Another bone of contention was found in Voltaire’s passionate devotion to the theatre. His tastes were shared by the ‘advanced’ set at Geneva; but the divines, in spite of their broad views on matters of dogmatic theology, still held narrow views on the subject of the drama. Dramatic performances, whether public or private, were not allowed upon Genevan soil; while performances given close to the frontier, on the territory of Savoy or France, caused the ministers many searchings of heart.

There had been such performances shortly before Voltaire’s arrival—in 1751—at Carouge and Chatelaine, and the Consistory had passed a resolution on the subject. It had decided to exhort the members of the Council to keep their wives away from the entertainments, and to exhort the professors to warn the students—and more particularly the candidates for Holy Orders—not to attend them. Afterwards, hearing that the daughters of some of the pastors had visited the theatre in defiance of their admonitions, they had passed a further resolution to the effect that this state of things gave ground for reflection—qu’il y a lieu d’y rÉflÉchir.

Such was the public opinion which Voltaire braved; and his first attempt to brave it was not very successful. Soon after his arrival he arranged a salle de spectacle inside the city walls, and organized a performance of ‘L’Orphelin de la Chine.’ The Consistory growled out a hostile resolution, and he dropped the enterprise, but proceeded to educate opinion from a safe distance; that is to say, he set up his theatre at Lausanne, and wrote insinuating letters about its management to his friends among the Genevan pastors. We have Gibbon’s testimony to the fact that this theatre ‘refined in a visible degree the manners of Lausanne’; and we have a letter in which Voltaire gives the pastor, VernÉs, sound reasons for coming to witness the performances.

‘In your quality of minister of the Gospel,’ he writes, ‘you might very well be present at the rendering of a piece taken from the Gospel itself, and hear the word of God from the mouth of the Marquise de Gentil, Madame d’Aubonne, and Madame d’Hermenches, who are as worthy women as the three Magdalens, and more respectable.’ And he adds: ‘At the first representation we had all the ministers of the Holy Gospel in the Town, and all the candidates for Holy Orders.’

It was a pretty good beginning; but there was still to be trouble and controversy before the educational process was completed. In this field, as in the field of theology, d’Alembert, with his encyclopÆdia article, stirred Camerina. He said that it was a pity that comedy should be neglected in such a centre of civilization, but added that the thing that the Genevans dreaded was not the demoralizing influence of plays, but the dissolute behaviour of players. And he suggested that this difficulty be got over by means of stringent regulations as to the conduct of comedians. By this means, he said, Geneva might have both good morals and good theatres, and derive as much advantage from the one as from the other.

For the moment it looked as though this ingeniously ironical proposal would escape attention, the theologians being too excited about their impugned orthodoxy to notice anything else. Rousseau, however, saw it, and decided to reply to it, and in due course launched his ‘Lettre sur les Spectacles.’ Being himself a dramatic author of some note, he was not an ideal champion of the cause which he represented; but in the stir caused by his intervention no one seems to have thought of that. His rhetoric made just as lively an impression as though his actions had always been in keeping with it. The Genevans took sides; and Voltaire—as though for the express purpose of giving them something tangible to fight about—established a theatre close to their gates, outside the jurisdiction of their magistrates, at Tournay.

The battle raged furiously. To this period of Voltaire’s sojourn belong most of his bitter sarcastic sayings about Geneva; his reference to ‘the little church of Calvin, which makes virtue consist in usury and asceticism,’ and his famous epigram containing the lines:

Abuse of Jean Jacques also abounds in his letters at this period. Jean Jacques is a ‘blackguard’; Jean Jacques is in league with two rascally Calvinist priests, and ‘has the insolence’ to say this, that, and the other thing; Jean Jacques is ‘valet to Diogenes,’ who ‘has played in vain the part of an addle-pated idiot’; if Jean Jacques comes to Ferney, he shall be stuffed into a barrel, and presumably rolled downhill—which proves, even if it proves nothing else, that, when philosophers fall out, they are apt to wrangle in much the same language as less intellectual people.

Yet, on the whole, Voltaire was steadily winning the victory. The Council, it is true, forbade the citizens to attend his theatre; but little attention was paid to the prohibition, and among those who disregarded it were included many of the Councillors themselves. ‘Being unable,’ as Petit-Senn wittily put it, ‘to remove the danger, they bravely set out to share it’; and the philosopher chuckled:

‘I am civilizing the Allobroges as well as I can. Before I came here the Genevans had nothing to amuse them but bad sermons. I am corrupting all the youth of the pedantic city. I make play-actors of the sons of Syndics. The clergy are furious; but I crush them.’

After a while, moreover, his evangelistic efforts received support from an unexpected quarter. In 1766 there were certain political disturbances in the city, and ambassadors were sent from Berne, Zurich, and Paris, to assist in composing them. Voltaire suggested to the French ambassador, M. de Beauteville, that he should request admission to the city for a company of comedians to amuse himself and his suite. Life at Geneva being duller than he liked, M. de Beauteville adopted the suggestion. The comedians were introduced; a theatre was arranged for them; and Voltaire could chuckle again. The divines thundered. ‘Children,’ they declared, ‘will be badly brought up; domestic discords will trouble families more and more; young men and young women will occupy themselves with nothing but comedy and vainglorious display; the love of pleasure, vanity, and pride will be their favourite emotions; indecent familiarities and libertine behaviour will take the place of modesty and chastity.’

But this warning was uttered in vain. Voltaire had triumphed; and though he was now an old man, nearing his eightieth birthday, he enjoyed his triumph to the full. A picture of the patriarch at the play is graphically drawn by a letter-writer of the period:

‘Not the least interesting feature of the spectacle was Voltaire himself, leaning his back against the wings in full view of the audience, applauding like a man possessed; now beating the floor with his walking-stick, now interjecting exclamations such as “Couldn’t be better!” “By God, how good!” and now directing the flow of sentiment by lifting his handkerchief to his eyes. So little could he control his enthusiasm that, at the moment when Ninias quits the scene to brave Assue, he ran after Lekain without considering how he was breaking down the illusion, took him by the hand, and kissed him at the back of the stage. It would be difficult to imagine a more ridiculous burlesque; for Voltaire looked like an old man out of a farce, dressed in a bygone fashion, with his stockings rolled up over his knees, and only able to keep himself on his trembling legs with the help of his stick.’