Letters on England

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LETTERS ON ENGLAND
by Voltaire


INTRODUCTION


Francois Marie Arouet, who called himself Voltaire, was the son of
Francois Arouet of Poitou, who lived in Paris, had given up his office of
notary two years before the birth of this his third son, and obtained
some years afterwards a treasurer's office in the Chambre des Comptes.
Voltaire was born in the year 1694. He lived until within ten or eleven
years of the outbreak of the Great French Revolution, and was a chief
leader in the movement of thought that preceded the Revolution. Though
he lived to his eighty-fourth year, Voltaire was born with a weak body.
His brother Armand, eight years his senior, became a Jansenist. Voltaire
when ten years old was placed with the Jesuits in the College Louis-le-
Grand. There he was taught during seven years, and his genius was
encouraged in its bent for literature; skill in speaking and in writing
being especially fostered in the system of education which the Jesuits
had planned to produce capable men who by voice and pen could give a
reason for the faith they held. Verses written for an invalid soldier at
the age of eleven won for young Voltaire the friendship of Ninon
l'Enclos, who encouraged him to go on writing verses. She died soon
afterwards, and remembered him with a legacy of two thousand livres for
purchase of books. He wrote in his lively school-days a tragedy that
afterwards he burnt. At the age of seventeen he left the College Louis-
le-Grand, where he said afterwards that he had been taught nothing but
Latin and the Stupidities. He was then sent to the law schools, and saw
life in Paris as a gay young poet who, with all his brilliant liveliness,
had an aptitude for looking on the tragic side of things, and one of
whose first poems was an "Ode on the Misfortunes of Life." His mother
died when he was twenty. Voltaire's father thought him a fool for his
versifying, and attached him as secretary to the Marquis of Chateauneuf;
when he went as ambassador to the Hague. In December, 1713, he was
dismissed for his irregularities. In Paris his unsteadiness and his
addiction to literature caused his father to rejoice in getting him
housed in a country chateau with M. de Caumartin. M. de Caumartin's
father talked with such enthusiasm of Henri IV. and Sully that Voltaire
planned the writing of what became his _Henriade_, and his "History of
the Age of Louis XIV.," who died on the 1st of September, 1715.

Under the regency that followed, Voltaire got into trouble again and
again through the sharpness of his pen, and at last, accused of verse
that satirised the Regent, he was locked up--on the 17th of May, 1717--in
the Bastille. There he wrote the first two books of his _Henriade_, and
finished a play on OEdipus, which he had begun at the age of eighteen. He
did not obtain full liberty until the 12th of April, 1718, and it was at
this time--with a clearly formed design to associate the name he took
with work of high attempt in literature--that Francois Marie Arouet, aged
twenty-four, first called himself Voltaire.

Voltaire's _OEdipe_ was played with success in November, 1718. A few
months later he was again banished from Paris, and finished the
_Henriade_ in his retirement, as well as another play, _Artemise_, that
was acted in February, 1720. Other plays followed. In December, 1721,
Voltaire visited Lord Bolingbroke, who was then an exile from England, at
the Chateau of La Source. There was now constant literary activity. From
July to October, 1722, Voltaire visited Holland with Madame de
Rupelmonde. After a serious attack of small-pox in November, 1723,
Voltaire was active as a poet about the Court. He was then in receipt of
a pension of two thousand livres from the king, and had inherited more
than twice as much by the death of his father in January, 1722. But in
December, 1725, a quarrel, fastened upon him by the Chevalier de Rohan,
who had him waylaid and beaten, caused him to send a challenge. For this
he was arrested and lodged once more, in April, 1726, in the Bastille.
There he was detained a month; and his first act when he was released was
to ask for a passport to England.

Voltaire left France, reached London in August, 1726, went as guest to
the house of a rich merchant at Wandsworth, and remained three years in
this country, from the age of thirty-two to the age of thirty-five. He
was here when George I. died, and George II. became king. He published
here his _Henriade_. He wrote here his "History of Charles XII." He
read "Gulliver's Travels" as a new book, and might have been present at
the first night of _The Beggar's Opera_. He was here whet Sir Isaac
Newton died.

In 1731 he published at Rouen the _Lettres sur les Anglais_, which
appeared in England in 1733 in the volume from which they are here
reprinted.

