An eighteenth century marquise; a study of Émilie Du Châtelet and her times

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AN EIGHTEENTH-
CENTURY MARQUISE

A SrUBT OF EMILIE DU CHJ^ELET
JND HER TIMES

By FRANK HAMEL

Author of
" The Dauphines of France" " Famous French Salons," etc.

WITH FRONTISPIECE AND
SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS

New York
JAMES POTT & COMPANY

MCMXI

■<^

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

PREFACE

THE eighteenth century was an artificial age, and
none of the famous women of the day was more
essentially a product of its artificiality than the Marquise
du Chatelet. Her mind was deeply tinged with the
philosophical and metaphysical ideas which accompanied
the approach of the mental unrest preceding the Revolu-
tion. She was thinker and scientist, precieuse and pedant,
but none the less a coquette — in short, a woman of
contradictions. She was so strikingly original, so marked
in her individuality, that she was worthy to be judged on
her own merits, and to stand alone in the eyes of posterity,
yet historians have persisted in regarding her merely as
a satellite of Voltaire. This she would assuredly have
resented. She would rather have been well hated than
treated with indifference, and would have preferred to
be written of with contempt rather than to be ignored.
But this she would never have confessed. She desired
to be loved for herself alone, and when told that certain
persons refused to do her justice, she replied that if
this were indeed the case she wished to ignore it.
Jealousy was at the root of much of the dislike which
her women friends lavished upon her, and occasionally
expressed openly. It is significant that, according to
Sainte-Beuve, the most bitter and most cruelly satirical

5

6 Preface

passages ever written in French appear in her pen-
portrait by Mme du DefFand.

It is impossible to judge Mme du Chatelet apart
from Voltaire, so closely were their lives intertwined, but
it is quite practicable to discuss her from a broader
standpoint than that of her influence on his work, and
to give due consideration to her part in the almost
masculine friendship which united them. Their liaison
forms a narrative of love and intellectual companionship,
of constancy and betrayal, which lasted fifteen years.
In her infatuation for Saint-Lambert, she was, on the
other hand, ultra-womanly. It was a wild, emotional
episode, not often equalled in its improbable and in-
credible abandon^ and it closed with her death after a
year and a half. These contrasting passions bring out
strongly the extreme powers of reason and feeling with
which she was gifted. Her ardour for the diversions
of the salons and the courts, for masquerades, excursions,
theatricals, ■petits soupers, versifying and gambling was
incidental to her character. Her real tastes were not
for gaiety, nor yet even for renown. She had two
absorbing interests — work and love.

Frank Hamel.
London, 1910,

AN EIGHTEENTH-
CENTURY MARQUISE

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME

The Dauphines of France

By FRANK HAMEL
Author of "Famous French Salons," etc.

OUTLOOK.—" Mr. Hamel has worked with much dis-
cretion, aided by a light hand, a fascinating manner, and
an entire absence of pretentiousness. We have not met
within the same compass so faithful and complete a revela-
tion of the life of the Royalties and Noblesse. . . . The
portraits in this entertaining volume are instructive and
admirably reproduced. The frontispiece is charming
enough to be removed and framed on its own merits as
a picture. On the whole, a book suitable for presentation
by uncles and guardians."

DAILY TELEGRAPH.— '"'mr. Hamel has the right
touch, and treats history in a mood of gay vivacity. The
reader will find the various studies always animated, well
informed, and excellently phrased. Certainly these stories
make romantic reading, and Mr. Hamel handles his material
with dexterity and force. In his glowing pages he seizes
every opportunity for lively and impressive description."

BOOKMAN. — " A book which, while remaining of
manageable size, tells all that is to be told about no less
than fifteen persons, must have been remarkably difficult
to write. Mr. Hamel, nevertheless, has accomplished his
task with real success. His style of writing is spirited
and enjoyable, his facts are put tersely and vividly, and
his accuracy is unquestionable. In fact, his manner is as
fascinating as his matter. . . . The book is one which
nobody should miss."

LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO.,
I Clifford's Inn, E.C.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

PAGE

PARENTAGE AND YOUTH . . . . * H

"^CHAPTER II

AN INTIMATE FRIENDSHIP .... 42

^^CHAPTER III
THE MATHEMATICIANS AND THE CAFES . .. 69

"^CHAPTER IV
THE SALONS AND A SUPPER PARTY . . . IO5

\:.

;hapter V

A PARADISE ON EARTH ..... I32

CHAPTER VI

MME DE GRAFFIGNY AT CIREY .... 167

7

8 Contents

CHAPTER VII

PAGE

A LIBEL AND A LAWSUIT ..... I97

CHAPTER VIII
SCEAUX AND ANET

245

CHAPTER IX
THE COURT OF LUNEVILLE ..... 29I

CHAPTER X
LOVE AND SAINT-LAMBERT ..... 329

INDEX 375

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE MARQUISE DU CHATELET FrOtlttSptece

After Nattier.

PAGB

THE DUG DE RICHELIEU 3I

VOLTAIRE AS A YOUNG MAN 39

After a painting by Largilliire.

MOREAU DE MAUPERTUIS . 75

Engraved from a painting by Tourniires.

MADAME DACIER 93

HOUDART DE LAMOTTE ......... 97

MADAME DU DEFFAND . 121

FRANCESCO ALGAROTTI 139

After a pastel by Listard.

VOLTAIRE'S " DIVINE EMILIE " I7I

After the painting by Marianne Loir.

MADAME DE GRAFFIGNY ......... 183

VOLTAIRE 221

After an engraving by Alix.

EMILIE GABRIELLE DU CHATELET 239 v^

From an old engraving.

THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE 249

MADAME DE STAAL 273

STANISLAS LECZINSKI, KING OF POLAND 3OI

THE MARQUISE DE BOUFFLERS . . . . . . • '3^^

THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT 331

9

CHIEF AUTHORITIES CONSULTED

Algarotti : Works.

Barbier : Journal.

Beaumelle, Angliviel de la : Vie de Maupertuis.

Beauvau : Souvenirs de la Marechale Princesse de Beauvau.

BoYE, Pierre : La Cour de Luneviile en 1748 et 1749.

CoLLE : Journal.

CoLOMBEY, E. : Ruelles, Salons et Cabarets.

Crequy, Madame de : Souvenirs.

Desnoiresterres : Voltaire et la Societe au dix-huitieme Siecle.

Du ChAtelet, Emilie : Works and Letters.

Du Deffand, Madame : Letters.

Faur : Vie privee du Richelieu.

GoNCOURT, De : La Femme au XVIII^ Siecle.

„ „ L' Amour au XVIII^ Siecle.

Graffigny, Madame de : Letters.
Renault, President : Memoires.
LoNGCHAMP : Memoires.
LuYNES, Due DE : Journal.

Marie, M. : Histoire des Sciences Mathematiques.
Marmontel : Memoires.

Maugras, Gaston : La Cour de Luneviile au XVIII^ Siecle.
Orleans, Elisabeth Charlotte de : Letters.
Sainte-Beuve : Causeries du Lundi.
Saint-Lambert : Works, etc.
Saint-Simon : Memoires.
Staal, Madame de : Memoires.
Voisenon : Works.
Voltaire : Works and Letters.

Etc., Etc.

AN EIGHTEENTH-
CENTURY MARQUISE

CHAPTER I

PARENTAGE AND YOUTH

" \ X /"HAT admirable and unique people you both
* '^ are ! " wrote Frederick the Great to Mme du
Chatelet and Voltaire ; ** the wonder of all who know you
increases day by day." And judging from the complex
natures of the lively marquise and her friend the
philosopher, he might have filled a volume with their
characteristics without coming very much nearer to the
truth.

A study of circumstances and a knowledge of the
extremes which made them distinctive are essential to
unlock this problem of character. The first quarter of
the eighteenth century in France was dull, decaying, and
stagnant ; the second brought forth a burst of impetuous
licence ; in the third, licence having become systematic,
produced a reaction in favour of a new philosophy
which aimed at amelioration of the social order ; and in
the fourth quarter this was superseded by activity of the
most drastic kind, so explosive in its course that decay,
licence, philosophy, and all the known conditions dis-
appeared before it, and a new day was ushered in. The
first half of the century alone concerns Mme du

ji

12 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

Chatelet, the Revolution and the period of immediate
preparation which filled the latter half being an inevitable
and terrible conclusion. The period of her lifetime was
equally important psychologically, and more subtle than
that which succeeded it. Profligacy rioted side by side
with culture, the pursuit of science did not interfere with
the indulgence of personal greed, individual opinion was
awake amidst a sloth of oppression and corruption, and
this spirit of contradiction resulted in mental and moral
unrest, which is reflected in the character of the divine
Emilie. She embodied in herself the definite intellectual
aims which were springing up in the midst of social
instabilities. Her personal idiosyncrasies were the out-
come of hereditary tendencies battling with new and
untried conditions.

Born in 1706, she had reached the most impressionable
age when the fresh ideas and livelier manners of the
Regency began to make themselves felt. She was not
slow to imbibe them, and her position was one in which
she had every opportunity to do so efi^ectively. She was
the daughter of the Baron de Breteuil, a frequenter
of Courts, and an odd character who belonged to the
later period of Louis Quatorze, and was inflated to an
almost ridiculous degree with the pomposity of etiquette
and ceremonial, in the atmosphere of which he had
spent many years of his life. The Le Tonnelier de
Breteuil family was an old one, and had numerous
branches. Many of its members held appointments as
magistrates, controllers of finance, and in the Church
and the army. The family had settled in Paris in the
middle of the sixteenth century, and one of its most
celebrated scions was Emilie' s grandfather, Louis le
Tonnelier de Breteuil, Seigneur de Boissette, Mons and

Parentage and Youth 13

Raville, who held a number of public posts, the more
important being those of Controller-General of Finances
and Councillor of State. His wife, Chretienne Le Court,
presented him with a large family of sons, of whom Louis-
Nicolas, Baron de Preuilly, was the seventh and youngest.
Born on September 14, 1648, at Montpellier, while his
father was Intendant of Languedoc, he was early destined
for a career at court, and soon won for himself a reputa-
tion as a gallant man about town. His first love-affair
was with one of the queen's femmes de chamhre^ a certain
Mile de Perigny, who was not satisfied with a single
string to her bow, and flirted with the Marquis d'Estrades
and the Comte de Marsin at the same time as the Baron
de Breteuil. One day the second called on her, to find
the first and third already present. To his surprise she
was dressed all in black and wore anything but a cheerful
air. When the other two had taken their departure, the
Comte de Marsin begged her to tell him why she had
gone into mourning. Without a moment's hesitation
she laughingly explained the position in verse :

••Je prends mon habit de deuil
Et suis malade
Quand je vois entrer Breteuil
Avec Estrades."

A far more romantic episode was that of Louis-Nicolas
with the fascinating Anne Bellinzani, who fell madly in
love with him when she met him at a ball in 1 67 1 . She
wrote a passionate story of this affair under the title of
the " Histoire des Amours de Cleante et de Belise," and
described him at the age of twenty-one as possessing a
charm of manner and appearance with which in later
years he was never credited. Her parents and relatives
regarded her attitude with stern disapproval, but she

14 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

ignored their prejudices until by chance she discovered
that her lover was secretly married to another. Then she
entered a convent, to emerge five years later on the eve
of a forced marriage with President Ferrand. For some
time afterwards she hoped to renew the early romance,
and kept up a correspondence with Louis-Nicolas, but
his heart had long since ceased to respond to her calls
upon it. In 1675 his wife, Marie Anne le F^vre de
Caumartin, who was also a distant cousin, bore him a
daughter, and retired to a convent, where she died four
years later. On her death-bed, the marriage, which for
some mysterious reason had been kept secret, was
acknowledged, and he claimed the little girl as his
legitimate child. Anne-Louise, as she was called, died
at the age of twenty-two, and was buried in the family
sepulchre.

In 1677 Louis-Nicolas obtained the post of Reader to
the King, and after holding this for some time he sold
it and was sent in January 1688 as envoy extraordinary
to the Princes of Italy. In 1699 he contracted a second
marriage, and this wooing contained a flavour of mystery,
like the first. He had been paying court for some time
to the wife of his uncle, Claude le Tonnelier de Breteuil,
who before her marriage had been a Mile de Froulay.
She invited her sister to come and stay with her, and the
Baron de Breteuil soon found that his affections were
newly engaged, and that he was obliged to play a double
game. His aunt only discovered the truth when he
announced his approaching marriage with her sister. The
children of the marriage were Rene- Alexandre, born
April 7, 1698 ; Charles-Auguste, Elisabeth-Theodore,
and Emilie-Gabrielle, December 17,1 706.

Emilie's maternal grandmother was Angelique de

Parentage and Youth 15

Beaudean, a fille d'honneur to Queen Marie-Therese.
She was married in 1656 to the Comte de Froulay,
Grand-Markhal des Logis. The latter's functions con-
sisted in making the arrangements for the housing of
the king, the officers, and the court, in the various
palaces and when travelling. Ang61ique was the sister
of Mme de Navailles and daughter to that Mme de
Neuillant who was responsible for the training of
Fran9oise d'Aubigne, better known as Mme de
Maintenon.

Two years after his second marriage the Baron de
Breteuil was appointed Introducer of Ambassadors at
the French Court in the place of Bonneuil, who had
died recently and to whose widow he had to pay 40,000
crowns. The post was worth more than twice that sum,
and carried with it certain prerogatives and privileges
which were by no means to be despised. His main
duties were to conduct to the king, to the queen, and
to all the princes and princesses of the blood, the kings,
sovereign princes and princesses, legates, cardinals,
ambassadors, envoys, and other dignitaries coming from
foreign countries. Moreover he had to introduce to the
queen and all the princesses of the blood, the female
relatives that these foreigners brought with them. No
wonder that our friend the Baron had to be a good
courtier ! In such a post, tact, amiability and gallantry
were absolute essentials. He knew how to make himself
liked, and was a favourite with the young Due de
Bourgogne, who chose him to carry the candle on the
night his marriage was consummated, this privilege of
carrying the candle being much sought after by courtiers.
The Baron revelled in the " world of small things " that*
devolved upon him incidentally in the course of his

1 6 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

duties. He left voluminous memoirs, which form a
remarkable record of ceremonial at court, from events
of real historical and political significance down to the
smallest tittle-tattle, concerning the Duchess of So-and-so's
breach of etiquette, the contempt of the Marquise some-
body-else for a present bestowed upon her by the King,
what happened at the wedding of some unimportant
nobility, and what was the consequence of a moment's
forgetfulness on the part of some dignitary who ought to
have known better. La Bruy^re and Saint-Simon bore
witness to the Baron's less noble qualities, and even to
the petty spirit he occasionally showed. His daughter,
who was never petty, was not exempt from occasional
ignoble traits, in spite of her breadth of view and
intellectual superiority, and there are some sides of her
character which were not unlike her father's.

Under the thin disguise of Celsus, La Bruyere described
the Baron de Breteuil none too kindly. " Celsus is of
mean condition," he wrote, " yet those of the best quality
entertain him. He has no learning, but he has relations
with the learned. He has little merit himself, yet he is
acquainted with those who have a great deal. He has
no abilities, but he has a tongue that serves to make him
understood and feet to carry him from one place to
another. He is a man born to run to and fro on errands,
to listen to propositions and report them, to make him-
self appear important, to overdo his commission and be
relieved of it, to reconcile people who quarrel at their
first interview, to succeed in one affair and fail in a
thousand, to attribute to himself all the honour of success
and to cast the blame of failure on others. He knows
all the news and gossip of the town. He does nothing
himself, but tells and repeats what others are doing. He

Parentage and Youth

17

IS a newsmonger. He even knows family secrets, and
he IS concerned in the most intimate mysteries. He will
tell you why such an one went into exile, and why
another was recalled."

Saint-Simon's account was that the Baron was not
at all wantmg in intellect-which is far more likely to
be the truth-but that he allowed his predilection for the
Court, mmisters, men of office and of fashion to carry
him away ; that indeed it amounted to a mania, and that
he was not above using his influence for pecuniary con-
siderations by promising his protection to those in search
of appointments-wherein he did not differ from his
feJows, for at that time office-finding was a lucrative
pursuit. He blamed him also for tuft-hunting, accused
him of being a bore, a boaster, and a chatterbox, as well
as a butt for ridicule and chaff generally. To substantiate
his first accusation he quotes the case of the Pontchartrains
mto whose society he had forced himself through the
influence of Caumartin, who was distantly related to his
first wife. In this connection he tells a story about him
similar to one which was told by La Bruy^re of Le
Notre the famous gardener. One day when the Baron
was dining at M. de Pontchartrain's house amon^ a
number of guests, he began to speak rather bumptiously.
Mme de Pontchartrain, who was perhaps a little
annoyed, wished to take him down a peg or two She
said to him that, though he appeared to know every-
thing, she felt sure he did not know who composed the
Paternoster. Thereupon Breteuil began to laugh and
joke His hostess pressed the point, and always returned
to the same subject. He defended himself as well as he
could, and then rose from table and left the room. Cau-
martin, who was aware of his embarrassment, followed

2

1 8 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

him, and whispered " Moses." The Baron, who had
grown a little confused, thought this was all right, and
when coffee was served he brought up the subject of the
Pater again triumphantly. This time Mme de Pontchar-
train had no difficulty in getting her way, and Breteuil,
after reproaching her a number of times for the doubt she
showed in him and the shame he felt at being obhged
to answer a question so trivial, said that every one knew
Moses was the author of the Pater. There was a loud
burst of laughter. The poor Baron, utterly confounded,
did not know where to hide his diminished head. Every
one repeated his remark until it was worn threadbare.
He quarrelled with Caumartin, and the Pater was held up
against him for a long while.

