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at Ferney; and M. de Voltaire is so used to it, thatcalm and politeness must appear either impertinent orstupid.
“ I left Geneva in time, according to my calculation,to arrive at Ferney just before Voltaire ’s dinner hour ;hut my watch was wrong, and I did not discover myerror till I arrived. There is no awkwardness moredisagreeable than to be too early when going to dinewith those who know how to occupy their mornings.Wishing really to please a celebrated man, who waskind enough to receive me, I dressed myself withelegance, and never before wore so many feathersand flowers. I took with me a German painter,M. Ott: he was very clever, but with very little lite-rary knowledge, and, above all, had never read a line ofVoltaire ; but he felt the desirable enthusiasm only byhearing of him. He was in a state of ecstacy on ap-proaching Ferney. I admired and envied his trans-port. We entered the drawingroom; it was empty.The servants seemed surprised and hurried; the bellsrang, and all gave signs of the truth, that we hadarrived an hour too soon. We saw, at the end of theroom, an oil painting magnificently framed ; we hur-ried to examine it; and, to our great surprise, found itwas a mere daub, representing Voltaire with a gloryround his head, with the family of Calas kneelingbefore him, while he trod under foot his enemiesFreron and Pompignan. The picture was the inven-tion of a bad Genevese artist, who made a present of itto Voltaire . But it seemed the silliest thing in theworld to hang it up in his drawing room. At length} the door opened, and madame Denis and madame de| Saint Julien entered; they announced that Voltaire I would soon appear. Madame de Saint Julien was veryt'; amiable, and is passing the summer at Ferney . Shecalls Voltaire ‘ my philosopher,’ and he calls her ‘my■ butterfly.’ She proposed a walk to me, and I was de-lighted ; for I felt embarrassed at the idea of seeing themaster of the house, and was glad to delay for a few