Regent d'Orleans having succeeded sublime Louis XIV., and set strange
fashions to the Quality. Not likely to profit this fool Francois,
thought M. Arouet Senior; and was much confirmed in his notion, when a
rhymed Lampoon against the Government having come out (LES J'AI VU, as
they call it ["I have seen (J'AI VU)" this ignominy occur, "I have seen"
that other,--to the amount of a dozen or two;--"and am not yet twenty."
Copy of it, and guess as to authorship, in _OEuvres de Voltaire_, i.
321.]), and become the rage, as a clever thing of the kind will, it was
imputed to the brightest young fellow in France, M. Arouet's Son. Who,
in fact, was not the Author; but was not believed on his denial; and
saw himself, in spite of his high connections, ruthlessly lodged in the
Bastille in consequence. 'Let him sit,' thought M. Arouet Senior, 'and
come to his senses there!' He sat for eighteen months (age still little
above twenty); but privately employed his time, not in repentance, or in
serious legal studies, but in writing a Poem on his Henri Quatre. 'Epic
Poem,' no less; LA LIGUE, as he then called it; which it was his hope
the whole world would one day fall in love with;--as it did. Nay, in two
years more, he had done a Play, OEDIPE the renowned name of it; which
ran for forty-eight nights' (18th November, 1718, the first of them);
and was enough to turn any head of such age. Law may be considered
hopeless, even by M. Arouet Senior.

"Try him in the Diplomatic line; break these bad habits and connections,
thought M. Arouet, at one time; and sent him to the French Ambassador
in Holland,--on good behavior, as it were, and by way of temporary
banishment. But neither did this answer. On the contrary, the young
fellow got into scrapes again; got into amatory intrigues,--young lady
visiting you in men's clothes, young lady's mother inveigling, and I
know not what;--so that the Ambassador was glad to send him home again
unmarried; marked, as it were, 'Glass, with care!' And the young lady's
mother printed his Letters, not the least worth reading:--and the old M.
Arouet seems now to have flung up his head; to have settled some small
allowance on him, with peremptory no hope of more, and said, 'Go your
own way, then, foolish junior: the elder shall be my son.' M. Arouet
disappears at this point, or nearly so, from the history of his son
Francois; and I think must have died in not many years. Poor old
M. Arouet closed his old eyes withou