Concerning the early years of Emilie^s life, spent under
the guardianship of such a father, there is very little
reliable information.

There is a garbled account in the Souvenirs of Mme
de Crequy, but it is difficult to sift truth from fiction,
and the authorship of these memoirs is uncertain. The
Marquise de Crequy was a Mile de Froulay and first
cousin to Emilie, so her evidence, had she given any,
would have been invaluable. As it is, the contemporary
anecdotes which exist in her supposed Souvenirs form an
inaccurate but possible picture of the reality. Mile de
Froulay, so the story runs, was taken by her father to
the Hotel de Breteuil, close to the gardens of the Tuileries,
where Emilie lived. She described the house as very
beautiful and herself as overjoyed to go and live there.
There were eight or nine rooms on each floor of the
house, and all were decorated and gilded with great
luxury. The Marquise de Breteuil-Sainte-Croix occupied
the ground-floor, two or three of the rooms being reserved

Parentage and Youth 19

for her mother, the Marechale de Thomond. These two
had fine apartments in the chateau of Saint-Germain, and
they regarded those in the Hotel de Breteuil as a mere
pied-a-terre in Paris. Mme de Breteuil-Preuilly, Mile
de Froulay's aunt, lived in the first story with her hus-
band. His library overflowed into three rooms. The
second story belonged to the Dowager Countess de
Breteuil-Charmeaux, another aunt, the eldest sister of
the Baronne, who refused to share her apartments with
any one. The third floor was occupied by the Com-
mandant de Breteuil, who frequently had the Bishop of
Rennes to stay with him. The Baronne's four children
occupied the fourth floor, and Mile de Froulay's cousin
Emilie had to give up her room to the new arrival. It
overlooked the Tuileries Gardens. She was moved into
three little rooms looking out on to a blind alley, and for
this, said Mile de Froulay, " she never forgave me."

Mile de Froulay was thus transplanted into the very
bosom of the Breteuil family, and felt as though she were
in a thicket of thorns, so carefully had she been instructed
that etiquette and rank were the gods of the household.
She never dared to mention commoners without looking
round, as one would naturally do if speaking of hump-
backs or people with red hair, to be sure there were none
present.

M. de Breteuil was an old limb of the law, said his
niece none too respectfully, and his chief topic of con-
versation was his father, the Controller-General, whose
name he never mentioned without the title Monseigneur.
His own titles made quite a recitation, and he repeated
them on every possible occasion. He was Baron de
Breteuil and de Preuilly, Premier Baron de Touraine
and Secretary to the King, Minister Plenipotentiary and

20 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

Reader to His Majesty, besides Councillor and Introducer
of Ambassadors. His wife, Gabrielle-Anne de Froulay,
was renowned for her beauty. Her face was amongst
those that strike the eye of the beholder, that once seen
are never forgotten, and of a type that no one expects
to see twice in a lifetime. Her complexion was of a
marvellous freshness. She had fair, rather colourless hair,
dark eyebrows, grey eyes, piercing like an eagle's, a sweet
and lively, but above all imposing air. She was naturally
serious, and if she smiled it was in a condescending
manner, or tenderly when she looked at her children, who
were all very charming except, according to the supposed
Mile de Froulay's account, the awkward Emilie. About
her she had not a good word to say.

Emilie was a giantess in height and broad in pro-
portion. She had marvellous strength and was quite
exceptionally clumsy. She had huge feet and appalling
hands. Her skin was as rough as a nutmeg grater,
and altogether she was as ugly as a grenadier guard.
Having deprived her of even a shred of presentable
appearance, the prejudiced memoir-writer proceeded to
deprive her of the slightest intellectual capacity. She
was dull, muddled, and preoccupied, whilst her pedantry
made her insupportable ; she gained all that she knew
of astronomy from the crumbs of knowledge which fell
from her mother's lips. And this was the woman of
whom Voltaire spoke as a beauty and a savante in after-
years. How could he reconcile it to his conscience?
" Ah, Madame," was the poet's reply when the leading
question was put to him, *' she would have trampled
on me if I had not done so, and in the end she might
have strangled me. You know little about her if you
do not know that." " Well, Monsieur de Voltaire, that

Parentage and Youth 21

may be so," was the reply, " but all I am willing to
admit about Mme du Chatelet is that she was cleverer
than you."

The children were taught their manners very care-
fully by their mother, who made them read books of
advice as to the best way of eating boiled eggs, of
serving glasses of liqueur, and of breaking their bread
carefully at table. They were taught to avoid the
habits of the middle classes as they would the pestilence.
The household was carried on in the most lavish manner,
and though there were but few members, the servants
numbered as many as forty-four. Fontenelle, Dangeau,
and Saint- Simon were said to be frequent visitors at
the house.

This account of the Breteuil family may or may not
represent the actuality of Emilie's early surroundings,
but there is at least no reason to doubt that her
upbringing was in most particulars similar to that of
other girls of her class, with the exception perhaps
that her tastes led her to profit by the classical education
her father provided for her, and that from the first she
was encouraged to indulge in original thought.

The birth of a daughter at this period was almost
invariably a disappointment to the parents. A girl
could add nothing to the family glory, nay, her dowry
would before long deplete its coffers. She could not
transmit her father's name nor win fresh glories on the
battlefield or in diplomatic circles. Her arrival left her
father indifferent and her mother a little regretful. The
absence of the infant at nurse softened the disappoint-
ment, and by the time she returned to be placed in
charge of a governess, she was welcomed in a kindly
manner, as a pretty little doll to be dressed up and

22 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

regarded as a plaything. Her home was a forcing-
house of artificiality. Her youth was but a foretaste
of her later years. She aped her grown-up sister in
her habits, her manners and her dress. A little girl
of the eighteenth century had her hair done high and
padded, crowned with feathers, or a ribbon-laden bonnet
trimmed with flowers. She wore an embroidered muslin
overdress, covering a wide-spreading blue or pink silk
underskirt. She loved gewgaws, and adorned herself
with ornaments of gold and silver, coral and pearl.
Her playthings, consisting especially of dolls, were as
much bedizened as herself, possessed hard red cheeks
and gaudy clothes, and were so large as to be incon-
venient to carry. Yet no good eighteenth-century
mother of dolls would have dreamt of walking out in
the park with her governess unaccompanied by her
waxen baby. As for the little Emilie-Gabrielle, her
love of fine clothes and gewgaws was deep-seated from
the first, and grew with her growth, but if she ever
played with dolls, it was surely to bang their heads on
the floor when she was angry, and then, remorseful
because she thought them pained, to hug and caress
them with all the force of her passionate nature.

As regards education, it has already been said that
Emilie was far better equipped in useful knowledge
than others of her class. "Her father, the Baron de
Breteuil, had taught her Latin," wrote Voltaire in his
Memoirs, " which she understood as perfectly as Mme
Dacier. She knew by rote the most beautiful passages
in * Horace,' ' Virgil,' and * Lucretius,' and all the
philosophical works of Cicero were familiar to her. Her
inclinations were more strongly bent towards mathe-
matics and metaphysics than any other studies. Seldom

Parentage and Youth 23

has there been united in the same person so much
justness of discernment and elegance of taste with so
ardent a desire for information." He also declared that
in her earliest youth she had read good authors in
various languages, that he himself had seen several
portions of a translation of the ^neid, which showed
a wonderful knowledge of the meaning of the original ;
that, having studied Itahan and Enghsh, Tasso and
Milton became as familiar to her as Virgil ; and that
she made some progress in Spanish. She was also an
accomplished musician.

In having had this classical groundwork Emilie was
indeed fortunate. The ordinary governess was usually
concerned in making her pupil acquainted with showy
and gUttering accomplishments rather than with solid
learning, and with a superficial veneer of manners,
etiquette, and pretty behaviour, than with rules for
upright conduct and straightforward honesty. Emilie
profited but little by the inevitable lessons in deportment,
the turning out of toes, the elaborate curtsy, or the
dignity to be attained from a head well-balanced on
her shoulders. She was awkward to the last day of her
life, but her delight in romping and her natural vivacity
as a child were probably not nearly as well curbed as in
the case of the ordinary pert misses.

A child at that time was taken to stiff bah (Tenfants,
driving there in her carriage, gorgeously attired, her
hair decked with feathers, her person with jewellery,
a coquettish bouquet fixed on the left shoulder, scented,
powdered, rouged, and artificial to her finger-tips. Her
relations with her mother were probably limited to a
visit once a day for a few minutes to the semi-lighted,
rose-tinted room where the latter lay resting after her

24 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

fatigues of the previous evening, receiving casual privi-
leged visitors of either sex. The little daughter was
encouraged to caress her mother's outstretched hand,
delicate and white and glittering with rings, to say
*' How are you, chere Maman ? " to obey the answer,
"Kiss me, ma petite, and then run away and enjoy
yourself as much as you can," with an added remark,
addressed sotto voce to the visitor, « Isn't she a darling ?
I can hardly bear my lovely child out of my sight."

Apart from its purely devotional aspect, the convent
was an institution of considerable influence in the life ot
a woman in the eighteenth century. Should there be
no dot forthcoming because the sons of the house needed
all the money, there was the refuge ; it served too as
an asylum or a prison in the case of injudicious love-
affairs or unfortunate marriages ; it was a sanctuary for
those who repented of a wild youth, or whose beauty
had been utterly disfigured by the prevalent scourge of
smallpox. Marriage or a convent : there was no other
alternative for a girl of good family at that period. She
was sent there for educational purposes, and perhaps because
the mother did not wish for the presence of a growing
girl, blossoming into fresh beauty which might contrast
with her own jaded charms to their disadvantage and thus
dim the lustre of her popularity. Probably she was brought
out again at the age of seventeen or eighteen, to take
up the worldly life and contract a marriage of convenience
Marriage at that time was another term for emancipation • '
It presented itself as a period of bustle, of a sudden
accession of importance, of the sensation of being grown-
up, of endless interviews with dressmakers, milliners and
jewellers, of family conclaves and receptions of friends
at which there was usually present a certain man who

Parentage and Youth 25

was to be looked at from afar and with an accompaniment
of becoming blushes, and who somehow was a necessary
though not the most interesting part of the affair. He
represented rank, luxury, enjoyment, coquetry, the opera,
a display of jewels, and all the delights of freedom till
then denied her.

Marriage was regarded by the French girl of the
eighteenth century as the starting-point in the race of
life, and Mile de Breteuil took the same point of view
as all the others. She had reached the age of nineteen
when, on June 12, 1725, she contracted a marriage of
convenience with the Marquis Florent-Claude du Chatelet-
Lomont. Her husband belonged to an old Lorraine
family, originally wealthy, but much reduced in fortune.
Born at Namur, in 1695, the eldest son of Florent du
Chatelet, Comte de Lomont, Seigneur de Cirey, he was
ten years older than his wife. They had no mutual
interests. He was heavy, and of the earth earthy ; she
was brilliant and full of the intention to live her life to
the uttermost. They very soon agreed to go separate
ways. He was a soldier, having joined the king's
musketeers in 17 12, served through the campaigns of
Landau, of Freiburg, and assisted at the siege of Phillips-
burg. His successful military career was rewarded, and
he was appointed field-marshal in 1738 and lieutenant-
general in 1744. His profession was the cause of many
separations between husband and wife, but their lack
of mutual understanding made this no hardship. There
were three children of the marriage : Gabrielle-Pauline,
born at Paris on June 30, 1726, Florent-Louis-Marie,
born November 20, 1727, and Victor-Esprit, born at
Paris in 1734, who died in infancy. Mme du Chatelet
took the same kind of interest in her children as she

26 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

had taken in her dolls. She did not realise the part they
were intended to play in the scheme of life. But she
was always tolerant of them, and loved them now and
again in her tempestuous manner, especially when she
found them useful. Her husband had grown tired of
her before the birth of her youngest son, for she had not
the art of keeping a man's affections except through her
intellectual gifts, which in no way appealed to the Marquis,
and she had already turned for variety to the mathematical
and philosophical studies which became her life-interest.
Neither these nor the children prevented her from
following the example set by the society women of her
class. Their habits were extravagant, luxurious, and free,
and included all kinds of frivolity, frailty and intrigue.

Mme du Chatelet participated in the custom of the
day, and soon found among her numerous men-friends
one in whom she could take more than a platonic
interest. But she never went to extremes, like many a
languishing beauty, and she lived neither an idle nor
dissolute life. She was deterred from that by circum-
stances and tastes. She was not rich enough, and she
loved intellectual pursuits ; these things were her safe-
guard. But she enjoyed herself as much as any one —
probably more than most, for she entered into gaiety
with the robust spirit of play which is generally associated
with the idea of childhood. And this happy side of her
nature helped her to escape from the failings of her more
light-minded companions, with their airs of artificiality and
sensuousness which have been justly condemned.

" Voluptuousness clothes her," wrote De Goncourt of
the Frenchwoman of the eighteenth century, "placing on
her feet slippers to aid her in her mincing steps, and
sprinkling in her hair a powder which shows fQrth, a§

Parentage and Youth 27

through a mist, the features of her face, the sparkling
eyes, the flashing smile. It lights up her cheeks with
the delicate colour of the rose, enhancing the beauty of
her complexion. It shrouds her arms in lace ; it peeps
above her dress, subtly suggesting her entire form ; it
leaves her neck bare, not only in the drawing-room in
the evening, but even when out walking in the street,
where she is to be seen day by day, and at all hours
provokingly decolletee^ permitting a seductive vision of
fair white skin and delicate outline, that, to eyes jaded by
town-life, are a reminder of fragrant flowers and shafts of
sunlight." Besides, it was the day of patches, which had
a bewitching meaning all their own. One in the corner
of her eye signified la Passionnee^ in the middle of her
cheek la Galante^ on the nose VEffrontee^ near the lips la
Coquette.

The setting was usually worthy of the jewel. Her
boudoir was extravagantly furnished, the silk that clothed
her of the finest, mirrors reflected her beauty from every
point of view, pictures adorned her walls illustrating the
romantic side of life, with imaginary shepherds making
love in flowery arbours to fair shepherdesses ; her books
described in glowing language the glamour of passion,
her music was thrilling melody. Mme du Chatelet was
too sensible to attribute to this exotic atmosphere a value
it did not possess ; on the other hand, however, she did
not scorn it as an aid to making life pleasurable. One
thing was lacking in her : she was not beautiful. She
had fine eyes, a bright smile, and a striking presence, but
the softer feminine graces were not hers.

Yet this want of personal advantages did not keep
lovers at a distance, although it was a factor in preventing
them from devoting a lifetime to her alone. It must be

28 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

recollected that the conventionalities of the day were
concerned with appearances rather than with facts, and
that the question " Is she discreet ? " was more frequently-
asked than " Has she a lover ? " In her first affair
Mme du Chatelet was careful to comply with the rules
of society until her lover, the Marquis de Guebriant,
grew weary of her. Then she broke them all, and won a
temporary notoriety by attempting to take her own life.
There is little to tell of the Marquis de Guebriant, who
was a nephew of the Marechal de Maillebois, except that
he was of a practical turn of mind and did not approve
of hysterics and heroics. " The real character of Mme
du Chatelet," wrote the Abbe Raynal, describing the
manner in which she took her sentence of dismissal, " was
to be extreme in all things. One single trait will paint
her." That was a bold statement on the Abbe's part,
which does not bear endorsement. " In despair at seeing
herself deserted by her lover, who had formed a new
attachment," he continued, " she begged the unfaithful
one to come and see her. After a conversation which
was carried on without constraint on either side, Mme
du Chatelet asked M. de Guebriant to give her some
soup which was on the table, and having taken it, she
dismissed him, giving him a letter at the same time. As
soon as the Marquis had reached the bottom of the stairs
he read the letter, which was to the effect that Mme du
Chatelet said she was about to die poisoned by her own
hand. The Marquis did not waste time in vain lamenta-
tion. With wonderful presence of mind, he went to seek
an antidote in the nearest place, and made his mistress
swallow it. The effect of this remedy was so efficacious
that nothing remained but the remembrance of her extra-
ordinary act."

Parentage and Youth 29

The account of this rash deed as given by Maurepas
varies a little. Nothing is said about an interview
between the lovers. On receiving a letter from Mme
du Chatelet full " of eternal farewells," Guebriant, know-
ing her to be subject to fits of great excitement, hastened
to her house, where he was refused admittance. He forced
his way in, however, and rushed to her apartment, where
he found her stretched upon a couch suffering from the
effects of a dose of opium sufficient to kill her. He took
measures to have her restored, *' but being unable to
renew his attachment in spite of this proof of love,"
concluded Maurepas, " she consoled herself with several
others."

