try had been
christianized--not civilized--for about fourteen hundred years. For a
thousand years the religion of peace and good will had been supreme.
The laws had been given by christian kings, sanctioned by "wise and
holy men."

Under the benign reign of universal love, every court had its chamber
of torture, and every priest relied on the thumbscrew and rack. Such
had been the success of the blessed gospel that every science was an
outcast. To speak your honest thoughts, to teach your fellow men, to
investigate for yourself, to seek the truth, these were crimes, and the
"Holy Mother Church" pursued the criminals with sword and flame.

The believers in a God of love--an infinite father--punished hundreds
of offenses with torture and death. Suspected persons were tortured to
make them confess. Convicted persons were tortured to make them give
the names of their accomplices. Under the leadership of the church
cruelty had become the only reforming power. In this blessed year 1694
all authors were at the mercy of king and priest. The most of them
were cast into prisons, impoverished by fines and costs, exiled or
executed. The little time that hangmen could snatch from professional
duties was occupied in burning books. The courts of justice were traps
in which the innocent were caught. The judges were almost as malicious
and cruel as though they had been bishops or saints. There was no trial
by jury, and the rules of evidence allowed the conviction of the
supposed criminal by the proof of suspicion or hearsay. The witnesses,
being liable to torture, generally told what the judges wished to hear.

When Voltaire was born the church ruled and owned France. It was a
period of almost universal corruption. The priests were mostly
libertines, the judges cruel and venal. The royal palace was a house
of prostitution. The nobles were heartless, proud, arrogant and cruel
to the last degree. The common people were treated as beasts. It took
the church a thousand years to bring about this happy condition of
things.

The seeds of the revolution unconsciously were being scattered by every
noble and by every priest. They were germinating slowly in the hearts
of the wretched; they were being watered by the tears of agony; blows
began to bear interest. There was a faint longing for blood. Workmen,
blackened by the sun, bowed by labor, deformed by want; looked at the
white throats of scornful ladies and thought about