rformance mainly of his own plays. Gibbon seldom failed to procure
a ticket to these representations. Voltaire played the parts suited to
his years; his declamation, Gibbon thought, was old-fashioned, and "he
expressed the enthusiasm of poetry rather than the feelings of nature."
"The parts of the young and fair," he said, "were distorted by
Voltaire's fat and ugly niece." Despite this criticism, these
performances fostered a taste for the French theater, to the abatement
of his idolatry for Shakespeare, which seemed to him to be "inculcated
from our infancy as the first duty of an Englishman."[91] Personally,
Voltaire and Gibbon did not get on well together. Dr. Hill suggests that
Voltaire may have slighted the "English youth," and if this is correct,
Gibbon was somewhat spiteful to carry the feeling more than thirty
years. Besides the criticism of the acting, he called Voltaire "the
envious bard" because it was only with much reluctance and ill-humor
that he permitted the performance of Iphigenie of Racine. Nevertheless,
Gibbon is impressed with the social influence of the great Frenchman.
"The wit and philosophy of Voltaire, his table and theatre," he wrote,
"refined in a visible degree the manners of Lausanne, and however
addicted to study, I enjoyed my share of the amusements of society.
After the theatrical representations, I sometimes supped with the
actors: I was now familiar in some, and acquainted in many, houses; and
my evenings were generally devoted to cards and conversation, either in
private parties or numerous assemblies."[92]

Gibbon was twenty-one when he returned to England. Dividing his time
between London and the country, he continued his self-culture. He read
English, French, and Latin, and took up the study of Greek. "Every day,
every hour," he wrote, "was agreeably filled"; and "I was never less
alone than when by myself."[93] He read repeatedly Robertson and Hume,
and has in the words of Sainte-Beuve left a testimony so spirited and so
delicately expressed as could have come only from a man of taste who
appreciated Xenophon.[94] "The perfect composition, the nervous
language," wrote Gibbon, "the well-turned periods of Dr. Robertson
inflamed me to the ambitious hope that I might one day tread in his
footsteps; the calm philosophy, the careless inimitable beauties of his
friend and rival, often forced me to close the volume with a mixed
sensation of delight and despair."[95] He made little progress