That phrase lends itself to misconstruction. Until
her liaison with Voltaire, Mme du Chatelet's name was
only coupled with that of one other man, a distant kins-
man of her own, the irresistible and notorious Richelieu.
Love between them was but a short-lived episode, friend-
ship lasted her lifetime, and with Voltaire as a third
became a triangular bond full of good-will and affection.
Mme du Chatelet's letters to Richelieu are amongst the
most intimate that she ever wrote, and contain much
self-revelation. They are calmer, more level-headed and
womanly than the excited and turbulent phrases she
penned to d'Argental in the days when she thought her
happiness with Voltaire was at stake. Richelieu did not
approve of weeping and scenes, and she respected his
tastes in this respect and restrained her feelings.

Louis-Frangois Armand Duplessis, Due de Richelieu,
established his reputation as a rake long before Mme
du Chatelet was grown up. He was ten years older than
she was, and his sister had married into her husband's
family. D'Argenson called him an amateur of interesting

30 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

trifles, a butterfly. He was a slave to fashion, and
though gifted with personal merit, he based his hopes on
blind favour, on seduction, charm and graces, rather than
upon more solid qualities.

" Ever since he was twelve years of age he has made
himself talked of in the world," wrote d'Argenson.
"His love of voluptuous pleasures has more of ostentation
in it than of real delight ; he is a prodigal without
magnificence or generosity ; he is saving, but without
prudence ; in his domestic aff'airs he shows both skilful
management and disorder. Such is the practical side of
a French Alcibiades — they call him thus. . . . He has
been much the fashion among women. The pretensions
and jealousies of coquettes have procured him a quantity
of bonnes fortunes — never a passion, but much debauchery ;
he has deceived a weak sex ; he has taken senses for
heart ; he is not fortunate enough to possess a friend ;
he is .frank through heedlessness, distrustful through
contempt of mankind and shrewdness, disobliging from
insensibility and misanthropy. Such is the sad character
of a nation gay and volatile as ours ; the more superiority
there is, the more contrasts there are in qualities which
destroy each other."

De Goncourt is still more severe on a society which
welcomed a man of this stamp in its midst. " If he
bear the name of Richelieu his career throughout the
century will be as triumphant as that of a god. He
will be woman's idolised lord, and at sight of him
modesty will have nothing but tears to show for itself!
She will positively invite scandal if only it will be on
his account ; she will intrigue, simply for the glory of
being submitted to exposure through him ; there will
be honour in the shame which he bequeaths. The

THE DUG DE RICHELIEU

I,over and friend of ]Mme du Chatelet

31

Parentage and Youth 33

coquette and the prude, the duchess and the princess —
all alike will yield to him. The youth and beauty of
the Court of the Regent and of Louis XV will go
out to meet him like women of the streets. Women
will fight for him for passion's sake, like men who fight
in anger ; and it will be on his behalf that Mme de
Polignac and the Marquise de Nesle exchange pistol-
shots in the Bois de Boulogne. He will have mistresses
who will aid him even in his acts of infidelity, their
jealousy stifled by their desire to please ; mistresses upon
whom he can never heap too many indignities, and
whose patience he can never tire. When he abuses
them they kiss his hand ; when he drives them away
they come back. He will no longer count the portraits,
the locks of hair, the rings and trinkets, and he will
forget to whom they belong ; they will be jumbled
together in his drawers, as they are jumbled in his
memory. Every morning he awakens to homage ; when
he rises, prayers greet him from a heap of letters. They
are thrown away unopened, with the words ' Letters
which I have not had time to read,' scribbled over the
superscription. At his death will be found five notes,
with unbroken seals, all bearing the same date, from
five great ladies, each begging an appointment of him
for an hour of the night ! Or it may be that he will
deign to open them, and then glancing hurriedly through
them, he will yawn over the burning lines of supplication
and let them fall from his hands as a minister lets fall
a petition."

Emilie du Chatelet must have possessed personal charm
of a novel order to attract even for a moment the man
who had only to choose amongst the most beautiful
women that he met. Perhaps " piquant, radiant, and

34 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

adventurous " ^ are good words to apply to her. But
she did not pride herself on having won the attention
of the most popular man of the hour. She was not at
all the sort of woman to boast of her conquests. She
was sincere when she wrote that Voltaire *' does not
pardon me for having indulged in passing sentiments
for you, light as they were. Assuredly the character
of my friendship should repair this error, and if it is to
that I owe yours, I shall say, in spite of all my remorse :

0 felix culpa ! It would have been much sweeter to
me to owe it to your esteem, and to be able to take
pleasure in it without blushing every moment under
the eyes of my ami tnttme ; but such is my destiny,
and it is necessary to submit to it. I ought to seek
to wipe out this idea, but remorse continually renews
it. I should have been too happy without that."

That was her attitude — she was not ashamed of having
been Richelieu's mistress, or if ashamed, then only with
a surface show of remorse for expediency's sake, but
neither did she glory in it ; she only rejoiced in being
his friend. Her letters to him strike that note continu-
ally, almost at the risk of becoming wearisome through
repetition. " It is the privilege of friendship," she cries,
" to see one's friend in every condition of his soul.

1 love you sad, gay, lively, oppressed ; I wish that my
friendship might increase your pleasures, diminish your
troubles and share them. There is no need on that
account to have real misfortunes or great pleasures.
No events are necessary, and I am as much interested
in your moods and flirtations as other people are in
the good fortune or bad fortune of the people they
call their friends. I agree with you that one would

^ Carlyle, Life of Frederick the Great.

Parentage and Youth 35

rather see one's lover rouged, but one prefers to see
him without rouge than not to see him at all. ... 1
do not know whether it is flattering to you to say that
you are as agreeable far off as near by ; but I know
very well that it is thought to be a great merit by a
lonely person, who, in renouncing the world, does not
wish to renounce friendship, and who would be very
sorry if a necessary absence made a breach between her
and you. ... I discover in your mind all the charms
and in your society all the delights which the whole
world has agreed to find there ; but I am sure that
no one has felt more than I have the value of your
friendship. Your heart has prepossessed mine. I be-
lieved that there was none other but myself who knew
friendship in a measure so keen, and I was provoked
by the proofs I wished to give you of it, sometimes
on account of my scruples, at other times from fear,
always in defiance of myself. I could not believe that
any one so amiable, so much sought after, would care
to disentangle the sentiments of my heart from all my
faults. I believed that I had known you too late to
obtain a place in your heart ; 1 believed also, I confess
it, that you were incapable of continuing to love any
one who was not necessary to your pleasures and could
not be useful to you . . . you, unique and incomparable
man, understand how to combine everything ; delicious
friendship, intoxication of love, all is felt by you and
spreads the sweetest charm over your fine destiny.

" I confess to you that if, after having made me, as
I may say, give myself up to your friendship, you should
cease (I do not say to love me) but to tell me of it ; if
you should allow a breach to appear in your friendship,
if the remarks or the witticisms of people who find me

3

36 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

pleasing to-day and who will perhaps be displeased with
me to-morrow, make the least impression on you, I
should be inconsolable . . . " ; and again : " I should be
most unfortunate if you do not keep your friendship
for me, and if you do not continue to give me proofs
of it. You would make me repent of the candour
with which I speak, and my heart does not wish to
know repentance."

The sentiment contained in these letters is sincere
and charming ; they are letters of friendship genuine and
warm. All the time she is writing them she is in love
with another man,

" Good-bye," she concludes. " There is no perfect
happiness in the world for me until I can unite the
pleasure of living with you to that of loving him to
whom I have devoted my life."

Richelieu was Voltaire's friend as well as hers. The
acquaintance between the two men began at the close
of 171 8, soon after the first representation of CEdipe^ and
the poet was the recipient of many confidences made by
the duke concerning his affairs of the heart. Reticence
on these subjects was not Richelieu's strong point.
Voltaire's own record was not absolutely stainless. His
mind too had been tainted with the taint of the Regency.
Hardly a man of them all escaped the influence of
the brilliant, cultured, profligate Due d'Orleans, " whose
intellect grasped the future while his vices clung to the
past," who had made possible the Mmes de Parab^res
and de Pries and the scandalous doings at the Palais-Royal,
and who had extended in all directions the luxury, the
daintiness, and at the same time the coarseness of life.

Intimate as the two men were, Richelieu had never
taught Voltaire the finesse of gallantry in which he

Parentage and Youth 37

himself was an adept. Voltaire was primarily a poet.
His passions were intellectual. His critical mind asked
for experience which had grown upon the tree of science.
He enjoyed the society of women, but he never gave
himself up to the systematic art of wooing that was the
fashion. Women were growing more exacting. They
had long been accustomed to the flattering language of
passion ; they required that it should become more and
more extravagant and symbolic. Their hearts, their ears,
their feelings were blunted with custom. They demanded
something fresh, and Voltaire gave them verses because
verses were dealt out by him as easily as cards by a
gambler. But he did not trouble himself even to pretend
that the verses meant more than appeared on the surface.
They meant less. They were written for the sheer joy
of writing them, and for the pleasure of seeing an
answering smile on some fair woman's lips, an answering
glance from some fair woman's eyes.

But in his youthful days three women at least had
awakened temporarily all the passion of which he was
capable. First there was Mme Olympe du Noyer, the
adorable Pimpette, who was the heroine of a short, vivid
delightful episode of his boyhood. Then there was Mile
de Livri, companion to the Duchesse de Sully, with
whom he rode in coaches, and enjoyed surreptitious
suppers, and played the sentimental attendant, until
she spoilt things by falling in love with his friend De
Genonville, who died of small-pox in 1723. She tried
to keep Voltaire's friendship too, and wheedled him into
letting her act in the revival of CEdipe, but she was not
at all a success. Presently she married the Marquis de
Gouvernet, and in after-years she met her old lover, and
they discussed the springtime of love together like two sen-

38 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

timental children. His passion for Adrienne Lecou^
was a more serious thing, and had much of torment in
it, because she was a great actress and belonged to the
public rather than to any one man. There were other
women with whose names his own was more or less
truthfully linked — the gay and witty Mme de Villars,
the Presidente de Bernieres, his philosophic friend Mme
de Rupelmonde, and a few others, who attracted him, but
who were incidental to a life that was at that time full
of change and movement and stress. He was a strange
genius, this Voltaire — poet, story-teller, dramatist, historian,
philosopher, savant and courtier (though he would never
admit the courtier), who was French, yet belonged ex-
clusively to no one nation ; who lived amongst those
of highest rank, yet was born of the middle-class and
found court life irksome ; who was destined to spend his
days amidst volcano-like eruptions and explosions, whether
at Paris, Berlin, Cirey or elsewhere, and who was prepared
to dodge lettres de cachet as an impecunious individual
dodges unpaid bills. And this man was to link his life
with a woman as restless, feverish and intellectual as
himself, and who had still more energy and passion than
he. Twenty years had passed since he had been the
lover of Pimpette, and no sooner had he met Emilie than
all other women appeared as naught in his eyes. Before
they met the strongest link between them was their
mutual friendship for Richelieu.

In 1720 the latter had been elected a member of the
Academy, and the following year he entered Parlement.
It was not until 1722 that Richelieu and Voltaire became
thoroughly intimate, and that the poet was frequently the
duke's guest at the Hotel de Richelieu and elsewhere.
Early in 1725 Richelieu went to Vienna, and did not

VOLTAIRE AS A YOUNG MAN
{After a painting by Largilliere)

39

%

Parentage and Youth 41

return to France until July 1728. During this time
Voltaire was in England, and the friends did not meet
until the spring of 1729. They stayed at Plombieres
together, and were both in Paris in July 1730. In
the autumn of the following year Voltaire was staying
with Richelieu at Versailles, in 1733 he was at his house
in Fontainebleau, and about that date he conceived the
idea of marrying the incorrigible lady's man to the
youngest daughter of his old friend the Prince de Guise.
But before this plan came to anything, the meeting had
taken place between Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet,
which utterly changed the face of the world for both of
them.

CHAPTER II

AN INTIMATE FRIENDSHIP

SOMETIMES it happens that a meeting between
two people is significant of everything. This was
true in the case of Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet. It
was not their first meeting. They had seen each other
before in the early days — probably at her father's house
when Emilie was a child, for Voltaire knew the Baron de
Breteuil well. " I saw her born," he wrote of the baron's
daughter in a letter to Dumas d'Aigueberre, which was
to tell him of her death in 1749. " It was you who helped
me to renew my acquaintance, more than twenty years
ago, with that unfortunate lady who has just died in the
most unfortunate circumstances, and who has left me
alone in the world." The twenty years were in reality
only sixteen. D'Aigueberre introduced them to one
another, it is thought at Sceaux, early in 1733. But
Voltaire knew Mme du Chatelet well enough by reputa-
tion, not improbably through her scientific connection
with Maupertuis.

In 1 73 1 he wrote her some verses on the epic
poets. The following year he addressed to the " charm-
ing and sublime Emilie " his Ode on Fanaticism. His
first dated letter referring to her is considered by the
authorities to have been written to Cideville on July 3,
1733, in which he refers to the Epitre en Vers sur la
Calomnie dedicated to a very amiable and much calumni-
ated lady. It was true then that he knew of her relations

42

An Intimate Friendship 43

with Richelieu. In the light of what happened later, nay,
was to happen within a few weeks, the first lines of the
Epttre read like a strange warning, a warning he himself
was the last to heed, or to help her to realise. The
writing of these verses led to that significant meeting.
They began :

Ecoutez-moi, respectable fimilie :
Vous etes belle ; ainsi done la moitie
Du genre humain sera votre ennemie :
Vous possedez un sublime genie ;
On vous craindra : votre tendre amitie
Est confiante, et vous serez trahie.
Votre vertu dans sa demarche unie,
Simple et sans fard, n'a point sacrifie,
A nos devots ; craignez la calomnie.'

In the course of the poem Voltaire proceeded to paint
J. B. Rousseau under the name of Rufus as a perfidious
soul :

That Rufus whom your sire befriended
And from the attacks of want defended.

At that time this unfortunate individual was in exile,
and could not have been responsible for a slander upon
the daughter as he had been previously for a libellous
attack upon the Baron. Rousseau was the son of a
shoemaker and a servant. He was born in 1671, and

' Epistle upon Calumny. Translation by Francklin and Smollett, 1781 :

Since beautiful, 'twill be your fate,

Emilia, to incur much hate,

Almost one half of human race

Will even curse you to your face ;

Possest of genius, noblest fire,

With fear you will each breast inspire ;

As you too easily confide,

You'll often be betray'd, belied :

You ne'er of virtue made parade.

To Hypocrites no court you've paid,

Therefore of Calumny beware,

Foe to the virtuous and the fair.

44 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

his father, seeing the boy had exceptional talents, strove
his utmost to give him a position better than his own.
At first he was destined for the Church, but made his
debut in the literary world with several more or less
unsuccessful plays, of which Le Cafe was one of the
earliest. Among his protectors were Chamillard, Tallard,
the Baron de Breteuil, and Saint-Evremont. He behaved
very badly to all of them. He went as copyist in the
secretarial office of M. Tallard, the French Ambassador
to England, and his unfortunate taste for epigram soon
led to his dismissal. Returning to France he found
employment with the Bishop of Viviers, where, Voltaire
said, he wrote the *' Moisade," and the Bishop dismissed
him. Oddly enough Rousseau accused Voltaire of being
the author of the " Moisade," which was by Lourdet.
His next venture was in the secretarial office of the
Swedish Embassy, but that did not last long. He came
back to Paris fortified by a letter of introduction to the
Baron de Breteuil, who was still Introducer of Ambas-
sadors. He recited some of his verses. The Baron, who
had both taste and culture, was charmed, and employed
Rousseau as his secretary and man of letters, heaping
favours upon him. But Rousseau could not keep up
friendly relations with the other servants of the house-
hold ; and once, during a journey to the Baron's estate of
Preuilly, in Touraine, he complained of having been
badly treated. In revenge he wrote a satire on his master,
called " La Baronnade," " as," explained Voltaire, " he had
called his piece against Moses Moisade, and his piece
against M. de Francine la Francinade." Rousseau had
the unpardonable taste to read this effusion to various
people, among others to the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre.
The Baron heard of it, and was furious. At length he

An Intimate Friendship 45

forgave his secretary, who denied the authorship, but
refused to employ him any longer, arid placed him with
M. Rouille, where Rousseau had the audacity to parody
a verse that his new master composed in honour of
his mistress Mile de Louvancourt. When all this took
place Emilie was still a child of not more than ten ; but
she knew the whole story, probably through the
Duchesse de Saint-Pierre, who became one of her greatest
friends.

At the time when he wrote the Epttre sur la Calomniej
which was not printed till three years later, Voltaire
corresponded with the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre, praising
her letters and saying that he dare no longer write in
prose since he had seen her letters and those of her
friend. This versifying and correspondence roused the
duchess and the marquise to a greater interest in the
poet, and before many weeks had passed they paid a
memorable visit to Voltaire, a visit so startling and delight-
ful, that ever after that day he believed in divinities, like
Abraham :

Vers les approches de la nuit
Une visite de trois anges.

