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EPISTLE XIII. * - 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).

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EPISTLE XIII. * - 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]

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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).

Author: Voltaire
Translator: William F. Fleming
Notes: Tobias Smollett

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

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EPISTLE XIII.*

You who the errors have reformed,
By which chronology’s deformed;
Who wandering through poetic ground,
Gathered the fairest flowers you found;
Who could sagaciously explore
The depth of philosophic lore,
And have not misemployed your leisure,
For all the allurements of soft pleasure:
Hénaut, I beg you to impart,
The secret of the magic art
By which with glory crowned you quell,
The rage of envy, monster fell;
Whilst I, placed in a lower sphere,
Whom envy never should come near,
The fury see, where’er I tread,
Pour all her poisons on my head:
We should not eagerly seek fame,
I weakly strove to fix my name,
On memory’s temple walls, whilst you
Wisely from fools and noise withdrew:
I labored glory to secure,
Rou shunned her, but you made her sure.
An oak with leafy honors crowned,
May reign o’er all the trees around;
To all its boughs is honor paid,
Men dance beneath the sacred shade:
But should a blade of grass be seen,
To rise o’er others on the green;
Its trifling height offends each eye,
Men tear it up and throw it by.
I pity the poor author’s fate,
Whom all men envy, scorn, or hate;
The author who desires repose,
Must shun all others as his foes;
Montaigne, who could each reader please,
By depth of reason, cheerful ease,
Retiring to his ancient seat,
From critic malice made retreat;
Doubting of all things, laughed at fools,
Who argue gravely in the schools:
But when his pupil, Charon, famed,
With method and reserve declaimed,
And lectures upon wisdom gave,
Like a professor learned and grave;
He narrowly escaped his fate,
Pursued by theologic hate;
Upon occasion, time, and place,
Depend your glory or disgrace:
One day by all you’re idolized,
The next insulted and despised.
Capricious Greece in former days,
To Pyrrho did a statue raise,
Whilst Socrates, who spoke so well,
A martyr to right reason fell:
Thrice happy, who to all unknown,
Lives useful to himself alone.
By friendship only man is blessed,
But envious rivals break his rest;
Glory at rest cannot remain,
And wit is the possessor’s bane:
’Tis often like a wanton wife,
A torment of the owner’s life;
The wife must have her gallant still,
Let the good man say what he will;
A welcome all that offer find,
To every other man she’s kind.
Thus she by others is enjoyed,
The husband’s by possession cloyed;
But let us change a note so sad,
Is then to please a lot so bad?
Envy’s a necessary ill,
It spurs us on to virtue still;
The noble soul in virtue’s course
Is hereby urged with double force.
Hence Hercules acquired a name
And Maro Mævius urged to fame:
For vain discourse what need I care,
It passes like the idle air,
I live thrice happy in this court
Where broils and trouble ne’er resort
No jealous cares e’er give me pain,
The monarch has no courtly train;
With Bouflers and Æmilia fair,
Living I’m blessed beyond compare,
Their converse fills me with delight
Then I may envy well excite.

[* ] Written at Lunéville, Nov. 8, 1748.