneva, has established a watch manufactory in the province of Gex which pays the workmen of the country exceedingly well, which increases the population, and which, if protected by the Government, will supersede the business of wealthy Geneva: but this old man is not much longer for this world.

  We exist, then, solely through our industry. But I ask if this watchmaking, which will bring in ten thousand francs a year, which profits by salt much more than do the agriculturists, cannot help these agriculturists with the thirty thousand francs indemnity they must pay for their salt?

  I ask if these fat innkeepers, who make even more than the watchmakers, and consume more salt, ought not also to assist the unfortunate proprietors of a wretched soil?

  The big manufacturers, the hotellceepers, the butchers, the bakers, the tradesmen, know so well the miserable condition of the country and the favors of the ministry that they have all offered to help us with a small contribution.

  Either permit this contribution, or slightly reduce the exorbitant sum of thirty thousand livres which the sixty deputy-kings demand from us.

  One of these sub-kings named Basemont has just died, worth, it is said, eighteen millions [of francs]. Was there any need for that scamp to flay us alive in order that our skin might bring him five hundred livres?

  Here, sir, are a few of the grievances which I should lay at the feet of the Controller General: but I say nothing, I leave all to you. If you are moved by my reason ings you will deign to be so good as to present them: if they strike you as bad, you will whistle them down the wind.

  If I do wrong to plead thus feebly for my country, I am undoubtedly right in saying that I have the greatest esteem for your enlightenment, the greatest gratitude for your kindnesses, and that I am, with the sincerest respects, yours, sir, etc., etc.

  Translation by S. G. Tallentyre

  Selections from The English Letters

  The English Parliament

  THE members of the English Parliament are fond of comparing themselves, on all occasions, to the old Romans.

  Not long since, Mr. Shippen opened a speech in the House of Commons with these words: “The majesty of the people of England would be wounded.” The singularity of this expression occasioned a loud laugh; but this gentleman, far from being disconcerted, repeated the statement with a resolute tone of voice, and the laugh ceased. I must own, I see no resemblance between the majesty of the people of England and that of the Romans, and still less between the two governments. There is in London a senate, some of the members whereof are accused—doubtless very unjustly—of selling their votes, on certain occasions, as was done at Rome; and herein lies the whole resemblance. In other respects, the two nations appear to be quite opposite in character, with regard both to good and to evil The Romans never knew the terrible madness of religious wars. This abomination was reserved for devout preachers of patience and humility. Marius and Sulla, Caesar and Pompey, Antony and Augustus, did not draw their swords against one another to determine whether the flamen should wear his shirt over his robe, or his robe over his shirt; or whether the sacred chickens should both eat and drink, or eat only, in order to take the augury. The English have formerly destroyed one another, by sword or halter, for disputes of as trifling a nature. The Episcopalians and the Presbyterians quite turned the heads of these gloomy people for a time; but I believe they will hardly be so silly again, as they seem to have grown wiser at their own expense; and I do not perceive the least inclination in them to murder one another any more for mere syllogisms. But who can answer for the follies and prejudices of mankind?

  Here follows a more essential difference between Rome and England, which throws the advantage entirely on the side of the latter; namely, that the civil wars of Rome ended in slavery, and those of the English in liberty. The English are the only people on earth who have been able to prescribe limits to the power of kings by resisting them, and who, by a series of struggles, have at length established that wise and happy form of government where the prince is all-powerful to do good, and at the same time is restrained from committing evil; where the nobles are great without insolence or lordly power, and the people share in the government without confusion.

  The House of Lords and the House of Commons divide the legislative power under the king; but the Romans had no such balance. Their patricians and plebeians were continually at variance, without any intermediate power to reconcile them. The Roman senate, who were so unjustly, so criminally, formed as to exclude the plebeians from having any share in the affairs of government, could find no other artifice to effect their design than to employ them in foreign wars. They considered the people as wild beasts, whom they were to let loose upon their neighbors, for fear they should turn upon their masters. Thus the greatest defect in the government of the Romans was the means of making them conquerors; and, by being unhappy at home, they became masters of the world, till in the end their divisions sank them into slavery.

  The government of England, from its nature, can never attain to so exalted a pitch, nor can it ever have so fatal an end. It has not in view the splendid folly of making conquests, but only the prevention of their neighbors from conquering. The English are jealous not only of their own liberty, but even of that of other nations. The only reason of their quarrels with Louis XIV was on account of his ambition.