The only difference was that the celestial trio supped
at Abraham's house, and Voltaire's visitors would not
deign to accept his hospitality. The intellectual feast,
however, was perfect. Of the three Voltaire was only
aware of one, the divine Emilie, in whom he recognised
a kindred spirit ; but the verse he produced to celebrate
the visit was practical to the extent of being prosaic :

Ciel ! que j'entendrais s'^crier,
Marianne, ma cuisiniere,
Si la Duchesse de Saint-Pierre,
Du Chatelet et Forcalquier,
Venait souper dans ma tanidre !

46 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

The gay Forcalquier, who was a great favourite among
women, and of whom it was said that he never entered a
room without brightening it, was the eldest son of the
Marechal de Brancas, and at that time was dancing
attendance on the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre. The
duchess was a daughter of the Marquis de Croissy and
niece of Colbert. Born in 1682, she was twenty-four
years older than Mme du Chatelet, a difference in age
which did not seem to affect in the least a similarity of
tastes. Mme de Saint-Pierre had been twice widowed.
She had been dame d'honneur to the Queen of Spain, and
had travelled in Italy. She knew Vienna as well as
Madrid.

On the death of the Due de Saint-Pierre, in 1727, she
came to France, and was closely in touch with the Court
through her brother, the Marquis de Torcy, Minister for
Foreign Affairs. It is probable that her friendship with
Emilie began about this time. Several flattering portraits
were written about the duchess. Saint-Simon described
her as very beautiful. Mme de Staal said she was a
pleasant, sociable woman, and a very desirable companion.
Mile A'lsse wrote to Mme Calandrini, in December 1730,
a very attractive description of a woman who was no
longer in her youth.

" This lady is always beautiful. She has preserved
a fine complexion, a full throat ; she might be only
twenty years old. She is very lovable, she has seen
good company ; and a stern husband, who knew the
world, has made her charmingly polite. She knows
how to wear the air of a grande dame without humiliating
others. She has not at all the kind of haughty politeness
which patronises. She has much wit. She knows how to
say flattering things, and how to put people at their ease."

An Intimate Friendship 47

It was left to President Henault to put the finishing
touches to the picture : " Everything about her is
noble," he wrote — " her countenance, her tastes, the
style of her letters, her discourses, her politeness. Her
words are choice without being affected, her conversation
is agreeable and interesting. She has forgotten nothing,
and she has seen a great deal. But she always regulates
the length of her recitals according to the desire of
others. Without omitting any essential circumstances
she makes one regret their brevity. If books were
written as well as she speaks, love of reading would
be the virtue of all the world.

" She has an admirable discernment in the choice of
friends, and her friendship is courageous and unassail-
able " — that was a compliment to Emilie. *' In short,
she is a person born to shine in the grand world, and
the only one who gives us an idea of what we hear
said concerning the true politeness of courtly manners."

Surely Voltaire endorsed all these amiable remarks
a thousand-fold ! How could he do otherwise, when
under the wing of this charming duchess came the one
woman in the universe for him ? She glided like a
spirit from the world of ideals into the ugly and
commonplace apartments he had chosen in the Rue de
Long-Pont. Mme du Chatelet was substantial enough,
it is true, and grace was never her strong point ; but
lovers, especially when they are poets, do not trouble
to be literal. The rooms in the house of the corn-
merchant Demoulin, into which he had removed after
his travels in the spring of 1733, never seemed dull
again.

" I am at last opposite the Church of Saint-Gervais,"
he had written to Cideville, "in the worst quarter of

48 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Paris, in the worst house, more deafened by the noise
of bells than a sacristan, but I make so much noise
with my lyre that the noise of the bells will be nothing
to me." Other thoughts occupied his mind after he
had met Mme du Chatelet, thoughts to which he gave
vent in an expression of supreme satisfaction addressed
to the same old friend, on August 14, "You are Emilie
in a man, and she is Cideville in a woman."

Few great men have won the companionship of the
one woman on such equal terms. Neither Goethe nor
Chateaubriand, neither Mirabeau nor Balzac, loved
women with half as many qualities in common with
their own. Voltaire and Emilie were both essentially
intellectual and egoistic ; they both possessed super-
abundant nervous energy, an unslaked thirst after
knowledge and the truth, a passion to produce, to make
an effect, and a reckless disregard of the opinion of other
people ; they were both too big to be bound by laws
made by man to shield weaker men and women, and
both desired to understand the laws of nature and write
about them for the enlightenment of others. These were
some of the characteristics which brought them together.
But their differences were as marked. Voltaire was the
more imaginative, the more original, and the more
purposeful ; Mme du Chatelet the more precise, per-
severing, and methodical in thought. He was generous
to a fault, and forgiving ; she was never tired of receiving,
and if she considered more was due to her she did not
hesitate to urge her claims. In such a union it was
not surprising that clashes of will should occur and that
sparks should be emitted in the process of fusing ideas
and imposing them upon others.

Other great men have looked for a reflection of all

An Intimate Friendship 49

they were not in the women they loved ; their wayward
genius demanded in the partner a calm patience, and a
gentle persistent optimism, which should be ever ready
in reserve for them to draw upon when their own failed.
To every great mind there come moments when the
world seems to totter, and the desire is overwhelming
to commune with a fellow- mind that has a steady
equilibrium. Voltaire was not exempt from such
moments. They abounded in his volcanic career. But
Mme du Chatelet had no such soothing influence upon
him. When roused she was quite as mercurial as he,
and less able to regain the balance and resume the sway
of reason. The action of nerves on edge upon nerves
yet more highly strung was at times an appalling thing.
But Voltaire and Emilie would not have been themselves
had the sway of love been unbroken. Intermittence
gave zest to their friendship. In the hours of his
triumph no one could have responded more fully than
she, nor could any one have been more loyal to her
success than he. Together they raised a chorus of joy
in accomplishment. She had stronger physical life than
he, which gave her an advantage, but which in time
caused her to resent, like most healthy individuals,
the hypochondriacal tendencies in another. When the
fire of his youth had departed, she was still in love
with love, and therein lay something of a tragedy.
But that day was not to arrive for many years to
come.

After the visit to his rooms in the Rue de Long-Pont,
their intimacy increased by leaps and bounds. She was
Emilie to all his friends, he was the one man that mattered
to all of hers.

The Epitre sur la Calomnie aroused a great deal of

so An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

interest among Voltaire's acquaintances, and several of
them asked to be allowed to see it. It was one of his
misfortunes that his writings frequently fell into the
hands of indiscreet people, who were eager to rush them
into print and risk the result of this misplaced enthusiasm,
which generally led to fresh persecutions for the author.
On July 24, 1733, he promised to send the Epitre to
Thieriot ; on August 2 he had gained wisdom, oVing
to a difference of opinion on the subject with his lady-
love, and he wrote to Cideville that he dare not send the
Epitre because she had forbidden him to do so. But
Cideville persisted, and " asked so well " that not even
the cautious Emilie could withhold her assent, though
she stipulated that the verses were to be returned without
being copied. A third request for a sight of them had
been made by ithe Abbe Sade, author of Memoires -pour
la Vie de Petrarque, and one of the typical Abbes of
the day, who combined his profession with a love of
letters and a taste for liaisons. Sade was just about to
leave Paris. "The divine Emilie knows how much I
love you and how greatly I shall regret your absence,"
wrote Voltaire. " She knows your worth and mingles
her grief with mine. She is the kind of woman one
does not meet every day, and certainly merits your esteem
and friendship." Regarding the Epitre sur la Calomnie,
he added, " You know well that it is necessary to address
yourself to the divinity herself, and not to one of her
priests, and that I can do nothing without her orders.
You may well believe that it is impossible to disobey
her," and then he improved the occasion by dwelling
on the virtues of the new-found goddess. She had not
been weaned from the world and its vanities, a fact in
which he gloried :

An Intimate Friendship 51

Cette belle ame est une 6toffe
Qu'elle brode en mille fa9ons ;
Son esprit est tres philosophe,
Et son ctEur aime les pompons.'

What harm could there be hi that, he declared, since
the ** pompons " and the world belong to her age and
her merit far transcends her age, her sex and the opposite
sex ? " Her only fault, if fault she has, is that she is
tyrannical, and in order to pay court to her it is necessary
to discuss metaphysics when one is dying to speak of
love all the time." That must have been a great hard-
ship to Voltaire, and one which he endeavoured to
overcome by writing verses expressing the admiration
with which her intellectual gifts inspired him, and the
adoration of his soul for her personal charms :

Sans doute vous serez cel^bre
Par les grands calculs de I'algebre,
Ou votre esprit est absorbe
J'oserais m'y livrer moi-meme ;
Mais hdas! A + D-B
N'est pas = ^ je vous aime.

By the end of the year she was his Urania — what
mattered it that in earlier days another woman had the
same honour, and that verses to Urania were addressed
to Mme Rupelmonde ? All other Uranias were gone,
forgotten, then and for ever, in this new one :

Je vous adore, 6 ma chere Uranie :
Pourquoi si tard m'avez-vous enflamm6 ?
Qu'ai-je done fait des beaux jours de ma vie ?
Us sont perdus : je n'avais point aime,
J 'avals cherche dans I'erreur du bel age
Ce dieu d'amour, ce dieu de mes d6sirs ;
Je n'en trouvai qu'une trompeuse image,
Je n'embrassai que I'ombre des plaisirs.

' Her soul is like a brook which has a thousand ripples, her mind is
gravely philosophical, but her heart rejoices in trinkets.

52 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

Non, les baisers des plus tendres mattresses ;
Non, ces moments comptes par cent caresses,
Moments si doux et si voluptueux,
Ne valent pas un regard de tes yeux.^

His poems breathed a fiery passion : his letters to
Emilie, with the exception of two incomplete fragments,
were lost. They probably contained equal warmth of
feeling. Eight volumes full of them, said Voisenon,
were burnt.

The months rolled on. Voltaire was still in the
Rue de Long-Pont, Emilie was always at the Court,
" a divine bee that carried its honey to the drones of
Versailles," and their mutual friend Richelieu was pre-
paring for the marriage on which Voltaire had set his
heart.

" I am leaving to be witness at a marriage I have
just made," he wrote to Cideville. " A long time ago
it entered my head to marry M. de Richelieu to Mile
de Guise. I conducted this affair like an intrigue in
a comedy ; the denouement will be at Montjeu, near
Autun. Poets are more accustomed to make epithala-
miums than contracts, but I have nevertheless made
the contract ; probably I shall make no verses." But
he did.

Mile de Guise lived at her father's house in the
Temple. The young princess was tall, had fine eyes,
and the upper part of her face was charming, but her

* I adore you, dearest Urania, Why have you kindled my love so late?
What have I done with the best days of my life ? They were wasted,
for I never really loved, I sought in the error of youth the god of love,
the god of my desires. I found only a deceptive image, I embraced only
the shadow of delight. No kisses bestowed by the most tender of
mistresses, nor moments which held a hundred caresses, moments that
were both sweet and voluptuous, can be counted worth one glance from
your eyes.

An Intimate Friendship 53

mouth was large and ill-furnished with teeth. Her
carriage and manners proclaimed gentleness and majesty.
Richelieu was satisfied with an alliance with the imperial
house, which promised honour enough, though no wealth.
Illustrious as was the birth of Mile de Guise, her
fortune was insignificant.

Like many others of her sex, she was ready to worship
at the shrine of the amajit volage, and Voltaire com-
posed a verse warning her to keep her affections under
control if she valued her happiness :

Ne vous aimez pas trop, c'est moi qui vous en prie;
C'est le plus sur mo3'en de vous aimer toujours :
II faut mieux etre amis tous les temps de sa vie
Que d'etre amants pour quelques jours.^

Richelieu waived the question of dowry, and the
wedding bells rang merrily. Voltaire and Emilie were
both present at Montjeu, the latter none the less rejoicing
at her friend's good fortune because he had once been
her lover.

The marriage took place on April 27, and the
bridegroom left soon afterwards to join the army.
Emilie wrote several letters to her friends from Montjeu,
"the most beautiful place in the world, where the
people were charming." The only cloud that came to
dull the sky of happiness was Voltaire's anxiety regarding
the Lettres sur les Anglaisy which had been printed by
Jore without his authorisation and with his name on the
title page. To these letters was appended the Lettre
sur les Pensees de Pascal, which he declared it had been
his intention to destroy.

* Do not love too deeply, I beg of you ; that is the surest way to
love always. It is much better to be friends throughout the whole of
life than lovers for a few days.

4

54 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

Immediately after the wedding he wrote to Cideville,
" I do not really wear the air of the fair Hymen, but
I have performed the functions of this charitable god."
He then proceeded to tell RicheHeu of the danger which
threatened. He wrote similar letters to Formont, to
the Abbe d'Olivet, and to Maupertuis, the last containing
a hint of coming exile : "I shall have much more to
complain of than you if I have to go to London or
Basel whilst you are in Paris with Mme du Chatelet,"
—your geometrician, as he called her,— " Cartesians,
Malebranchists, Jansenists, all are railing at me ; but I
hope for your support. It is necessary that you should
become chef de secte, please. You are the apostle of
Locke and of Newton, and an apostle of your standing
with a disciple like Mme du Chatelet could easily give
sight to the blind."

Moncrif, Berger and d'Argental also shared his
confidence, and on May 6 he fled from Montjeu, leaving
Emilie behind to mourn his departure. No one knew
exactly where he had gone. " All who were at Montjeu
sent me quickly to Lorraine," he wrote. His book
was burned publicly at Paris on June lo, and his
lodgings were searched. Jore was thrown into the
Bastille.

" My friend Voltaire, towards whom my sentiments
are known to you," wrote Mme du Chatelet on
May \i} "is supposed to be at the Chateau d'Auxonne,
near Dijon. He left us some days ago to go and take
the waters at Plombieres, of which his health has stood

> There is no reason to doubt that this letter, which was published in
Lettres de M. de Voltaire et de sa celebre amie, addressed to an
anonymous correspondent, was to Richelieu, as asserted by M, Des-
noireterres. M. Eugene Asse, in his collected edition of Mme du
Chatelet's letters, however, does not confirm the statement.

An Intimate Friendship 55

In need for some time past, when one of the men of
M. de La Briffe, Intendant of Bourgogne, brought me
a lettre de cachet^ instructing him to go to the said
Auxonne and there await fresh orders. He was told
that he was at Plombieres. I do not doubt that he
will receive the King's orders immediately and that he
may have to obey. There is no alternative when one
cannot escape them. I do not think he can be warned
before he receives them. It is impossible for me to
describe my grief ; I do not feel as though I could
bear to hear that my best friend, in his present
frightful state of health, had been put into a prison where
he would certainly die of grief, if he did not die of
disease. ... I spent ten days here with him and
Mme de Richelieu ; I believe I have never spent more
agreeable ones anywhere, but I lost him at the time
when I felt most keenly the joy of having him beside
me, and to lose him in such a way ! I should have less
to complain of if he had been in England. His company
having been the happiness of my life, his safety would
have made me feel tranquil. But to know that he,
with his health and imagination, might be imprisoned,
I say it again, I have not enough strength of mind to
make me bear the thought. Mme de Richelieu has
been my only consolation. She is charming ; her heart is
capable of friendship and gratitude. She is, if that be
possible, even more afflicted than I, for she owes to him
her marriage, the happiness of her life. We suffer and
we console ourselves in each other's company."

Meanwhile Voltaire was hasteninor to Basel. *' Votre
protege Jore m'a perdu," he cried in his anxiety to
Cideville, and he wrote letter after letter to influential
friends at home to help him. Amongst others Mme

56 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

du DefFand and the Duchesse d'Aiguillon exerted them-
selves on his behalf. Discretion was never Voltaire's
strong point, however, and in July, hearing that Richelieu
had been seriously wounded in a duel, he showed him-
self at the camp of Phillipsburg, just after the Duke
had killed the Prince de Lixin, with whom he had
quarrelled because the latter had refused to sign his
marriage contract. The Prince was his wife's cousin,
and husband of one of the celebrated Craon women
who shone at the Court of Luneville.

Mme du Chatelet was terrified lest this mad act
should prejudice Voltaire still further in the eyes of the
authorities, and she cudgelled her brains to find means
of ensuring the safety of the man she adored. The
rumours of banishment grew louder and more loud.
" In his place I would have been in London or in The
Hague long ago," she wrote. " I confess that I am
terribly afflicted. I shall never accustom myself to live
without him, and the idea of losing him beyond hope of
return will poison the sweetness of my life."

In this her hour of need she was struck by an in-
spiration. Voltaire should go to Cirey. The astonishing
thin^ was that she had not thought of it sooner. True,
the castle was a tumbledown old place that had been
in her husband's family for centuries and had not been
repaired for many years. Part of it could easily be made
habitable, though— if Voltaire cared to provide money
for the purpose. Cirey was so near the Lorraine frontier
that within a few steps perfect safety would await him.
As for the other risks attendant upon such a project,
it was not the moment to think of them. The matter
was arranged at fever heat, Voltaire expressed the
delight with which he was prepared to avail himself of

An Intimate Friendship 57

such an offer. To him it seemed a heaven-appointed
way out of all his difficulties. He would be able to
v/ork there unfearing, undisturbed, and in peace. He
could make love there under the most idyllic conditions.
At the time his heart beat fondly, wildly, at the daring,
the utter lawlessness of the scheme ; in after-years he
discussed it calmly enough in his Memoirs.