H.M.




LETTERS ON ENGLAND


LETTER I.--ON THE QUAKERS


I was of opinion that the doctrine and history of so extraordinary a
people were worthy the attention of the curious. To acquaint myself with
them I made a visit to one of the most eminent Quakers in England, who,
after having traded thirty years, had the wisdom to prescribe limits to
his fortune and to his desires, and was settled in a little solitude not
far from London. Being come into it, I perceived a small but regularly
built house, vastly neat, but without the least pomp of furniture. The
Quaker who owned it was a hale, ruddy-complexioned old man, who had never
been afflicted with sickness because he had always been insensible to
passions, and a perfect stranger to intemperance. I never in my life saw
a more noble or a more engaging aspect than his. He was dressed like
those of his persuasion, in a plain coat without pleats in the sides, or
buttons on the pockets and sleeves; and had on a beaver, the brims of
which were horizontal like those of our clergy. He did not uncover
himself when I appeared, and advanced towards me without once stooping
his body; but there appeared more politeness in the open, humane air of
his countenance, than in the custom of drawing one leg behind the other,
and taking that from the head which is made to cover it. "Friend," says
he to me, "I perceive thou art a stranger, but if I can do anything for
thee, only tell me." "Sir," said I to him, bending forwards and
advancing, as is usual with us, one leg towards him, "I flatter myself
that my just curiosity will not give you the least offence, and that
you'll do me the honour to inform me of the particulars of your
religion." "The people of thy country," replied the Quaker, "are too
full of their bows and compliments, but I never yet met with one of them
who had so much curiosity as thyself. Come in, and let us first dine
together." I still continued to make some very unseasonable ceremonies,
it not being easy to disengage one's self at once from habits we have
been long used to; and after taking part in a frugal meal, which began
and ended with a prayer to God, I began to question my courteous host. I
opened with that which good Catholics have more than once made to
Huguenots. "My dear sir," said I, "were you ever baptised?" "I never
was," replied the Quaker, "nor any of my brethren." "Zounds!" say I to
him, "you are not Christians, then." "Friend," replies the old man in a
soft tone of voice, "swear not; we are Christians, and endeavour to be
good Christians, but we are not of opinion that the sprinkling water on a
child's head makes him a Christian." "Heavens!" say I, shocked at his
impiety, "you have then forgot that Christ was baptised by St. John."
"Friend," replies the mild Quaker once again, "swear not; Christ indeed
was baptised by John, but He himself never baptised anyone. We are the
disciples of Christ, not of John." I pitied very much the sincerity of
my worthy Quaker, and was absolutely for forcing him to get himself
christened. "Were that all," replied he very gravely, "we would submit
cheerfully to baptism, purely in compliance with thy weakness, for we
don't condemn any person who uses it; but then we think that those who
profess a religion of so holy, so spiritual a nature as that of Christ,
ought to abstain to the utmost of their power from the Jewish
ceremonies." "O unaccountable!" say I: "what! baptism a Jewish
ceremony?" "Yes, my friend," says he, "so truly Jewish, that a great
many Jews use the baptism of John to this day. Look into ancient
authors, and thou wilt find that John only revived this practice; and
that it had been used by the Hebrews, long before his time, in like
manner as the Mahometans imitated the Ishmaelites in their pilgrimages to
Mecca. Jesus indeed submitted to the baptism of John, as He had suffered
Himself to be circumcised; but circumcision and the washing with water
ought to be abolished by the baptism of Christ, that baptism of the
Spirit, that ablution of the soul, which is the salvation of mankind.
Thus the forerunner said, 'I indeed baptise you with water unto
repentance; but He that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I
am not worthy to bear: he shall baptise you with the Holy Ghost and with
fire.' Likewise Paul, the great apostle of the Gentiles, writes as
follows to the Corinthians, 'Christ sent me not to baptise, but to preach
the Gospel;' and indeed Paul never baptised but two persons with water,
and that very much against his inclinations. He circumcised his disciple
Timothy, and the other disciples likewise circumcised all who were
willing to submit to that carnal ordinance. But art thou circumcised?"
added he. "I have not the honour to be so," say I. "Well, friend,"
continues the Quaker, "thou art a Christian without being circumcised,
and I am one without being baptised." Thus did this pious man make a
wrong but very specious application of four or five texts of Scripture
which seemed to favour the tenets of his sect; but at the same time
forgot very sincerely an hundred texts which made directly against them.
I had more sense than to contest with him, since there is no possibility
of convincing an enthusiast. A man should never pretend to inform a
lover of his mistress's faults, no more than one who is at law, of the
badness of his cause; nor attempt to win over a fanatic by strength of
reasoning. Accordingly I waived the subject.