  It has not been without some difficulty that liberty has been established in England, and the idol of arbitrary power has been drowned in seas of blood; nevertheless, the English do not think they have purchased their laws at too high a price. Other nations have shed as much blood; but then the blood they spilled in defense of their liberty served only to enslave them the more.

  That which rises to a revolution in England is no more than
a sedition in other countries. A city in Spain, in Barbary, or in Turkey takes up arms in defense of its privileges, when immediately it is stormed by mercenary troops, it is punished by executioners, and the rest of the nation kiss their chains. The French think that the government of this island is more tempestuous than the seas which surround it; in which, indeed, they are not mistaken: but then this happens only when the king raises the storm by attempting to seize the ship, of which he is only the pilot. The civil wars of France lasted longer, were more cruel, and productive of greater evils, than those of England: but none of these civil wars had a wise and becoming liberty for their object.

  In the detestable times of Charles IX and Henry III the whole affair was only whether the people should be slaves to the Guises. As to the last war of Paris, it deserves only to be hooted at. It makes us think we see a crowd of schoolboys rising up in arms against their master, and afterward being whipped for it. Cardinal de Retz, who was witty and brave, but employed those talents badly; who was rebellious without cause, factious without design, and the head of a defenseless party, caballed for the sake of caballing, and seemed to foment the civil war for his own amusement and pastime. The parliament did not know what he aimed at, nor what he did not aim at. He levied troops, and the next instant cashiered them; he threatened; he begged pardon; he set a price on Cardinal Mazarin’s head, and afterward congratulated him in a public manner. Our civil wars under Charles VI were bloody and cruel, those of the League execrable, and that of the Frondeurs ridiculous.

  That for which the French chiefly reproach the English nation is the murder of King Charles I, a prince who merited a better fate, and whom his subjects treated just as he would have treated them, had he been powerful and at ease. After all, consider, on one side, Charles I defeated in a pitched battle, imprisoned, tried, sentenced to die in Westminster Hall, and then beheaded; and, on the other, the emperor Henry VII poisoned by his chaplain in receiving the sacrament; Henry III of France stabbed by a monk; thirty different plots contrived to assassinate Henry IV, several of them put into execution, and the last depriving that great monarch of his life. Weigh, I say, all these wicked attempts, and then judge.

  The English Constitution

  This mixture of different departments in the govemment of England; this harmony between the King, Lords, and Commons has not always subsisted. England was for a long time in a state of slavery, having, at different periods, worn the yoke of the Romans, Saxons, Danes, and, last of all, the Normans. William the Conqueror, in particular, governed them with a rod of iron. He disposed of the goods and lives of his new subjects like an eastern tyrant: he forbade, under pain of death, any Englishman to have either fire or light in his house after eight o’clock at night, whether it was that he intended by this edict to prevent their holding any assemblies in the night, or, by so whimsical a prohibition, had a mind to try to what a degree of abjectness men might be subjected by their fellow-creatures. It is, however, certain that the English had parliaments both before and since the time of William the Conqueror; they still boast of them, as if the assemblies which then bore the title of parliaments, and which were composed of the ecclesiastical tyrants and the barons, had been actually the guardians of their liberties, and the preservers of the public felicity.

  These barbarians, who poured like a torrent from the shores of the Baltic and overran all the east of Europe, brought the use of these estates or parliaments, which are the subject of so much noise, though very little known, along with them. It is true, kings were not then despotic, which is precisely the reason why the people groaned under so intolerable a yoke. The chiefs of those barbarians who had ravaged France, Italy, Spain, and England, made themselves monarchs. Their captains divided and shared with them the lands of the conquered: hence those margraves, lairds, barons, with all that gang of petty tyrants who have often disputed with sovereigns who were not firmly fixed on their thrones the spoils and plunder of the people. It was so many birds of prey fighting with an eagle, that they might suck the blood of the doves; and every nation, instead of having one good and indulgent master, which might have been their lot, had a hundred of those bloodsucking monsters. Shortly after, priestcraft began to mingle in civil matters; from earliest antiquity, the fate of the Gauls, Germans, and inhabitants of Great Britain depended on the Druids, and on the heads of their villages, an ancient kind of barons, though a less tyrannical sort than their predecessors. These Druids called themselves mediators between men and the Deity: it was they who made laws, excommunicated, and, lastly, punished criminals with death. The bishops succeeded by imperceptible degrees to their temporal authority in the Gothic and Vandal government. The popes put themselves at their head, and with their briefs, bulls, and their other more mischievous instruments, the monks, made kings tremble on their thrones, deposed or assassinated them at pleasure, and, in a word, drew to themselves all the treasure of Europe. The weak Ina, one of the tyrants of the Saxon heptarchy, was the first who, in a pilgrimage which he made to Rome, submitted to pay “Peter’s pence”—about a French crown, or half a crown sterling—for every house in his kingdom. The whole island presently followed this example; England became insensibly a province to the pope; and the holy father sent thither, from time to time, his legates to levy extraordinary impositions. At last John, surnamed Sans Terre, or Lackland, made a formal cession of his kingdom to his holiness, who had excommunicated him. The barons, who were by no means gainers by this proceeding, expelled this wretched prince, and set up in his place Louis VIII, father of St. Louis, king of France; but they were presently disgusted with this new monarch, and compelled him to cross the seas again.