" I was tired of the lazy and turbulent life led at
Paris," he wrote, shearing the episode of more than
half its risk and glamour, "and of the multitude of
petits-maitres^ of bad books printed with the approbation
of censors and the privilege of the King, of the cabals
and parties among the learned ; and of the mean arts,
plagiarism and book-making which dishonour literature.

"In the year 1733 I met with a young lady who
happened to think nearly as I did, and who took a
resolution to go with me and spend several years in
the country, there to cultivate her understanding far
from the hurry and tumult of the world . . . and those
amusements which were adapted to her sex and age ; she,
however, determined to quit them all, and go and bury
herself in an old ruinous chateau upon the borders of
Champagne and Lorraine, and situated in a barren and
unhealthy soil. This old chateau she ornamented and
embellished with tolerably pretty gardens ; I built a
gallery and formed a very good collection of natural
history ; in addition to which we had a library not badly
furnished.

" We were visited by several of the learned, who came
to philosophise in our retreat : among others we had
the celebrated Koenig for two entire years, who has
since died professor at The Hague, and librarian to her
highness the Princess of Orange. Maupertuis came

58 An Eightecnth'Ccntury Marquise

also, with Jean Bernoulli, and there it was that
Maupertuis, who was born the most jealous of all
human beings, made me the object of a passion which
has ever been to him exceedingly dear.

" I taught English to Mme du Chatelet, who, in
about three months, understood it as well as 1 did, and
read Newton, Locke, and Pope, with equal ease. She
learnt Italian likewise as soon. We read all the works
of Tasso and Ariosto together, so that when Algarotti
came to Cirey, where he finished his " New.tonianismo
per le Dame" (the Ladies' Newton), he found her
sufficiently skilful in his own language to give him
some very excellent information by which he profited.
Algarotti was a Venetian, the son of a very rich trades-
man, and very amiable ; he had travelled all over Europe,
he knew a little of everything, and gave to everything
a grace.

*' In this our delightful retreat we sought only in-
struction, and troubled not ourselves concerning what
passed in the rest of the world. We long employed all
our attention and powers upon Leibnitz and Newton :
Mme du Chatelet attached herself first to Leibnitz,
and explained one part of his system in a book exceedingly
well written, entitled Institutions de Physique. She did
not seek to decorate philosophy with ornaments to which
philosophy is a stranger ; such affectation never was
part of her character, which was masculine and just.
The qualities of her style were clearness, precision, and
elegance. If it be ever possible to give the semblance
of truth to the ideas of Leibnitz, it will be found in
that book : but at present few people trouble themselves
to know how or what Leibnitz thought.

"Born with a love of truth, she soon abandoned

An Intimate Friendship $9

system, and applied herself to the discoveries of the
great Newton ; she translated his whole book on the
principles of the mathematics into French ; and when she
had afterwards enlarged her knowledge, she added to
this book, which so f^w people understand, an * Algebraical
Commentary,' which likewise is not to be understood
by the general reader. M. Clairaut, one of our best
geometricians, has carefully reviewed this ' Commentary,'
an edition of it was begun, and it is not to the honour
of the age that it was never finished.

" At Cirey we cultivated all the arts ; it was there
I composed Alzire, Merope^ VEnfant Prodigue^ and
Mahomet. For her use I wrote an Essay on Universal
History^ from the age of Charlemagne to the present.
I chose the epoch of Charlemagne because it was the
point of time at which Bossuet stopped, and because I
dare not, again, treat a subject handled by so great a
master. Mme du Chatelet, however, was far from
satisfied with the Universal History of this prelate ; she
thought it eloquent only, and was provoked to find
that the labours of Bossuet were all wasted upon a nation
so despicable as the Jewish."

The fair Emilie's view of the important step she
contemplated was naturally far less serene and matter-of-
fact, and concerned itself with other things than the
purely intellectual. She could not foresee how her friends
would regard the arrangement. She feared — a hundred
nameless possibilities. Perhaps people would be indiscreet
enough to gossip ; not that she minded personally what
they said, but because their ill-timed remarks might reach
her husband's ears, and set that worthy gentleman
thinking. Then there would be times when the Marquis
would come to Cirey, and she dreaded the trials to temper

6o An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

of a menage a trots. Besides, she did not feel quite certain
that she would not miss the accustomed gaiety of Paris.
On the other hand was the joy of devoting herself to
the happiness of the man she loved.

Her misgivings as to the success of the plan are set
forth in her letters to Richelieu early in 1735 — that is to
say after she had spent a few weeks with Voltaire in the
country in October and November of 1 734. She returned
to Paris before Christmas, and it was early summer before
the lovers paid their next visit to Cirey. She poured
forth her feelings and impressions on this difficult subject
in all sincerity to the man she had insisted on retaining
as an intimate friend :

** On this matter there are things which I have never
said, either to you or to any one, least of all Voltaire.
But there is heroism, perhaps folly, in my shutting myself
up at Cirey en tiers. Nevertheless the decision has been
made. I still believe that I shall be able to master and
destroy the suspicions of my husband more easily than
to curb the imagination of Voltaire. In Paris I should
lose him beyond return and without a remedy. At Cirey
I can at least hope that love will render still more opaque
the veil which ought, for his own happiness and ours,
to shield the eyes of my husband. I pray of you have
the kindness to say nothing about this to Voltaire. He
would be overcome by anxiety, and I fear nothing more
than to afflict him, especially if it be uselessly. Keep
your eloquence for my husband, and prepare to love
me when I am unhappy, should I ever become so. To
prevent my being entirely miserable, I am going to spend
the three happiest months of my life. I leave in four
days, and I am daring to write to you in the midst of
the confusion of departure. My mind is weighed down

An Intimate Friendship 6i

with the thought of it, but my heart is full of joy. The
hope that this step will persuade him that I love him
hides all other ideas from me, and I see nothing but
the extreme happiness of curing all his fears and of
spending my whole life with him. You see you were
wrong, for assuredly my head has been turned, and
I confess that in spite of this his anxiety and distrust
sensibly affect me. I know that this is the torment of
his life. It may well be that on this very account it
will poison mine. But perhaps we may both be right.
There is a great deal of difference between jealousy and
the fear of not being loved enough. One can brave the
one if one feels that one does not merit it, but one
cannot refrain from being touched and afflicted by the
other. One is a troublesome feeling, and the other a
gentle sense of uneasiness against which there are fewer
weapons and fewer remedies, except that of going to
Cirey to be happy. There in truth is the metaphysics
of love, and that is where the excess of this passion brings
one. All this appears to me to be the clearest thing in
the world and the most natural."

These are the qualms of a woman to whom to love
and to be loved is of the utmost importance, and who
is prepared to sacrifice all else in life, honour included.
On May 20 she referred to the subject again :
" The more I reflect on Voltaire's situation and on
mine, the more I think the steps I am taking are
necessary. Firstly, I believe that all those who love
passionately should live in the country together if that
is possible for them, but I think still more that I cannot
keep my hold on his imagination elsewhere. I should
lose him sooner or later in Paris, or at least I should
pass my days fearing to lose him and in having cause

62 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

to lament over him. ... I love him enough, I confess
it to you, to sacrifice all the pleasure and delight I might
enjoy in Paris for the sake of the happiness of living
with him without fears, and of the pleasure of wresting
him in spite of himself from the effects of his own
imprudence and fate. The only thing which causes me
anxiety, and which I shall have to manage carefully about,
is the presence of M. du Chatelet. I count greatly on
what you are going to say to him. Peace would destroy
all our hopes, although I cannot keep myself from longing
for it on your account. My position is indeed embar-
rassing ; but love changes all the thorns into flowers, as
it will do among the mountains of Cirey, our terrestrial
paradise. I cannot believe that I am born to be unhappy ;
I see only the delight of spending all the moments of
my life in the company of the one I love, and see how
much I count on your friendship, by the confidence with
which I have written of myself for four pages without the
fear of boring you.

" It seems rather insipid to come back to the stupid
bustle of the everyday world after this, but I have several
interesting things to tell you."

She then proceeded to write of affairs at Court ; but
hardly a day passed before she returned to the topic
nearest her heart — the desire that her husband should not
be allowed to misinterpret her actions, that at all costs
he must be sounded on the subject of Voltaire and be
brought to see the necessity of the step she proposed to
take. For this part of the arrangements she relied on
her friend.

On May 22 she wrote : "If you see M. du Chatelet,
as I have no doubt you will, speak of me to him with
esteem and friendship ; above all boast about my journey,

An Intimate Friendship 63

my courage, and the good effect it will have. Speak to
him of Voltaire simply, but with interest and friendship,
and try to insinuate especially that it would be absurd to be
jealous of a woman who pleases one, whom one esteems,
and who conducts herself well ; that might be essential
to me. He has great respect for your intelligence, and
will readily be of your opinion on this matter. You see
with what confidence I address you. You are certainly
the only person in the universe to whom I should dare
to say so much. But you know my way of thinking,
and I trust that this mark of confidence will increase
your friendship without taking anything from your
esteem."

A curious letter for any woman to write, and not one
which enhances a good opinion of her. But she might
have spared the words and saved her dignity. M. du
Chatelet had no complaint to make. He also was a
philosopher in his way. And the two who had chosen
to share the good and bad fortune of life together settled
down on their estate in the wild desert, spending but
little time in sighing lovers' sighs or in singing madrigals
in the green arcades of the park. They turned to
intellectual pursuits with a new zest, they armed them-
selves for discussion, they burned for glory and display,
and Voltaire summed up his content in a phrase : " I
have the happiness to be in a terrestrial paradise where
there is an Eve, and where I have not the disadvantage
of being an Adam."

Of all the lovers who had wandered in generations
past through the gardens of that old chateau, surely
there had never been so strange a pair, nor any brought
there under greater stress of circumstances.

To begin with, the castle was almost a ruin. It had

64 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

been in the Du Chatelet family since the early years
of the fifteenth century. The name was one of the
oldest and most important in the chivalric records of
Lorraine, for the Du Chatelets claimed connection,
through a younger branch, with the ducal house. To-
gether with the Ligniville, the Harancourt, and the
Lenoncourt, they formed the four grands chevaux de
Lorraine^ a term of which the origin is unknown.
The eight or ten families which came next in importance
were known as the 'petits chevaux.

The estate of Cirey came into the possession of the
family through Alix, daughter and heiress of the Baron
de Saint-Eulien and Cirey, who married Erard du
Chatelet surnamed Le Grand. The chateau was besieged
during the Wars of Religion, and was almost lost to the
family in the reign of Louis XIII, when the Baron
sided with Gaston d'Orleans against the King. At the
end of the seventeenth century decay had set in with
a vengeance, the Du Chatelet family having become
greatly impoverished. Situated south of the wine-
growing district of Champagne, Cirey was a hundred
and forty leagues from Paris, and the only connection
with the capital in Mme du Chatelet's day was a
lumbering coach twice a week. The nearest village was
Vassy, noted for an old manor house in which it was
said Mary Stuart had stayed. Four leagues to the
south-west was Joinville, where Mme du Chatelet's
daughter was in a convent.

Voltaire arrived at the chateau in September, Emilie
followed him in November. At that time there were
only two ladies in the neighbourhood who were likely
to break in upon their solitude. Mme de Champbonin
was one. She was a distant connection of Voltaire's,

An Intimate Friendship 6^

and he nicknamed her gros chat. She lived with her
son at Bar-sur-Aube, four or five leagues away, and
Voltaire thought of marrying the son to one of his
nieces. The other was Mme la Comtesse de la Neuville.
He was delighted to exchange hospitalities with either.
One of the first letters he wrote from Cirey to Mme
de Champbonin was to this effect :

" My amiable Champenoise, why are not all who are
at Cirey at La Neuville or at your house ? Or why
are not all at La Neuville and your house at Cirey .''
Is it because the unfortunate necessity of having bed
curtains and window-panes separates such delightful
people .'' It seems to me that the pleasure of living
with Mme du Chatelet would be doubled in sharing
it with you. One does not regret any one else when
one is with her, and one has need of no other society
when one enjoys yours ; but to unite all this in one
would be a most charming life. She counts a great deal
on being able to pass her time with you and with Mme
de la Neuville : for it is not to be permitted that three
people who are such good company should remain at
home. When you are all three together, the company
will be paradise on earth."

The transformation of the castle into a habitation
had already begun. Voltaire was architect, overseer,
gardener. In November Emilie came to add her inex-
haustible energy to the general bustle and confusion.
Voltaire wrote of her arrival to Mme de Champbonin :

*' Mme du Chatelet is here, having returned from
Paris yesterday evening. She came just at the moment
when I received a letter from her, by which she informed
me that she would not be comingr so soon. She is
surrounded by two hundred packages which arrived

66 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

here the same day as she. There are beds without
curtains, apartments without windows ; china cabinets,
but no armchairs, charming phaetons, and no horses to
draw them.

"Amidst all this disorder, Mme du Chatelet laughs
and is charming. She arrived in a kind of tumbril,
bruised and shaken, without having slept, but she is
well. She asks me to send you a thousand compliments
for her. We are going to patch the old tapestries. We
shall look for curtains, and make doors ; everything
to receive you. I swear, joking apart, you will be very
comfortable here."

To Mme de la Neuville he confessed that the divine
Emilie's methods did not quite accord with his own :

" She is going to put windows where I have put
doors," he wrote. " She is changing staircases into
chimneys and chimneys into staircases. She is going to
plant lime trees where I proposed to place elms, and
where I have planted herbs and vegetables she is going
to make a flower-bed. Besides all this she is doing
the work of fairies in the house. She has changed
rags into tapestries, she has found the secret of furnishing
Cirey out of nothing."

A struggle then took place between the claims of
hospitality and the desire to put the house to rights.
Voltaire insisted on the importance of the first ; Emilie,
womanlike, was determined to devote herself to the
second. She was up to the eyes in her work ; she
arranged, discussed, altered, and instructed by turns.
She rejoiced in having Voltaire's money to spend on
adorning her domain, and she meant to adorn it right
royally. She did not want Mmes de Champbonins and
de la Neuvilles. She wanted to lord it over her lover,

An Intimate Friendship 67

over her builders, her carpenters, her paperhangers and
upholsterers — indeed, over every being of the opposite
sex with whom she had anything to do.

So Voltaire had to sit down and exert his pen on
her behalf, uttering excuses that had little sincerity,
promising visits that were never destined to be paid.
*' She is like love, which comes not when one wants,"
he wrote to gros chat. *' Besides, she could not have
run off with you to bring you to Cirey because it is
necessary to have carded wool and to have bed-valances.
Cirey is not yet in a fit state to receive visitors. It
astonishes me that even the lady of the house can
inhabit it. She has been here until the present on
account of her taste for building. She remains here
to-day out of sheer necessity. Her teeth are troubling
her a great deal and your absence still more. That is
a feeling I share with her."

Then Mme de.Champbonin herself became impatient,
and had to be rebuked. She ought to show more
faith, said Voltaire. Her would-be hostess was occupied
all day long having wool carded for an extra mattress,
for were not three beds necessary since there were
to be three persons ? and she was having large glass
doors placed where gros chat could pass through them
without inconvenience on account of her embonpoint^
and how could visitors be expected to put up with
the " ragged state " of Cirey '^.

At length the first visit was paid to Mme de la
Neuville, and scarcely had ten days elapsed when it
was necessary to apologise that a second one had not
become an accomplished fact : " I curse, Madame, all
upholsterers, masons, and workmen who hinder Mme
du Chatelet from going to see you," he explained. The

68 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

little phaeton, light as a feather, drawn by horses as big
as elephants — so appropriate in a country of contrasts
— had not rolled towards the Court of Neuville for
more than a week. Nor was it to journey in that
direction soon again, for in January Emilie was to be
seen no more at Cirey. She had returned to Paris
and to her usual occupations, which were gaiety,
frivolity, philosophy, and — first of all in her heart —
mathematics.

