第143章

For， the most striking feature of this style is the prodigious rapidity， the dazzling and bewildering stream of novelties， ideas， images， events， landscapes， narratives， dialogues， brief little pictures， following each other rapidly as if in a magic-lantern， withdrawn almost as soon as presented by the impatient magician who， in the twinkling of an eye， girdles the world and， constantly accumulating one on top of the other， history， fable， truth and fancy， the present time and times past， frames his work now with a parade as absurd as that of a country fair， and now with a fairy scene more magnificent than all those of the opera. To amuse and be amused， "to diffuse his spirit in every imaginable mode， like a glowing furnace into which all substances are thrown by turns to evolve every species of flame， sparkle and odor，" is his first instinct. "Life，" he says again， "is an infant to be rocked until it goes to sleep." Never was a mortal more excited and more exciting， more incapable of silence and more hostile to ennui，[24] better endowed for conversation， more evidently destined to become the king of a sociable century in which， with six pretty stories， thirty witticisms and some confidence in himself， a man could obtain a social passport and the certainty of being everywhere welcome. Never was there a writer possessing to so high a degree and in such abundance every qualification of the conversationalist， the art of animating and of enlivening discourse， the talent for giving pleasure to people of society. Perfectly refined when he chose to be， confining himself without inconvenience to strict decorum， of finished politeness， of exquisite gallantry， deferential without being servile， fond without being mawkish，[25] and always at his ease， it suffices that he should be before the public， to fall naturally into the proper tone， the discreet ways， the winning half-smile of the well-bred man who， introducing his readers into his mind， does them the honors of the place. Are you on familiar terms with him， and of the small private circle in which he freely unbends himself， with closed doors？ You never tire of laughing. With a sure hand and without seeming to touch it， he abruptly tears aside the veil hiding a wrong， a prejudice， a folly， in short， any human idolatry.

The real figure， misshapen， odious or dull， suddenly appears in this instantaneous flash； we shrug our shoulders. This is the risibility of an agile， triumphant reason. We have another in that of the gay temperament， of the droll improvisator， of the man keeping youthful， a child， a boy even to the day of his death， and who "gambols on his own tombstone." He is fond of caricature， exaggerating the features of faces， bringing grotesques on the stage，[26] walking them about in all lights like marionettes， never weary of taking them up and of making them dance in new costumes； in the very midst of his philosophy， of his propaganda and polemics， he sets up his portable theater in full blast， exhibiting oddities， the scholar， the monk， the inquisitor， Maupertuis， Pompignan， Nonotte， Fréron， King David， and countless others who appear before us， capering and gesticulating in their harlequin attire. - When a farcical talent is thus moved to tell the truth， humor becomes all-powerful； for it gratifies the profound and universal instincts of human nature： to the malicious curiosity， to the desire to mock and belitte， to the aversion to being in need or under constraint， those sources of bad moods which task convention， etiquette and social obligation with wearing the burdensome cloak of respect and of decency； moments occur in life when the wisest is not sorry to throw this half aside and even cast it off entirely. - On each page， now with the bold stroke of a hardy naturalist， now with the quick turn of a mischievous monkey， Voltaire lets the solemn or serious drapery fall， disclosing man， the poor biped， and in which attitudes！[27] Swift alone dared to present similar pictures. What physiological crudities relating to the origin and end of our most exalted sentiments！ What disproportion between such feeble reason and such powerful instincts！ What recesses in the wardrobes of politics and religion concealing their foul linen！ We laugh at all this so as not to weep， and yet behind this laughter there are tears； he ends sneeringly， subsiding into a tone of profound sadness， of mournful pity. In this degree， and with such subjects， it is only an effect of habit， or as an expedient， a mania of inspiration， a fixed condition of the nervous machinery rushing headlong over everything， without a break and in full speed. Gaiety， let it not be forgotten， is still a incentive of action， the last that keeps man erect in France， the best in maintaining the tone of his spirit， his strength and his powers of resistance， the most intact in an age when men， and women too， believed it incumbent on them to die people of good society， with a smile and a jest on their lips[28].