s campaigns in Austria, and by
the hardships of garrison life; and he was feeling more and more
sharply that pinch of genteel poverty which is the hardest of all to
bear. But if he never laughed, this martyr of the soul never ceased to
smile. His perpetual sufferings did not affect his gentle sobriety of
conversation. Those whose privilege it was to see Vauvenargues during
these last years of his brief existence are united in their report of
his magnanimity. Voltaire wrote, "I have always found him the most
unfortunate of human beings and the most tranquil." He was notable for
his "indulgent goodness," his "constant peace," his "justice of
heart," his "rectitude of soul." His conversation, so Marmontel
reports to us, had something more animated, more delicate, than even
his divine writings. The same acute observer noted that in the heart
of Vauvenargues, when he reflected upon the misery of mankind, pity
took the place of indignation and hatred. Sensitive, serene,
compassionate, affable, he tried to conceal from his friends as much
as possible his own pain, and even when it was evident that he
suffered most, no one dared to be melancholy in his presence.

In the fleeting and impoverished life of Vauvenargues his friendships
were the main adventure. We have mentioned a name which is too
frequently the object of malignity on English lips, the name of
Voltaire. No one would pretend that the multiform energy of this giant
of literature did not take some unseemly directions and several
unlovely shapes. But the qualities of Voltaire must, in the eyes of
any unbiassed observer, vastly overtop his defects. If, however, we
wish to see Voltaire at his best, we must contemplate him in relation
to our soldier-philosopher. As soon as his health had recovered a
little from the horror of the Bohemian campaign, Vauvenargues took the
step of writing to Voltaire, then a stranger, for his opinion on that
crying question, the relative greatness of Corneille and of Racine, a
question to all Frenchmen like that between predestination and
free-will to Milton's rebel angels. This was towards the end of 1743,
when Voltaire, who had reached his fiftieth year, was recognised as
the first living historian and critic in France, and had been recalled
to court through the good offices of Mme du Chatelet. It was, no doubt,
at a happy moment that Vauvenargues' random letter arrived, Voltaire
responded with ardour; Vauvenargues quickly became to him, as