"Well," said I to him, "what sort of a communion have you?" "We have
none like that thou hintest at among us," replied he. "How! no
communion?" said I. "Only that spiritual one," replied he, "of hearts."
He then began again to throw out his texts of Scripture; and preached a
most eloquent sermon against that ordinance. He harangued in a tone as
though he had been inspired, to prove that the sacraments were merely of
human invention, and that the word "sacrament" was not once mentioned in
the Gospel. "Excuse," said he, "my ignorance, for I have not employed a
hundredth part of the arguments which might be brought to prove the truth
of our religion, but these thou thyself mayest peruse in the Exposition
of our Faith written by Robert Barclay. It is one of the best pieces
that ever was penned by man; and as our adversaries confess it to be of
dangerous tendency, the arguments in it must necessarily be very
convincing." I promised to peruse this piece, and my Quaker imagined he
had already made a convert of me. He afterwards gave me an account in
few words of some singularities which make this sect the contempt of
others. "Confess," said he, "that it was very difficult for thee to
refrain from laughter, when I answered all thy civilities without
uncovering my head, and at the same time said 'thee' and 'thou' to thee.
However, thou appearest to me too well read not to know that in Christ's
time no nation was so ridiculous as to put the plural number for the
singular. Augustus Caesar himself was spoken to in such phrases as
these: 'I love thee,' 'I beseech thee,' 'I thank thee;' but he did not
allow any person to call him 'Domine,' sir. It was not till many ages
after that men would have the word 'you,' as though they were double,
instead of 'thou' employed in speaking to them; and usurped the
flattering titles of lordship, of eminence, and of holiness, which mere
worms bestow on other worms by assuring them that they are with a most
profound respect, and an infamous falsehood, their most obedient humble
servants. It is to secure ourselves more strongly from such a shameless
traffic of lies and flattery, that we 'thee' and 'thou' a king with the
same freedom as we do a beggar, and salute no person; we owing nothing to
mankind but charity, and to the laws respect and obedience.

"Our apparel is also somewhat different from that of others, and this
purely, that it may be a perpetual warning to us not to imitate them.
Others wear the badges and marks of their several dignities, and we those
of Christian humility. We fly from all assemblies of pleasure, from
diversions of every kind, and from places where gaming is practised; and
indeed our case would be very deplorable, should we fill with such
levities as those I have mentioned the heart which ought to be the
habitation of God. We never swear, not even in a court of justice, being
of opinion that the most holy name of God ought not to be prostituted in
the miserable contests betwixt man and man. When we are obliged to
appear before a magistrate upon other people's account (for law-suits are
unknown among the Friends), we give evidence to the truth by sealing it
with our yea or nay; and the judges believe us on our bare affirmation,
whilst so many other Christians forswear themselves on the holy Gospels.
We never war or fight in any case; but it is not that we are afraid, for
so far from shuddering at the thoughts of death, we on the contrary bless
the moment which unites us with the Being of Beings; but the reason of
our not using the outward sword is, that we are neither wolves, tigers,
nor mastiffs, but men and Christians. Our God, who has commanded us to
love our enemies, and to suffer without repining, would certainly not
permit us to cross the seas, merely because murderers clothed in scarlet,
and wearing caps two foot high, enlist citizens by a noise made with two
little sticks on an ass's skin extended. And when, after a victory is
gained, the whole city of London is illuminated; when the sky is in a
blaze with fireworks, and a noise is heard in the air, of thanksgivings,
of bells, of organs, and of the cannon, we groan in silence, and are
deeply affected with sadness of spirit and brokenness of heart, for the
sad havoc which is the occasion of those public rejoicings."



