Econlib

The Library

Other Sites

Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow ANSWER TO A LADY, OR A PERSON WHO WROTE TO VOLTAIRE AS SUCH. * - The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Return to Title Page for The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Search this Title:

Also in the Library:

Subject Area: Literature

ANSWER TO A LADY, OR A PERSON WHO WROTE TO VOLTAIRE AS SUCH. * - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems). [1901]

Edition used:

From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Part of: The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version, in 21 vols.

About Liberty Fund:

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.


ANSWER TO A LADY, OR A PERSON WHO WROTE TO VOLTAIRE AS SUCH.*

  • The highest praises you bestow me,
  • And finish with desires to know me;
  • You’ll praise me less when I am known;
  • But what I am I’ll freely own.
  • Three revolutions of the sphere
  • Will bring about my fortieth year;
  • Phœbus presided at the time
  • That I was born, I lisped in rhyme;
  • The potent god approved my wit,
  • And to his presence did admit;
  • My heart was by the god subdued,
  • I worshipped him through gratitude.
  • Their inclinations some excite,
  • But fate ordained that I should write.
  • My soul was by each taste possessed,
  • Each noble art inflamed my breast;
  • Painting delights me; oft I’ve been,
  • At the king’s or duke’s palace, seen
  • Gazing on works with raptured eye,
  • Where art with nature seems to vie;
  • Paul Veronese’s noble fire
  • And skill divine I much admire;
  • Poussin and Raphael, my sight
  • Ravish with exquisite delight.
  • From those rooms to the opera, I
  • Upon the wings of pleasure fly;
  • What there gives pleasure, from me draws
  • The tribute of deserved applause.
  • In music, Mauret’s sprightly strain,
  • Destouches’s grace, my praise obtain,
  • Pelissier’s art, le More’s fine voice,
  • Pleasing by turns, suspend my choice.
  • Sometimes I to that science soar
  • Which teaches nature to explore,
  • Following great Newton through the sky
  • I to find natural causes try;
  • I’d know if Cynthia in her course
  • Is by a changeful central force
  • Towards us made to gravitate,
  • And coming near acquires new weight;
  • I read philosophers profound,
  • Who nature by their reason found;
  • I see Clairaut, Maupertuis, rise
  • By calculation to the skies;
  • And I indeed too often find
  • Such studies but perplex my mind.
  • Obscure researches set apart,
  • I study next the human heart.
  • I often Pascal’s works review,
  • A genius singular and new;
  • That satirist, devout and sage,
  • Against mankind too prone to rage.
  • I, his austerity oppose;
  • He’d have men to themselves be foes.
  • A friend to man, I strive to show
  • How he to love himself may know.
  • I’m free from passion, care, and strife;
  • The muse diversifies my life;
  • My day begins with joy, and ends
  • In cheerful suppers with my friends.
  • I now no more of love complain,
  • Reason at last has broke my chain;
  • I follow Cupid now no more,
  • The happy age of love is o’er;
  • With love’s flame must I no more burn?
  • Each art I cultivate in turn,
  • Indolent languor to avoid;
  • But all this can’t fill up the void,
  • For notwithstanding all my pains
  • Still there a craving void remains.

[* ] In 1732, a gentleman of Brittany, for a frolic, wrote letters to several of the wits of Paris, and signed them with a woman’s name. This artifice imposed upon everybody, and gave occasion to the present answer.