I

CHAPTER III

THE MATHEMATICIANS AND THE CAFRS

THERE have been comparatively few great women
mathematicians in the world. Hypatia in the
fourth century was the first ; Mme du Chatelet in the
eighteenth the second ; shortly after her came Maria
Agnesi in Italy, and at the close of the century Sophie
Germain holds the fourth place.^ It would be tiresome
to discuss their individual merits or compare their
powers with those of their scientific male contemporaries.
The woman who seeks to enter a field appropriated
exclusively by men, suffers from a double disadvantage.
On the one hand are those who give her the credit of
her sex, regard her work as marvellous and overpraise
it ; on the other are those who for the very same cause
discount it, and do not even accord it the justice it
deserves. Mme du Chatelet's reputation was sound.
She was an earnest and indefatigable worker ; she
helped to spread certain new ideas which were being
taken up by the French scientists and philosophers of
the day ; but she did nothing great in the way of
original thinking, nor could It be said that her con-
tributions to science emanated solely from herself, be-
cause in all her work she had the support of one or
another among the greatest savants on the Continent.
Voltaire, needless to say, had unbounded faith in her

' A. Rebi^re, Mathematiques et Mathematiciens .
69 ^

70 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

intellectual gifts, and was for ever singing her praises.
Nay, he protested too much, and, falling into the first-
named class of judges, laid more stress than was neces-
sary on the fact that the author of Les Institutions de
Physique, a work which, he said, " would be an honour
to our age if it was by one of the principal members
of the Academies of Europe," was a woman, one,
moreover, who belonged to the upper and so-called
idle classes, and who in modesty had concealed her
name. A dozen years later, after her death, he wrote,
in 1752, his still more flowery " Eloge Historique " upon
Mme du Chatelet's translation of Newton. At that
time these Eloges were greatly in vogue and were
usually written in a flamboyant style. " Two wonders
have been performed," he cried : " one that Newton
was able to write this work, the other that a woman
could translate and explain it ; " and after setting forth
its special brilliancy, he went on to ' describe what a
remarkable person the translator was in every way.
" Ladies who played with her at the queen's card-table
were far from suspecting that they were sitting beside the
commentator of Newton," he wrote ; " she was taken
for quite an ordinary person. Only occasionally people
would show their astonishment at the rapidity and
accuracy with which she could calculate accounts and
settle difi^erences. When it came to working out a
combination of figures, it was impossible that the
philosopher in her should remain hidden. I was present
one day when she divided nine figures by nine other
figures, entirely in her head, without aid of any sort,
and an astonished geometrician was there who could
not follow what she did." He endeavoured to put all
the admiration he felt into one phrase, " Jamais femme

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 71

ne fut si savante qu'elle, et jamais personne ne merita
moins qu'on dit d'elle : C'est une femme savante."

Learned as she was, la docte Emilie must always be
regarded as far more interesting as a woman than as a
mathematician. But the importance of her intellectual
side is very great, because it led her into the society of
many a clever man besides Voltaire. The little group of
mathematicians who were her friends included Maupertuis,
Clairaut, Koenig, and Bernoulli, men who were the im-
mediate forerunners of the great thinkers of the last
half of the century — d'Alembert, Diderot, Montesquieu,
Lagrange, Turgot, Condorcet and many others.

Maupertuis was the most important among her
scientific friends. She had known him before she knew
Voltaire, he was her first teacher, and she corresponded
with him for many years. When he was anywhere in
the neighbourhood she was angry if he did not visit her
every day ; when he was away she waited impatiently
for his letters. She never seemed to lose faith in his
capabilities or to be annoyed by his disagreeable manner-
isms. Voltaire wrote one of his facile verses on their
intellectual friendship :

Et le sublime Maupertuis
Vient 6clipser mes bagatelles.
Je n'en suis fache, ni surpris ;
Un esprit vrai doit etre epris
Pour des verites eternelles.'

Pierre Louis Moreau de Maupertuis was born at Saint-
Malo on September 28, 1698. He soon gave signs of
possessing intelligence of an unusual order. He was the
kind of prodigy who wanted to know why the wind

' The sublime Maupertuis has put my trifles in the shade ; I am
neither angry nor surprised, for the true intelligence must ever feel the
charm of striving after eternal truth.

72 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

which extinguished a candle fanned the flame of the fire.
The Maupertuis family was composed of quite ordinary
people who went to Versailles in 1704, and enjoyed the
privilege they shared in common with every one else of
watching royalty dine. Pierre, who was a fair-haired boy
of six, with bright eyes and a knowing face, was so
interested in what he saw, that he pushed himself into
the front rank of the onlookers, and made himself so
conspicuous that the Duchesse de Bourgogne, then a
charming young lady of nineteen, insisted on sending for
him, fed him with sweets, and remarked on his precocious
intelligence. Maupertuis had the good fortune to be
educated privately by tutors who laid special stress on
the study of natural history, mathematics and philosophy.
In spite of his talents it was many years' before he turned
them to account. In 171 8 he enlisted in the Grey
Musketeers, and because his military duties were light
and peace reigned during the first years of the Regency,
he threw himself into intellectual occupations and became
that anomaly, a soldier-philosopher.

During the winter of 1722 he was in Paris, and joined
a set of savants and wits. There he met the satirist
Colle, who said many unpleasant things about him. His
worst grievance was, perhaps, that Maupertuis had never
read Moliere, or at least that he told him so ; but there
were other counts against him. He had not taken up
the highest sciences, nor learnt geometry until he was
over thirty, so that of course it was impossible he should
know a great deal about it. " He was the most unfor-
tunate individual that ever lived," wrote Colle in his
Journal. " Devoured by envy and a desire for reputation,
he did everything and sacrificed everything during his
life to establish one which did no\ last long, and which

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 73

indeed he outlived, although he was not very old when
he died. He was sixty-two or sixty-three at the most.
I heard the greatest geometrician say that he only knew
as much geometry as any good scholar might be acquainted
with, and that he never discovered anything. . . . He
was an intriguer, praising himself without ceasing, and
having his own praises sung by a pack of inferior scrib-
blers, by a prodigious number of fools, and by women of
quality whom he persuaded into learning geometry, a
fashion which lasted two or three years, and at the head
of which was Mme d'Aiguillon." This was doubtless a
hit at Mme du Chatelet, who was her friend, and whose
lessons with Maupertuis began about 1730. The
Duchesse d'Aiguillon was some years older than Mme
du Chatelet, and lived until 1772, keeping her intellectual
tastes untarnished. From being the special friend of
Montesquieu, she became very intimate with all the
Encyclopaedists, and was called the philosophers' Sceur du
pot. She was very ugly when she grew old ; her cheeks
had fallen in, her nose was awry, her glance wandering,
but her conversation remained inspired to the last. She
had much influence with the Princesse de Conti, and
used it so well that Voltaire wrote her, in May 1734 :
" I am overcome with gratitude, and thank you in the
name of all the partisans of Locke and of Newton for
the kindness with which 'you have awakened the Princesse
de Conti's interest on behalf of the philosophers in spite
• of the outcry among the devots^

Besides knowing these two influentialwomen, Maupertuis
was well received at the houses of the Comtesse de
Caylus, the /Duchesse de Villeroy and Mme de Pont-
chartrain. He was disliked for his somewhat overbearinpf
manner, but was clever at keeping the conversational

74 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

ball rolling, his talk being larded with witty sallies. He
had travelled both in England and Switzerland, visiting
Bernoulli at Basel in the company of Clairaut ; and his
trip to Lapland, for the purpose of measuring the length
of a degree of the meridian within the polar circle, im-
mensely enhanced his reputation. Having raised the
question of the oblate figure of the earth, he appealed to
Louis XV to permit him to make an expedition to the
polar regions, and this was carried into effect in 1736 in
company with Clairaut, Le Monnier, Camus and Outhier.
C0II6 said that he took all the glory of the calculations
and operations, but that Clairaut did the work. On their
return Cardinal de Fleury distributed the King's bounty,
granting to each of the explorers a pension of a hundred
pistoles and to Maupertuis twenty more. The latter,
feeling himself but ill-paid, waved the favour aside with
one of his pompous flourishes, and suggested that it
should be divided amongst his colleagues. This action
alienated the great Maurepas, who said he could no
longer be his friend except in secret.

Glory was not the only thing that Maupertuis brought
from Lapland. His reputation for gallantry followed
him there, and he did such execution among the Lapp
ladies, whom he praised in every letter, that one of them
followed him to Paris, and he celebrated her in verses,
describing how impossible it was to flee love, even when
Journeying within the polar circle.

Mme Graffigny told one version of this story in a letter
to Devaux, in which the name of Maupertuis did not
appear. " You will not be sorry to hear, my dear friend,
that our amiable Frenchmen please even in frozen climates,
and that love is of every country. The secretary of
Clairaut, one of the voyagers to the pole, made love to a

MOREAU DE MAUPERTUIS

Demonstrating the flatness of the earth at the Poles

{Engraved from a painting by Tourniires)

75

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 77

Lapp lady, promised to marry her, and then departed
without keeping his word. The young woman has
just arrived in Paris with her sister, to pursue her faith-
less lover. They arrived at M. Clairaut's house, who
lodged them, although he is rather poor. Ue-pouseur ne
veut ■point epouser^ and the lady did not wish to go home.
At last Clairaut, who informed Voltaire, told him that he
had obtained a little pension for her, and was going to
try to make her enter into a convent to console her.
All Paris goes to his house to see the Lapp ladies. Ah,
mon Dieu, how can one be a Laplander ! "

After his return, Maupertuis posed as a genius and a
power in the land, and his vanity was tickled by Tournieres,
who painted him dressed in the clothes he had worn in
the north, and with one hand resting on the terrestrial
globe as though he were flattening it at the poles. The
picture was engraved, and Voltaire embellished it with
verses :

Ce globe mal connu, qu'il a su mesurer,
Devient un monument ou sa gloire se fonde,
Son sort est de fixer la figure du monde,
De lui plaire et de I'eclairer.

Mme du Chatelet was jealous because the picture was
sent to Voltaire and not to her. " Had it not been for
the fact that he has it in his power to adorn it [with
verses], and therefore merits the preference," she wrote,
" I would certainly have claimed my right to it against
all the world."

On their return, in 1737, Maupertuis and Clairaut
retired to Mont-Valerien in order to work in peace.
Perhaps they were struck by Voltaire's plan of withdraw-
ing from the world. Mme du Chatelet poured forth
indignant protests in her letters because she could not

78 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

see them as often as when they were in town. From
Cirey she wrote that if she had been in Paris she would
certainly have come to visit them, " on foot or on horse-
back, in rain or in sunshine." The lessons in mathematics
which Clairaut gave her were gathered and printed under
the title of Elements de Geometrie,

Clairaut, like Maupertuis, was q, prodigy, but a more
amiable one. When he was ten years old, he read
L! Analyse des Infiniment Petits and Le 'Traite des Sections
Coniques by L'Hopital. At thirteen he sent a treatise
to the Academie des Sciences, at sixteen he was working
at his famous book Recherches sur les Courhes a 'Double
Courhure^ concerning which Voltaire wrote in 1739 to
Frederick, then Prince Royal, that though it was not
nearly finished, the beginning appeared to him of great
value. In return for his praise Clairaut told Voltaire
that he was convinced he would never rise above medio-
crity in the sciences, and advised him to devote his time
to philosophy and poetry. Clairaut's book was published
two years later, and opened the Academy of Sciences to
its author before he was of the regulation age, which was
a very unusual distinction.

Mme du Chatelet was both pupil and friend to Clairaut ;
he helped her with her work, and she housed some of
his scientific instruments at Cirey as an acknowledgment
of her gratitude. He was not at all averse to combining
the lighter moods of passion with the serious study of
mathematics. He was in love with a certain Mme de
Fourqueux, who was scrupulously virtuous and turned
a deaf ear to him. Whether he tried to ingratiate himself
too well with his hostess when he stayed at Cirey is
not certain ; but Voltaire, who, when he left, wrote to
Thieriot that one of the best geometers in the world and

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 79

one of the most amiable men had gone back to Paris,
was so jealous of their intimacy that one day, being
irritated beyond measure, he went so far as to warn
M. du Chatelet of the flirtation, saying half-sadly, half-
comically, *' Ma foi. Marquis, this affair requires stern
handling, and I wash my hands of it altogether ! "

Longchamp tells a story which bears on this subject
of an incident, which took place some years later, when
Mme du Chatelet was revising her Commentary on
Newton for press. She had plunged anew into science
with great ardour, and had invited Clairaut to come and
verify her calculations. The operation took a good deal
of time. Clairaut visited her every day, and together
they shut themselves up in her study, in order that they
might not be interrupted. Having spent the day at
work, they usually had supper with Voltaire. He had
been suffering from indigestion for a few days. " One
evening, when he wanted his supper, he told me to let
the two savants know," wrote Longchamp. " Mme du
Chatelet, who was deep in a calculation she wished to
finish, asked for a quarter of an hour's respite. Voltaire
agreed, and waited patiently. Half an hour passed and
nobody came. He sent me up again. I knocked at
the door and they cried, ' We are coming down.' At
this reply Voltaire had the supper served and took a
seat at table waiting for the guests. Nevertheless they
did not arrive, and the dishes were getting cold. Then
he became furious, went lightly up the staircase, and
finding the door was locked he kicked savagely upon it.
At this noise the work had to cease. The geometricians
came out and followed Voltaire. They were a little
abashed. As he came down he said, ' You are of one
mind to let me die, then ? ' Ordinarily supper was gay

8o An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

and took a long time ; that day it was soon over, they
hardly ate anything, and fixing their eyes on their plates,
said not a word. M. Clairaut went to bed early, and
did not come back to the house for some time. At last
they became friends again. Mme du Chatelet, with her
usual cleverness, reconciled them. Clairaut returned, the
revision of the Newtonian commentary was resumed, and
in future they were at the supper-table with remarkable

exactitude."

This tragic story was to have an equally tragic sequel.
After the scene was over Voltaire retired to his
room, but he could not rest, as he was still much moved
by the events of the evening. The following morning
Mme du Chatelet sent some one to inquire the state of
his health, and ask him whether he would like her to
come and have breakfast with him. He sent back a
message that she would be well received. A moment
later Emilie came down to him, carrying in her hand a
superb breakfast-cup of Saxon porcelain which he had
given her and which she loved to use. The interior of
the cup and saucer was gilt, outside it was adorned with
charmingly painted pastoral figures. Voltaire ordered
Longchamp to fill it with coffee and cream, and then the
latter withdrew. Mme du Chatelet, with the cup in her
hand, began discussing the incident of the previous evening,
saying that Voltaire ought not to have been angry, and
making excuses which the poet received coldly. She
came quite near him, and as he moved from his chair
to offer her a seat, he knocked against her accidentally
and the valuable cup and saucer were shattered. Emilie
said what she thought of his clumsiness— in English—
and hurriedly left the room. Voltaire despatched Long-
champ on the spot to obtain a new breakfast-set to replace

The Mathematicians and the Caf^s 8i

the broken one. It cost him ten louis ; but that was not
much after all, for Mme du Chatelet accepted the peace-
offering with a smile. Voltaire had only one thing left
to say, and he said it so low that she could not hear it.
Next time he thought she had better have her breakfast
in her own room before coming to his ! Poor Clairaut
of course received his share of the blame for this
unfortunate incident.

The young geometrician, whose Christian names were
Alexis Claude, was seven years younger than Emilie.
He was handsome, gay, fond of music and good living ;
in fact he had more of the graces of social life than many
of the savants, and was just the kind of young man to
attract a woman who swung like a pendulum between the
passions and the intellect.

Bossut said of him : " A character gentle and pliant,
great politeness, and scrupulous care in never wounding
the self-love of anybody, gave to Clairaut an existence
and consideration in the great world which talent alone
would not have obtained for him. Unfortunately for the
sciences, he gave himself up too much to the general
desire and rush to know and make much of him.
Engaged for suppers and evening entertainments, carried
away by a keen taste for the society of women, and
wishing to ally pleasure to his ordinary work, he lost
rest, health, and at length his life at the age of fifty-three,
although his excellent physical constitution had appeared
to promise a much longer career."

Bossut, mathematician and Abb6, who translated Maria
Agnesi's work on the Infinitesimal Calculus, was the friend
of Maupertuis as well as of Clairaut. "When he was dying
Maupertuis was by his bedside. No one knew whether
the agony was ended. *' Twelve times twelve ? " asked

82 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

Maupertuis in a'distinct voice. " One hundred and forty-
four " came the automatic answer, as Bossut breathed
his last.

Mme du Chatelet owed to Maupertuis not only her
introduction to Clairaut, but also to Koenig and Jean
Bernoulli fils^ a member of the well-known family of
mathematicians. Maupertuis met Koenig in Switzerland,
and again in Paris, where he was nearly starving. Born
at Buedingen in 171 2, Samuel Koenig was a follower of
Leibnitz, and his masters were Bernoulli and Wolff.
He was friendly with Voltaire and Reaumur, and was a
member of the Academies of Berlin, of The Hague, and
of Gottingen, as well as a correspondent of the Paris
Academie des Sciences.

He did not begin his lessons at CIrey until 1739, in
which* year Mme du Chatelet wrote to Prince Frederick,
that he was coming for the purpose of conducting her
" in the immense labyrinth where Nature loses herself."
She was just about to leave off studying physics for some
time, with the idea of learning geometry. *' I have
perceived that I have been going a little too fast," she
added : *' it is necessary to retrace my steps. Geometry
Is the key which opens all the doors, and I must work
hard and acquire It."

Maupertuis, Clairaut, Koenig and Jean Bernoulli fils
were the four masters who instructed her methodically
and consecutively. At the close of 1733 and the
beginning of 1734 her letters to Maupertuis are full of
requests that he would come and teach her something
new. " Yesterday I spent the whole evening profiting
by your lessons. I would like very much to render
myself worthy of them. I fear, 1 must confess it, to
lose the good opinion you have expressed about me. I

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 83

feel that that would be to pay very dearly for the pleasure
I take in learning the truth, adorned by all the graces
you lend to it. I hope that the desire I have of learning
will to some extent take the place of capability. ... I
have studied much, and hope you will be a little less
discontented with me than last time. If you will come
and judge of it to-morrow, etc, ... I am staying at
home to-day : come if you can and teach me to raise an
infinite nome to a given power. ... I spent yesterday
evening with binomes and trinon^ies. I cannot study any
more if you do not give me a task, and I have an extreme
desire for one. I shall not go out to-morrow till six ;
if you would come to my house at four o'clock, we
would study for a couple of hours," and so forth and
so on — an untiring demand for knowledge which no
amount of hard work seemed able to quell.