LETTER II.--ON THE QUAKERS


Such was the substance of the conversation I had with this very singular
person; but I was greatly surprised to see him come the Sunday following
and take me with him to the Quakers' meeting. There are several of these
in London, but that which he carried me to stands near the famous pillar
called The Monument. The brethren were already assembled at my entering
it with my guide. There might be about four hundred men and three
hundred women in the meeting. The women hid their faces behind their
fans, and the men were covered with their broad-brimmed hats. All were
seated, and the silence was universal. I passed through them, but did
not perceive so much as one lift up his eyes to look at me. This silence
lasted a quarter of an hour, when at last one of them rose up, took off
his hat, and, after making a variety of wry faces and groaning in a most
lamentable manner, he, partly from his nose and partly from his mouth,
threw out a strange, confused jumble of words (borrowed, as he imagined,
from the Gospel) which neither himself nor any of his hearers understood.
When this distorter had ended his beautiful soliloquy, and that the
stupid, but greatly edified, congregation were separated, I asked my
friend how it was possible for the judicious part of their assembly to
suffer such a babbling? "We are obliged," says he, "to suffer it,
because no one knows when a man rises up to hold forth whether he will be
moved by the Spirit or by folly. In this doubt and uncertainty we listen
patiently to everyone; we even allow our women to hold forth. Two or
three of these are often inspired at one and the same time, and it is
then that a most charming noise is heard in the Lord's house." "You
have, then, no priests?" say I to him. "No, no, friend," replies the
Quaker, "to our great happiness." Then opening one of the Friends'
books, as he called it, he read the following words in an emphatic
tone:--"'God forbid we should presume to ordain anyone to receive the
Holy Spirit on the Lord's Day to the prejudice of the rest of the
brethren.' Thanks to the Almighty, we are the only people upon earth
that have no priests. Wouldst thou deprive us of so happy a distinction?
Why should we abandon our babe to mercenary nurses, when we ourselves
have milk enough for it? These mercenary creatures would soon domineer
in our houses and destroy both the mother and the babe. God has said,
'Freely you have received, freely give.' Shall we, after these words,
cheapen, as it were, the Gospel, sell the Holy Ghost, and make of an
assembly of Christians a mere shop of traders? We don't pay a set of men
clothed in black to assist our poor, to bury our dead, or to preach to
the brethren. These offices are all of too tender a nature for us ever
to entrust them to others." "But how is it possible for you," said I,
with some warmth, "to know whether your discourse is really inspired by
the Almighty?" "Whosoever," says he, "shall implore Christ to enlighten
him, and shall publish the Gospel truths he may feel inwardly, such an
one may be assured that he is inspired by the Lord." He then poured
forth a numberless multitude of Scripture texts which proved, as he
imagined, that there is no such thing as Christianity without an
immediate revelation, and added these remarkable words: "When thou movest
one of thy limbs, is it moved by thy own power? Certainly not; for this
limb is often sensible to involuntary motions. Consequently he who
created thy body gives motion to this earthly tabernacle. And are the
several ideas of which thy soul receives the impression formed by
thyself? Much less are they, since these pour in upon thy mind whether
thou wilt or no; consequently thou receivest thy ideas from Him who
created thy soul. But as He leaves thy affections at full liberty, He
gives thy mind such ideas as thy affections may deserve; if thou livest
in God, thou actest, thou thinkest in God. After this thou needest only
but open thine eyes to that light which enlightens all mankind, and it is
then thou wilt perceive the truth, and make others perceive it." "Why,
this," said I, "is Malebranche's doctrine to a tittle." "I am acquainted
with thy Malebranche," said he; "he had something of the Friend in him,
but was not enough so." These are the most considerable particulars I
learnt concerning the doctrine of the Quakers. In my next letter I shall
acquaint you with their history, which you will find more singular than
their opinions.



LETTER III.--ON THE QUAKERS


You have already heard that the Quakers date from Christ, who, according
to them, was the first Quaker. Religion, say these, was corrupted a
little after His death, and remained in that state of corruption about
sixteen hundred years. But there were always a few Quakers concealed in
the world, who carefully preserved the sacred fire, which was
extinguished in all but themselves, until at last this light spread
itself in England in 1642.

