ention and originality are as
moderate as his size and his variety are astonishing. The wonder of his
ninety volumes is, that he singly consists of a number of men of the
second order, making up one great man; for unquestionably some could rival
Voltaire in any single province, but no one but himself has possessed them
all. Voltaire discovered a new art, that of creating a supplement to the
genius which had preceded him; and without Corneille, Racine, and Ariosto,
it would be difficult to conjecture what sort of a poet Voltaire could
have been. He was master, too, of a secret in composition, which consisted
in a new style and manner. His style promotes, but never interrupts
thinking, while it renders all subjects familiar to our comprehension: his
manner consists in placing objects well known in new combinations; he
ploughed up the fallow lands, and renovated the worn-out exhausted soils.
Swift defined a good style, as "proper words in proper places." Voltaire's
impulse was of a higher flight, "proper thoughts on proper subjects."
Swift's idea was that of a grammarian. Voltaire's feeling was that of a
philosopher. We are only considering this universal writer in his literary
character, which has fewer claims to the character of an inventor than
several who never attained to his celebrity.

Are the original powers of genius, then, limited to a single art, and even
to departments in that art? May not men of genius plume themselves with
the vainglory of universality? Let us dare to call this a vainglory;
for he who stands the first in his class, does not really add to the
distinctive character of his genius, by a versatility which, however
apparently successful, is always subordinate to the great character on
which his fame rests. It is only that character which bears the raciness
of the soil; it is only that impulse whose solitary force stamps the
authentic work of genius. To execute equally well on a variety of subjects
may raise a suspicion of the nature of the executive power. Should it he
mimetic, the ingenious writer may remain absolutely destitute of every
claim to genius. DU CLOS has been refused the honours of genius by the
French critics, because he wrote equally well on a variety of subjects.

I know that this principle is contested by some of great name, who have
themselves evinced a wonderful variety of powers. This penurious principle
flatters not that egotism which great writers share in common with the
hero