On June 7, 1734, she wrote from Montjeu : " I have
begun to work at geometry again these days ; you will
find me precisely where you left me, having forgotten
nothing, and learnt nothing fresh : and with the same
desire to make progress worthy of my master. I confess
to you that I understand nothing of Guisnee ^ alone ;
and I do not think that, except with you, I could learn
with pleasure one A — four A. You scatter flowers on
the path where others only discover thorns. Your
imagination knows how to embellish the driest facts
without depriving them of their accuracy and precision.
I feel how much I should lose if I did not profit by
the kindness you have shown in deigning to condescend
to help my weakness, and to teach me such sublime
truths in an almost jesting manner. I feel that I shall

* A former master of Maupertuis and author of Traite de V Application
de I'Algebre a la Geotnetrie (17 15).

§4 An Eightcenth'Ccntury Marquise

always have over you, the advantage of having studied
with the most amiable, and at the same time the most
profound mathematician in the world," — a letter which
throws light on the subtle relationship between Maupertuis
and his pupil. At this time Maupertuis was living in
the Rue Saint-Anne, near the Nouvelles-Catholiques, and
when they were both in town they met nearly every day.
If a day passed without a lesson, the indefatigable pupil
wanted to know the reason why, and had no scruples
about hunting up her dilatory professor wherever she
thought he might be found, even in his most sacred
haunt, the Cafe Gradot on the Quai de Louvre, where
Maupertuis had his own little circle of intimates, and
where he was usually to be found in the middle of the
day and after the theatre at night.

" Yesterday and to-day I went to look for you at
Gradot's," she wrote at the beginning of 1734, " but I
did not hear you spoken of. . . ." " Please sup with
me to-morrow. I will come and fetch you from Gradot's
when the Opera is over, if you will wait for me. It is
necessary for me to see you. I am sorry to begin so late,
but I am engaged for the Opera." When she rushed in
from Creteil, where her mother lay ill, to spend a few
hours in Paris, she arranged to meet him at the same
cafe, and if she turned up there and found he was gone
she heaped reproaches and recriminations on his head.
That was her way, and it was not only Maupertuis who
knew it.

The cafes were a comparatively new institution in
Paris at this time, and had taken such a hold on the
imagination of the people that there were already several
hundreds of them. Their history dates from the close
of the seventeenth century. Coifee was then a new

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 85

drink, and cost about eighty francs a pound. It was
introduced to the nobles of the court, of Louis XIV by
the Turkish Ambassador. The doctors were horrified,
and spread the news that it was a deadly poison. For
a time this aroused a violent desire among smart
people to drink it and die, if necessary, trying to be
fashionable. However, when nothing serious happened,
the medical men were forced to moderate their tone. But
for a long time the drink was not popular. Mme de
Sevigne did not like it, but in Mme du Chatelet's day
Voltaire and Fontenelle did, and Delille made a little
verse on the subject :

II est une liqueur au poete plus chere,
Qui manquait a Virgile et qu'adorait Voltaire ;
C'est toi, divin caf6 !

It was Voltaire who was responsible, too, for Mme de
Sevigne's distaste being remembered. At one time she
had run down Racine, whom she compared to her favourite
Corneille to the great disadvantage of the former. When
she saw Phedre and Athalie she entirely changed her
opinion, but it was too late. What Mme de Sevigne had
said was on record and could not be wiped out by a
mere change of mood. Four years after she had belittled
Racine, she also remarked that coffee was a horrible
drink and would soon disappear from fashionable dinner-
tables. Voltaire, speaking of Racine, combined Mme
de Sevigne's two little phrases, and said she had judged
him as she did coffee, thinking that neither would last.
It was left to La Harpe to crystallise the hon mot often
attributed to the queen of letter-writers in its final form,
" Racine passera comme le cafe."

Not only did the drink itself stay in fashion, but it
quickly gave rise to the institution of special houses

86 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

where it was drunk. The Turkish Ambassador's ide?,
was followed up by an Armenian of the name of Pascal,
who opened a public cafe not far from the Abbaye de
Saint-Germain des Pres. It had only moderate success,
but two that followed became the rage. One was owned
by a Syrian called d' Alep, the other by a Sicilian of the
name of Procope. In 1720, says Michelet, Paris became
one great cafe. Three hundred were open a la causerie.
Every apothecary sold coffee and served it at his counter.
Even the convents hastened to take part in this lucrative
trade. France never chatted more freely or more gaily.
The arrival of coffee was the cause of a happy revolution
and of new customs. The effect was marvellous ; it was
not then neutralised or weakened by smoking. Men
took snuff, but smoked little.

The cabaret was superseded, " the ignoble cabaret
where, under Louis XIV, youth was tossed about betwixt
barrels and women." Fewer drunken songs polluted
the night. Fewer young nobles were found lying in the
gutter. The smart talking-shop, which was more a salon
than a shop, changed and ennobled manners. The day
of the cafe was that of temperance and virtue ; the reign
of the intellect had begun.

The most interesting historically is the Cafe Procope,
which was once a fine bathing establishment, where there
were hot towels and meals and drinks for the bathers,
where a man could sip sherbet and hear Italian music.
It was originally founded by the Sicilian Procope Cultelli,
who came to Paris in the suite of Catherine de Medicis.
His descendant, FranQois Procope, at first peddled his
liquor in the open air, then he had a coffee-stall, then
a shop, and at last a spacious divan, where in salons,
elegantly decorated, with mirrors and gilt mouldings, the

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 87

most celebrated people met to talk and take refreshments.
Fine ladies stopped their carriages at the cafe door, and
waited there till they had finished drinking a cup of
coffee served on a silver saucer.

In the time of Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire the
Cafe Procope, the Cafe Gradot and the Cafe Laurent
were the most famous of all, the first-named gaining
a reputation throughout Europe. Opposite the Palais-
Royal was the Cafe de la Regence, where chess and
draughts were played. It was frequented by Voltaire,
the Due de Richelieu, the Marechal de Saxe, Buffon,
Fontenelle, and many others among the famous men of
the day. The Cafe d'Alep, in the Rue Saint-Andre
des Arts, was the first to sell ices and have marble-
topped tables. Very soon the other places imitated these
luxuries. At the Cafe Buci, which opened soon after the
Procope, the Gazette and the Mercure de France were to
be had for the asking, and tobacco was given free with
the coffee. Strong drinks could also be obtained. But
the raison d'etre of the cafe was none of these things.
They were rendezvous first and foremost. Writers,
critics, dilettantes, professors, pseudo-politicians, financiers,
soldiers, philosophers, comedians and dancers — every
kind of individual, in short, brought his intellectual wares
and threw them into a common stockpot of wit and good
fellowship. The cafe was a neutral ground upon which
men of totally different habits and tastes might meet
without clashing. The intrigues and follies, the fashions
and affairs of everyone who was anyone, and many who
were nobodies, were discussed and pulled to pieces,
exaggerated and perverted until a man might hear a
tale of himself so disguised that he would think it
concerned his neighbour. The airy nothings of yesterday

6

88 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

about to become great happenings of the morrow figured
in process of materialisation in the gossip of the cafe.
Songs, verses and bon mots were coined in profuse plenty ;
eulogies, satires and scandal were born and went forth
from their cradle in the cafes to do their good or evil
work, to lift up to fame or perhaps condemn to oblivion
some struggling beggar of an author, an actor, or a
musician. Mad visions were dreamt there of Utopias
where all men should be free, great schemes were planned
whereby all men should become rich, and men sang and
versified, quarrelled and fought and swore everlasting
friendship, and laughed in the face of fickle fortune, and
grasped one another's hands when luck was in sight, and
in their emotional French way went further and wept
on one another's shoulders in their grief, or kissed and
embraced in an ecstasy of happiness ; in short, whatever
life had to offer them, the battle-field where they discussed
it, to curse or to bless it, and where they tore it in a
thousand shreds with their babbling tongues, was the
common meeting-place — their coffee-house.

Each cafe had its distinctive note. The Gradot had
a strong sprinkling of scientific men, of astronomers and
geometricians, of academicians and serious writers ; the
Procope, which was situated in the Rue des Fosses-
Saint-Germain, now Rue de I'Ancienne Comedie, opposite
the old Comedie Fran9aise, was frequented by theatrical
people of every grade and every shade, from actors and
dancers to dramatists and dramatic critics. The house
kept by the Veuve Laurent had a leaning towards art ;
poets, musicians, painters, and amateurs in belles-lettres
met there.

According to La Beaumelle ^ the Procope was the
^ Vie de Maupertuis.

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 89

favourite resort of Maupertuis before the death of
Lamotte in 1731, but Colle declared that he met
Maupertuis and Lamotte most frequently at the Gradot,
and Mme du Chatelet's letters seem to confirm this state-
ment. Perhaps he frequented both. If any one grew
tired of the Procope he had but to take a few steps into
the Rue Dauphine to visit the Laurent ; and if the pro-
prietor did not show him enough politeness there, he had
only to cross the water to the Quai de Louvre and find
himself at the Gradot. Procope's son, who was studying
medicine, but preferred versemaking and writing plays,
composed a drinking-song which sounds the note of
friendship for all alike :

Buvons, amis de ce vin frais,

Remplissons tous nos verres ;
De la grandeur les vains attraits

Sont pour nous des chimeres ;
Buvons, buvons, tous a longs traits,
Buvons en freres.

Wherever he went Maupertuis was a conspicuous
figure, in a fantastic coat and a curious short wig which
drew all eyes upon him. His master, the great Nicole,
also used the Gradot ; and Saurin, who having been a
Protestant minister in Switzerland, bartered his faith
when he came to France for fifteen hundred livres a
year. Saurin was accused of having plundered churches,
but nothing would have been proved against him and this
unenviable reputation might have died out had he not
confessed his guilt in his own letters. Saurin quarrelled
fiercely with J. B. Rousseau, but that was at the Cafe
Laurent. At the Gradot was La Faye, of whom Duclos
said he was a very amiable man. He had a considerable
fortune, a good house, and he kept good company. His
brother had been a captain of the Guards, and his chief

90 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

claims to interest were the facts that he had lost a leg in
battle and that he possessed a splendid Hbrary. Voltaire
made a little verse about him :

II a reuni le merite
Et d'Horace et de Pollion,
Tantot protegeant ApoUon
Et tantot chantant a sa suite.

There was Melon, the economist and author of the
Essai politique sur le Commerce^ of which treatise Voltaire
wrote that it was " the work of a man of wit, of a citizen
and a philosopher." Melon had been an inspector-
general of farms at Bordeaux, and tlien clerk to Cardinal
Dubois. He was a friend of Maupertuis, and when he
died, in January 1738, Mme du Chatelet wrote to the
mathematician to condole with him on his loss. Her
grief was sincere, she said. " A man who was your friend
must have had merit." And again, " 1 regret him as
one of your friends and as a worthy man, for the two
titles cannot be separated." She knew his book very
well, and went on to generalise that with so many fools
about it was very sad that death should select the wise.
The Abbe de Pons was " less a man than a dwarf," said
the Abbe Denys, who wished to prevent him being elected
Canon of Caumont ; the " singularity of his exterior will
surprise and may scandalise the weak." To which Pons
replied lustily, " An honest man must never be hurt
by reproaches which have only for their object physical
faults or infirmities, since such failings do not soil the
soul." Melon said of him that he had a fine face, and
an extremely prepossessing countenance which bore the
stamp of candour ; in fact he was a pleasant humpback.
He was, moreover, a staunch partisan and faithful to
his leader Lamotte. The latter's fables had been much

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 91

applauded when they were read at the assemblies of the
Academy ; but no sooner were they printed than they
had hardly any other admirer than the Abbe de Pons,
who insisted that the public was wrong. One day he
arrived at the Cafe Gradot in an excited state and very
angry because his six-year-old nephew, to whom he had
given two fables to learn by heart, one by La Fontaine,
the other by Lamotte, learnt the former without
the slightest difficulty, but could not remember a word
of the other. This did not convince the Abbe that he
was wrong ; it only seemed to him to foreshadow
execrable taste on his nephew's part.

At the Gradot the dispute on the Ancients and
Moderns was carried on with great vigour. The Abbe
de Pons enrolled himself in the ranks of the Moderns,
led by Lamotte, who had renewed the struggle begun by
Boisrobert and continued by Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin,
Fontenelle, and Charles Perrault. The latter had ridiculed
Homer's heroes, and, whilst not denying the genius of
Horace, criticised his work. He maintained against all
comers that the " si^cle de Louis " equalled or even
surpassed the centuries of Pericles and Augustus,
Fontenelle, in his Digression sur les Anciens ei les
ModerneSj also took up the cudgels in defence of the
moderns. There was much debating. Their ideas were
endorsed by many of the wits of the early eighteenth
century, Mme de Lambert, I'Abbe Dubos, the historian,
diplomatist, and future Secretary of the French Academy,
who was followed by Marivaux, (who laughed at both
sides), Maupertuis, Montesquieu, BufFon and Duclos.
Themiseul de Saint-Hyacinthe ridiculed the champions
of the ancients, not the ancients themselves ; but the two
warmest disputants of all were perhaps Lamotte and

92 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Mme Dacier — the same learned woman to whose classical
knowledge Voltaire had compared that of his beloved
Emilie.

Lamotte wrote his Discours sur Homere^ his greatest
weapon being an abridged Iliad, from which he had
deleted all that seemed to him superfluous. This challenge
he sent to Mme Dacier. She replied to his Discours
with her Des Causes de la Corruption du Gout. Voisenon
thought that the dispute did her no honour. " She
fought," he said, " with the roughness of a savant.
Lamotte replied with the elegance and graces of a
charming woman."

Verses on the subject appeared written in chalk on
the door of the Academy, composed in the style of
Corneille's verse on Cardinal de Richelieu :

Lamotte et la Dacier, avec un zele €gal,
Se battent pour Homere et n'y gagneront rien :
L'une I'entend trop bien pour en dire du mal,
L'autre I'entend trop peu pour en dire du bien.'

The quarrel grew fast and furious. Fenelon was
drawn into it. Lamotte appealed to him only to obtain
the response, " I would much rather see you a new
Homer, whom posterity would translate, than see you
translate Homer." Ga9on defied Lamotte in Horner e
Venge^ saying various cutting things, and Lamotte's
friends begged him to reply. The Abbe de Pons, who
was furious on his chief's account, answered for him with
a burning pen, besides supporting him in shrill accents
at the Cafe Gradot, where no one contradicted him.

At length peace was declared. Valincourt, who was

* Lamotte and La Dacier are fighting about Homer with equal zeal, but
they gain nothing. The one understands him too well to say bad of
him. The other understands him too little to say good.

MADAME DACIER
A spirited admirer of Homer, who opposed Lamotte in the dispute concerning
Ancients v. Modems. Voltaire compared jNIme du Chatelet's knowledge of Latin
favourably with hers.

93

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 95

a friend to both parties, acted as mediator and brought
about a reconciliation. He knew so well how to
mollify the terrible and stormy Mme Dacier that he
persuaded her to meet her opponent at supper. " M. de
Valincourt introduced me to M. and Mme Dacier,"
wrote Mme de Staal in her Memoirs ; "he asked
me to be present at a repast which he gave to reunite
the ancients and the moderns. Lamotte at the head
of the latter, keenly attacked by Mme Dacier, had
replied politely but with force. Their combat, which
for a long time had amused the public, ceased by the
intervention of M. de Valincourt, their mutual friend ;
after having negotiated peace between them, he confirmed
the solemn treaty at this assembly, to which the chiefs
of both parties were convoked. I represented neutrality.
We drank the health of Homer, and all went well."

When Lamotte died, Maupertuis became the chief of
the circle at the Gradot, which he kept alive by sheer wit
and a gift for repartee.

At the Laurent Lamotte was in the thick of the couplet
war in which J. B. Rousseau and Saurin played con-
spicuous parts. Danchet the despised poet, Crebillon,
La Faye, Gresset, and Freron joined in the altercation ;
also Roi, who had a talent for inventing ballets, Roche-
brune, who composed songs, and Boindin, who loved noise,
more especially the noise he made himself, and who was
a charming talker, although he insisted on contradicting
every one. Nowhere were couplets, epigrams, chansons,
maxims, and such-like airy trifles more the vogue.
Voltaire described it as a school of wit where licence had
much sway. J. B. Rousseau, in his usual unamiable
manner, made satirical verses against most of those who
frequented the cafe. Danchet replied in kind, Lamotte

96 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

answered in his " Ode sur le M6rite Personnel," which
referred in unmistakable terms to some of Rousseau's
less praiseworthy characteristics, an effort which was much
applauded and caused Rousseau much despair. Pecour,
the dancing-master, used a more material weapon, and
shook his stick in the delinquent's face. Autreau, another
wit, whose poetry was bad enough to be suppressed even
under such provocation, went a step further than Lamotte,
and wrote an histoire scandaleuse of Rousseau's life. It
was to be sung at the victim's door in the Pont Neuf
by a dozen blind men ; but Lamotte, who was gentle
in spirit and had a reputation for courtesy and good
feeling, prevented this culminating act of vituperation ;
and so for a time the couplet war subsided, although
Fontenelle, Saurin and Boindin were strongly against
Lamotte's conciliatory attitude. The reconciliation was
obviously forced, and came to an end when Lamotte
was elected to the Academy and Rousseau was refused
a place. Then Rousseau broke out once more into
stinging couplets, slashing Lamotte, Saurin, Boindin, La
Faye, and all his former friends.

