Letters on England [1]
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
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