  While the barons, with the bishops and popes, were tearing all England to pieces, where each of them would fain have ruled, the people, that is to say, the most numerous, the most useful, and even the most virtuous part of mankind, composed of those who addict themselves to the study of the laws and of the sciences, of merchants, mechanics, and, in a word, of laborers, that first and most despised of all professions; the people, I say, were considered by them as animals of a nature inferior to the rest of the human species. The Commons were then far from enjoying the least share in the government; they were then villeins or slaves, whose labor, and even whose blood, was the property of their masters, who called themselves the nobility. Far the greatest part of the human species were in Europe—as they still are in several parts of the world—the slaves of some lord, and at best but a kind of cattle, which they bought and sold with their lands. It was the work of ages to render justice to humanity, and to find out what a horrible thing it was, that the many should sow while a few did reap: and is it not the greatest happiness for the French, that the authority of those petty tyrants has been extinguished by the lawful authority of our sovereign, and in England by that of the king and nation conjointly?

  Happily, in those shocks which the quarrels of kings and great men gave to empires, the chains of nations have been relaxed more or less. Liberty in England has arisen from the quarrels of tyrants. The barons forced John Sans Terre and Henry III to grant that famous charter, the principal scope of which was in fact to make kings dependent on the lords; but, at the same time, the rest of the nation were favored, that they might side with their pretended protectors. This great charter, which is looked upon as the palladium and the consecrated fountain of the public liberty, is itself a proof how little that liberty was understood: the very title shows beyond all doubt that the king thought himself absolute, de jure; and that the barons, and even the clergy, forced him to relinquish this pretended right, only because they were stronger than he. It begins in this manner: “We, of our free will, grant the following privileges to the archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and barons of our kingdom,” etc. In the articles of this charter there is not one word said of the House of Commons; a proof that no such house then existed; or, if it did, that its power was next to nothing. In this the free men of England are specined—a melancholy proof that there were then some who were
not so. We see, by the thirty-second article, that those pretended free men owed their lords certain servitude. Such a liberty as this smelled very rank of slavery. By the twenty-first article, the king ordains, that from henceforth officers shall be restrained from forcibly seizing the horses and carriages of free men, except on paying for the same. This regulation was considered by the people as real liberty, because it destroyed a most intolerable kind of tyranny. Henry VII, that fortunate conqueror and politician, who pretended to cherish the barons, whom he both feared and hated, bethought himself of the project of alienating their lands. By this means the villeins, who afterward acquired property by their industry, bought the castles of the great lords, who had ruined themselves by theft extravagance; and by degrees nearly all the estates in the kingdom changed masters.

  The House of Commons daily became more powerful; the families of the ancient peerage became extinct in time; and as, in the rigor of the law, there is no other nobility in England besides the peers, the whole order would have been annihilated had not the kings created new barons from time to time; and this expedient preserved the body of the peers they had formerly so much dreaded, in order to oppose the House of Commons, now grown too powerful. All the new peers, who form the upper house, receive nothing besides their titles from the crown; scarcely any of them possessing the lands from which those titles are derived. The duke of Dorset, for example, is one of them, though he possesses not a foot of land in Dorsetshire; another may be earl of a village, who hardly knows in what quarter of the island such a village lies. They have only a certain power in parliament, and nowhere out of it, which, with some few privileges, is all they enjoy.