It was at the time when Great Britain was torn to pieces by the intestine
wars which three or four sects had raised in the name of God, that one
George Fox, born in Leicestershire, and son to a silk-weaver, took it
into his head to preach, and, as he pretended, with all the requisites of
a true apostle--that is, without being able either to read or write. He
was about twenty-five years of age, irreproachable in his life and
conduct, and a holy madman. He was equipped in leather from head to
foot, and travelled from one village to another, exclaiming against war
and the clergy. Had his invectives been levelled against the soldiery
only he would have been safe enough, but he inveighed against
ecclesiastics. Fox was seized at Derby, and being carried before a
justice of peace, he did not once offer to pull off his leathern hat,
upon which an officer gave him a great box of the ear, and cried to him,
"Don't you know you are to appear uncovered before his worship?" Fox
presented his other cheek to the officer, and begged him to give him
another box for God's sake. The justice would have had him sworn before
he asked him any questions. "Know, friend," says Fox to him, "that I
never swear." The justice, observing he "thee'd" and "thou'd" him, sent
him to the House of Correction, in Derby, with orders that he should be
whipped there. Fox praised the Lord all the way he went to the House of
Correction, where the justice's order was executed with the utmost
severity. The men who whipped this enthusiast were greatly surprised to
hear him beseech them to give him a few more lashes for the good of his
soul. There was no need of entreating these people; the lashes were
repeated, for which Fox thanked them very cordially, and began to preach.
At first the spectators fell a-laughing, but they afterwards listened to
him; and as enthusiasm is an epidemical distemper, many were persuaded,
and those who scourged him became his first disciples. Being set at
liberty, he ran up and down the country with a dozen proselytes at his
heels, still declaiming against the clergy, and was whipped from time to
time. Being one day set in the pillory, he harangued the crowd in so
strong and moving a manner, that fifty of the auditors became his
converts, and he won the rest so much in his favour that, his head being
freed tumultuously from the hole where it was fastened, the populace went
and searched for the Church of England clergyman who had been chiefly
instrumental in bringing him to this punishment, and set him on the same
pillory where Fox had stood.

Fox was bold enough to convert some of Oliver Cromwell's soldiers, who
thereupon quitted the service and refused to take the oaths. Oliver,
having as great a contempt for a sect which would not allow its members
to fight, as Sixtus Quintus had for another sect, _Dove non si chiamava_,
began to persecute these new converts. The prisons were crowded with
them, but persecution seldom has any other effect than to increase the
number of proselytes. These came, therefore, from their confinement more
strongly confirmed in the principles they had imbibed, and followed by
their gaolers, whom they had brought over to their belief. But the
circumstances which contributed chiefly to the spreading of this sect
were as follows:--Fox thought himself inspired, and consequently was of
opinion that he must speak in a manner different from the rest of
mankind. He thereupon began to writhe his body, to screw up his face, to
hold in his breath, and to exhale it in a forcible manner, insomuch that
the priestess of the Pythian god at Delphos could not have acted her part
to better advantage. Inspiration soon became so habitual to him that he
could scarce deliver himself in any other manner. This was the first
gift he communicated to his disciples. These aped very sincerely their
master's several grimaces, and shook in every limb the instant the fit of
inspiration came upon them, whence they were called Quakers. The vulgar
attempted to mimic them; they trembled, they spake through the nose, they
quaked and fancied themselves inspired by the Holy Ghost. The only thing
now wanting was a few miracles, and accordingly they wrought some.

Fox, this modern patriarch, spoke thus to a justice of peace before a
large assembly of people: "Friend, take care what thou dost; God will
soon punish thee for persecuting His saints." This magistrate, being one
who besotted himself every day with bad beer and brandy, died of an
apoplexy two days after, the moment he had signed a _mittimus_ for
imprisoning some Quakers. The sudden death with which this justice was
seized was not ascribed to his intemperance, but was universally looked
upon as the effect of the holy man's predictions; so that this accident
made more converts to Quakerism than a thousand sermons and as many
shaking fits could have done. Oliver, finding them increase daily, was
desirous of bringing them over to his party, and for that purpose
attempted to bribe them by money. However, they were incorruptible,
which made him one day declare that this religion was the only one he had
ever met with that had resisted the charms of gold.

The Quakers were several times persecuted under Charles II.; not upon a
religious account, but for refusing to pay the tithes, for "theeing" and
"thouing" the magistrates, and for refusing to take the oaths enacted by
the laws.