fellow-men.

It may be well enough here to ask the question: "What is greatness?"
A great man adds to the sum of knowledge, extends the horizon of
thought, releases souls from the Bastille of fear, crosses unknown and
mysterious seas, gives new islands and new continents to the domain of
thought, new constellations to the firmament of mind. A great man does
not seek applause or place; he seeks for truth; he seeks the road to
happiness, and what he ascertains he gives to others. A great man
throws pearls before swine, and the swine are sometimes changed to men.
If the great had always kept their pearls, vast multitudes would be
barbarians now.

A great man is a torch in the darkness, a beacon in superstition's
night, an inspiration and a prophecy. Greatness is not the gift of
majorities; it cannot be thrust upon any man; men cannot give it to
another; they can give place and power, but not greatness. The place
does not make the man, nor the sceptre the king. Greatness is from
within.

The great men are the heroes who have freed the bodies of men; they are
the philosophers and thinkers who have given liberty to the soul; they
are the poets who have transfigured the common and filled the lives of
many millions with love and song. They are the artists who have
covered the bare walls of weary life with the triumphs of genius. They
are the heroes who have slain the monsters of ignorance and fear, who
have outgazed the Gorgon and driven the cruel gods from their thrones.

They are the inventors, the discoverers, the great mechanics, the kings
of the useful who have civilized this world.

At the head of this heroic army, foremost of all, stands Voltaire,
whose memory we are honoring tonight. Voltaire! a name that excites
the admiration of men, the malignity of priests. Pronounce that name in
the presence of a clergyman, and you will find that you have made a
declaration of war. Pronounce that name, and from the face of the
priest the mask of meekness will fall, and from the mouth of
forgiveness will pour a Niagara of vituperation and calumny. And yet
Voltaire was the greatest man of his century, and did more for the
human race than ally other of the sons of men.

On Sunday, the 21st of November, 1694, a babe was born; a babe
exceedingly frail, whose breath hesitated about remaining. This babe
became the greatest man of the eighteenth century.

When Voltaire came to this "great stage of fools," his coun