Although I have not the satisfaction of knowing you personally, you are nonetheless known to me by your works. They are treasures of the mind, if the expression may be allowed, and compositions elaborated with so much taste, delicacy, and art, that their beauties appear new each time they are reread. I feel I have discovered in them the character of their ingenious author, who does honor to our age and to the human mind. The great men of modern times will one day be obliged to you, and to you alone, if the dispute concerning the ancients and the moderns should again arise; because you will incline the balance to their side.

To the quality of an excellent poet you add an infinity of other knowledge which indeed has some affinity with poetry but has only been fitted to it by your pen. Never before has a poet made metaphysical thought rhythmic; you were the first for whom that honor was reserved. That taste for philosophy which you display in your writings encourages me to send you a translation I have made of the accusation and justification of M. Wolff, the most celebrated philosopher of our day, who has been cruelly accused of irreligion and atheism because he carried light into the most shadowy recesses of metaphysics and because he treated this difficult subject in a manner as elevated as it was clear and precise. Such is the destiny of great men: Their superior genius ever leaves them naked to the poisoned darts of calumny and envy.

I am now having translated a Treatise on God, the Soul and the World, which emanates from the pen of the same author. It shall be sent you, Sir, as soon as it is finished, and I am sure you will be struck by the force of evidence in all its propositions, which follow each other geometrically and are connected together like the links of a chain.

The complacency and support you exhibit toward all who devote themselves to the arts and sciences make me hope that you will not exclude me from the number of those whom you find worthy of your instruction. I mean your correspondence; which cannot but be profitable to every thinking being. Without aspersing the deserts of others, I dare to assert that the whole world cannot show a person to whom you could not act as a master. Without overwhelming you with an incense unworthy to be offered you, I may yet say that I find numberless beauties in your works. Your Henriade charms me and triumphs happily over the injudicious criticisms which have been made of it. The tragedy of Cesar shows us sustained characters; its sentiments are all magnificent and grand; and we realize that Brutus is either a Roman or an Englishman. Alzire adds to the graces of novelty the happy contrast between the manners of savages and Europeans. Through the character Gusman you show us that Christianity when misconceived and guided by false zeal renders men more barbarous and cruel than Paganism itself. If Corneille, the great Corneille, who attracted the admiration of his age, should come to life again in our days, he would see with his astonishment and perhaps with envy that the goddess of Tragedy lavishes prodigally upon you those favors of which she was so sparing to him. What may we not expect from the author of so many masterpieces! What fresh wonders may not issue from the pen which lately designed so wittily and elegantly the Temple of Taste!

This it is which makes me desire so ardently to possess all your works. I beg you to send them to me, Sir, and to communicate them unreservedly. If among your manuscripts there should be any which, with necessary prudence, you think fit to hide from the public eye, I promise you to keep it secret and to content myself with applauding it in private. I know unfortunately that the faith of princes is little to be trusted in our days; yet I hope you will not allow yourself to be moved by general prejudices and that you will make an exception to the rule in my favor.

In possessing your works I should think myself richer than in possessing all the transitory and contemptible gifts of fortune which are acquired and lost by a like chance. The first can be made our own--I mean your works--by the aid of memory, and remain ours as long as it does. Knowing the slight extent of my own memory I reflect long before choosing those things I consider worthy of being placed in it.

If poetry were in the same condition as it was formerly, that is if poets could do nothing but hum over tedious idylls, eclogues cast in one mould and insipid stanzas, or if they could do nothing but raise their lyres to the tone of elegy, I should renounce it forever; but you ennoble this art, you show us new paths and roads unknown to the Lefrancs and the Rousseaus.

Your poems possess qualities which render them respectable and worthy of the admiration and study of good men. They are a course of morality whereby we learn to think and to act. Virtue is painted there in its fairest colors. The idea of true glory is there defined; and you insinuate the taste for knowledge in a manner so fine and so delicate that he who has read your works breathes the ambition of following in your steps. How often I have said to myself: "Wretched man! Abandon this burden whose weight exceeds your strength; Voltaire cannot be imitated except by Voltaire himself."

At such moments I have realized that the advantages of birth and that vapor of grandeur with which vanity soothes us is of little service or, to speak truly, of none. These distinctions are foreign to ourselves and but embellish outwardly. How much more preferable are the talents of the mind! How much is due to men whom nature has distinguished by the mere fact that she has created them! She takes pleasure in creating some whom she endows with every capacity needed for the progress of the arts and sciences; ‘tis for princes to reward with their vigils. Ah! may glory only make use of me to crown your successes! I should fear nothing except that this country is so infertile in laurels that it does not furnish as many as your works deserve.