The verse dealing with the last-named gentleman
contained an aspersion on the lady whom he was about
to marry, unfortunately for its author. This time a stick
did its legitimate work, and La Faye managed to get
twenty strokes into the face of the misguided Rousseau,
who fled before him into the Palais-Royal, where he
purposely took refuge, with the intention of informing
against his assailant for beating him on royal premises.
La Faye returned the compliment by informing against
Rousseau as the author of infamous libels ; and Saurin
took summary measures to eject the offender from the
Cafe Laurent, whither, it is believed, he never returned.

HOUDART DE LAMOTTE

Frequenter of cates, courts and salons, who took part against J. B. Rousseau in the
couplet war and against Mme Dacier in the dispute of Ancients v. Modems.

97

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 99

But the affair did not end there : Saurin was thrown
into the Chatelet and presently released, and Rousseau was
sent into exile. His master, the forgiving Baron de
Breteuil, who was amongst his protectors, did his best
to obtain his recall. Rousseau refused the privilege of
returning to France, and wrote to Mme du Chatelet's
father in the proudest terms : ^' I love France well, but
I love my honour and truth still better." He was away
for twenty years, and returned at length broken in health,
dying in 1741 a disappointed man. His last words
were a sacred oath that he was innocent. Ten years
later a sensation was caused when the will of Boindin
was read, in which he stated that Rousseau had never
composed the couplets which had been the cause of his
exile, and that they had been concocted by a jeweller,
Malafer, by Saurin and Lamotte. There was not the
faintest evidence of this being the truth, and Voltaire
contradicted it.

The Cafe Procope dealt in quarrels of quite a different
kind. Many of them began with Saint-Foix, the
dramatist and musketeer, who had won for himself the
double wreath of glory in war and in letters. He was
a restless, captious kind of individual, who rejoiced in
duelling and was always willing to go three parts of
the way to a dispute. In strange contrast to this aggres-
sive temperament, he composed fairy-like plays ; and
Voisenon, who also frequented the Procope, described
him as " something like an inkhorn which scattered rose-
water." One day, when Saint-Foix was in his usually
hostile mood, one of the king's guards walked into
the cafe, and with a swagger demanded a cup of coffee
and a roll for his dinner.

*' What a sorry repast ! " remarked Saint-Foix.

loo An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise

The soldier took no notice.

Saint-Foix, appearing preoccupied and bored, repeated
his remark again and again, each time in a louder tone :
" A sorry repast ; a sorry repast ! "

At length the soldier grew angry and plainly com-
manded him to be silent ; but Saint-Foix continued until
his refrain became unbearable, and the soldier lost his
temper, drew his sword, dl present took sides, and out
they rushed to the nearest square, where a sharp fight
ensued. Saint-Foix was wounded, and his opponent,
feehng that he had received satisfaction, expressed himself
in courteous terms to that effect.

" If you had killed me," remarked the imperturbable
Saint-Foix, *' I should have died with my opinion un-
altered. A cup of coffee and a roll make but a sorry
dinner."

The soldier was about to renew the fight, when some
guards arrived on the scene and arrested the combatants.
An explanation ensued, and to the last Saint-Foix main-
tained that he did not see why the king's guard should
have taken exception to so obvious a truth as that he
was about to partake of a very sorry repast. The affair
ended in general laughter, but it nevertheless had its
pathetic side. For at the Cafe Procope, many Academi-
cians, many struggling dramatists and broken-down
actors, many an angry poet raving against comedians
who refused to present his play, and many an aspirant
for literary fame who was to starve perhaps before he
won it, munched rolls in silence and spun out the single
cup of coffee they could pay for in the fear that their
next meal might be even less appetising.

The Abbe Pellegrin was one of the impecunious.
One day, when this author of tragedies that were hissed

The Mathematicians and the Caf^s loi

and verses that he could turn out at pleasure by the yard
was exerting his wits to get a loan from the wary claqueur^
Rochette de la Morli^re, a new-comer entered the caf6
and began complaining that he was going to be married
and had no epithalamium for his wedding. Pellegrin
hastened to offer one of his own composition. A deal
was soon arranged, and the price agreed upon was
twenty sous a verse. The Abbe disappeared. The
bridegroom was presently accosted by a stranger, who
began a conversation on various subjects, and suddenly
making an emphatic gesture said, " By the by, my
friend, what price are you paying Pellegrin .? " '* Twenty
sous a verse." " H'm ! " " Is that too dear } " " No "
— doubtfully — "not if you fixed the length of the poem."
*' I never thought of doing that." ** When is he to bring
your epithalamium ? " " To-morrow morning." " To-
morrow morning ! " cried the stranger. " Why, you
must be rolling in money ! " " What do you mean ? "
" That you will have to pay for at least a thousand
verses." " Oh, what a fraud ! " exclaimed the bride-
groom, and rushed off to find Pellegrin in his attic. The
versifier had just completed his hundredth verse.

It was at the Procope that Piron, Diderot, Fontenelle,
and the others discussed literature, politics, philosophy,
and religion, and invented a strange vocabulary of ex-
pressions. They called religion " Javotte," the soul was
" Margot," the Almighty was referred to as " M. de
r£tre." Crebillon, La Tour, Carle Vanloo, Marivaux,
Rameau, Desfontaines, Freron and Piron formed a body
of journalists of whom Piron was the chief. He was a
sort of Hercules, with bushy hair, half-closed eyes, a
face not unkindly, but the corners of his mouth turned
up in a malicious smile. He was well dressed and proud

I02 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

of his elegance, but he always had something of a for-
saken and tragic air. '' It's surprising," said Procope
of him, " that such a gay spirit should lodge in such a
mournful abode." His poetical nature warred constantly
against his clownish nature — and so he wrote tragedies.
Grimm said of him : " He was a machine that gave
out sallies, sparks, and epigrams. In examining him
closely one saw that his shafts clashed and collided in
his head, went off like crackers, and rushed helter-skelter
by dozens to his lips. In a combat of tongues he was
the strongest athlete that ever existed. His repartee
was always more terrible even than his attack. That
was why M. Voltaire always dreaded a conflict with
Piron."

One of their passages at arms — they had any number
— was played out at the Procope in later years, and
concerned Voltaire's play S emir amis. Longchamp tells
the story.

When Semiramis was played in Paris for the first
time, Voltaire was in a fever of anxiety to know how
the tragedy would be received. The author's rivals,
jealous of his success, had arranged a strong party to
bring about the downfall of the piece, led by Piron,
and composed of soldats de Corbulon^ as Voltaire called
Crebillon's partisans. To counterbalance this state of
affairs Voltaire distributed about four hundred tickets
to acquaintances and friends, all of them people " capables
de bien claquer et a propos," as Longchamp declared.
The leaders of the party in his favour were Thieriot,
Lambert, the author, the Abbe de La Mare, Chevalier
de Mouhy, Dumolard, who accompanied Voltaire to
Berlin on one occasion, and the Chevalier de la Morliere,
who was the chef de claque^ and had much influence in

The Mathematicians and the Cafes 103

the pit. Longchamp was given a number of tickets
to distribute, and doled them out to the right people.
On the day of the performance both parties arrived in
full force. The chief parts in the play were acted by
Mile Dumesnil and Lekain.

Voltaire desired to hear an impartial criticism of his
play, and betook himself to the Cafe Procope ; which,
says Longchamp, was called the Antre de Procope, or
Procope's Den, because it was very dark even in the
middle of the day, and at night was very badly lit, and
because lean and wan poets were often seen there wearing
the air of ghosts.

" In this cafe," continued Longchamp, *' which is
opposite the Comedie-Fran^aise, the tribunal of so-
called Aristarques was held for over sixty years, which
sat in final judgment upon plays, dramatists and actors.
M. de Voltaire wished to appear at the sitting, but
disguised and entirely incognito. After leaving the
theatres the judges opened in the cafe what they called
their grand session. On the day of the second representa-
tion of Semiramis Voltaire borrowed the dress of a priest,
wore a cassock and long cloak, black stockings, girdle,
bands, and even carried a breviary. Nothing was wanting
to his disguise. He placed a full wig on his head,
without powder and badly dressed, which covered more
than half his cheeks, and left little more visible than
the tip of a long nose. The wig was crowned by a
large three-cornered hat.

" In this get-up the author of Semiramis went on foot
to the Cafe de Procope, where he crouched in a corner to
await the end of the show, having ordered a bavaroise^
a roll, and the Gazette. Before long the occupants of
the pit and the usual cafe customers arrived. They

I04 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

belonged to all parties. They soon began to discuss
the new tragedy. Partisans and adversaries pleaded their
cause warmly and adduced their reasons. Some who
were impartial said what they thought and recited some
of the fine verses. All this time, Voltaire, his glasses
on his nose, his head bent over his Gazette^ pretended
to be reading, but in reality was listening to the dis-
cussion. He profited by some of the more reasonable
observations, but suffered much from the absurd remarks
that were made and which he had no power to contradict.
This put him in a bad temper. Thus for an hour and
a half he had the courage and patience to hear Semiramis
jeered at and discussed, without saying a word himself.
At length all the pretentious arbitrators of the fame of
authors withdrew without having converted each other.
M. de Voltaire went out also, took a cab in the Rue
Mazarine, and reached home at eleven o'clock." Long-
champ was terrified to see him appear in his strange
disguise, and took him for a spectre or the shade of
Ninus out of his own play.

CHAPTER IV

THE SALONS AND A SUPPER PARTY

THE men met at the cafes and the women flocked
to the salons. These centres of wit and gossip,
where the personal note was never lacking, had blossomed
in the first half of the seventeenth century, had faded
somewhat in brilliancy towards the close of it, and at
the time when Mme du Chatelet left Paris to bury
herself with her kindred spirit at Cirey, had taken a
new lease of life which was to make them more popular
than ever before. The divine Emilie did as others did
when she was in Paris, but she did not become famous
in the capital as a saloniere^ nor was she one of the
favourite guests at the receptions of her friends. She
was fond of gaiety, ever ready to join in supper-parties,
to go to the opera, to shine at balls, to drive in the Park,
to visit people and to receive her friends in return, but
she lacked the gifts and qualities essential to the atmo-
sphere of the salon proper. She could not keep the
conversational ball rolling in the light and airy spirit
peculiar to French wits. She disdained the affectations
and mannerisms which were the fashion. She knew
nothing of drawing out the accomplishments of others
and merging her own personality in theirs. She was,
in short, too much wanting in adaptability to keep her
intellect in tune with the general trend of talk, and

was a discordant factor, blundering like an intrusive

los

io6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

beetle in a spider's web through the delicate fabric of
this particular form of social gathering. Emilie's thoughts
were too large and unconventional to match the neat
mosaic pattern of salon conversation. She was happier
at Court. But she belonged to the circles all the same
in the guise of a semi-stranger, and entered them in
the wake of Voltaire.

Voltaire, although not very fond of salons himself,
found it difficult to escape them all. One of the brightest
of those which opened in the early years of the eighteenth
century was held at the Hotel de Sully. Every quali-
fication that a salon should have was to be found there.
It was celebrated for wit, rank, culture, good manners,
good taste, learning that was not pedantic, literature that
was more than talented, and a certain freedom of speech
which was never dissociated from perfect courtesy.
Mme de Villars was ^there and Voltaire was her protege,
Chaulieu belonged to it and he was the protege of Mme
du Maine. Mme de Flamarens, the beautiful, the
witty, the virtuous, was a bright particular star. Voltaire
wrote a verse to her when she burnt her muff because
it was out of fashion, and it was inscribed on the urn
which held its ashes :

Je fus manchon, je suis cendre legere;
Flamarens me brula, je I'ai pu meriter,
Et Ton doit cesser d'exister
Ouand on commence a. lui deplaire.^

That was quite in the spirit of salon airs and graces.
Fontenelle was there, of course. He went everywhere.
So did Caumartin, as long as it was select enough.

* Once I was a muff, now I am nothing but ashes :
Flamarens burnt me, perhaps I deserved it —
One should cease to exist the moment one displeases her.

The Salons and a Supper Party 107

Voltaire was as much at home as any one, and worked
at the Henriade as a safeguard against too much frivolity.
President Renault, and the Comte d'Argenson, who
always had a word to say about every one and every-
thing, were frequent guests, as well as Mme de Gontaut,
who was thought to be like Cleopatra, stung by an asp.'
Coming one day from the Due de Sully's house,
Voltaire was set upon and beaten by the lackeys of the
Chevalier de Rohan, and when a few months later he
asked to be allowed to revenge the insult at the sword's
point, he was clapped into the Bastille— that was for
the second time.

The Marechale d'Anville was also famed for her salon,
which was one of the first where the new philosophy
had its birth, and Voltaire was never far from its cradle.
The prettiest salon of the day was the Societe du Temple.
The room was light, decorated with mirrors and white
wainscoting and woodwork. The curtains were of rose-
pmk silk. The Comtesse de Boufflers, mistress of the
Prince de Conti, was its presiding genius, and its aims
and ends were more luxurious than serious, appealing
rather to the tastes and habits of the divine Emilie in
her lighter moods than to those of the poet-philosopher.

The Palais-Royal was open to intimates at all times,
and very gay were the gatherings there. All the
Regent's friends were welcome : the Marquise de Polignac,
the Baronne de Talleyrand, the famous Mme de
Luxembourg, who went everywhere ; the Marquise de
Fleury, the Comtesse de Boufflers, the Beauvau-Craons
when they were in Paris ; Mme de Blot, who was quite
unresponsive to the Duke's advances'; and Fontenelle,
whom the Regent admired so much that one day he
said to him, " M. de Fontenelle, would you like to live

7

io8 An Eighteenth.Century Marquise

in the Palais-Royal? A man who has written the
Pluralite des Mondes ought to live in a palace." " Prince,"
replied the poet, "the wise man thinks little of position,
and does not care for changes ; but since you are so
pressing I will come and live at the Palais-Royal and
bring my arms and baggage to-morrow— that is to say,
my slippers and my nightcap." In gratitude for the
favours showered upon him, Fontenelle gave the Regent
his Elements de la Geometrk de VInfint, remarking as he
did so, " There are only seven or eight of the geometri-
cians in Europe who understand my book, and I assure
you I am not one of them."

Fontenelle had hundreds of friends beside the Regent,
and was especially made much of by all the salonures.
At this time there was a kind of hereditary succession
of hostesses. Mme de Lambert was one of the most
important and most cultured. President Renault said
it was necessary to be in her salon to get into the French
Academy. " On one day of the week," he continued,
"people dine there, and the afternoon is spent in all
kinds of academic conferences, but in the evening the
entertainment as well as the actors change. Mme de
Lambert gives supper to a more gallant company. She
then delights in receiving the people who are agreeable
to her. Her manner does not change on this account.
She preaches belle galanterie to those who prefer it.^ I
belong to both schools. I dogmatise in the morning
and sing songs at night."

It was concerning these famous Tuesday meetings
that the Duchesse du Maine wrote a letter to Lamotte
which almost rivals in style those of Mme de Sevigne.
She had been roused to anger because Mme de Staal
had read aloud before the Tuesday gathering part of a

The Salons and a Supper Party 109

letter she had written. Lamotte, however, reassured
her as to its reception and she wrote to thank him :

"O Tuesday, deserving of respect, O imposing
Tuesday, Tuesday more dreaded by me than all the
other days of the week ! Tuesday which has witnessed
so many times the triumph of the Fontenelle, the
Lamotte, the Mairan, and the Mongault. Tuesday on
which the amiable Abbe de Bragelonne was introduced,
and, still more, Tuesday over which Mme de Lambert
presides. I received with extreme gratitude the letter
you had the kindness to write me. You changed my
dread into affection, and I find you more agreeable
than the most delightful of Shrove Tuesdays. But one
thing is still wanting for my glory — it is to be received
at your august senate. You wish to exclude me in the
quality of Princess, but could I not be admitted simply
as Bergere ? ^ Then, indeed, I could say that Tuesday
was the most perfect day of my life."

Needless to say she worked her will, to the temporary
discomfort of the Academicians.

Mme de Tencin frequented Mme de Lambert's house
in order to obtain the right of succession. In this she
did very well for herself, because Mme de Lambert
was of high rank and distinction and unimpeachable
reputation, whereas Mme de Tencin was bourgeoise and
one of the worst offenders against morality ; a type of
eighteenth-century laxity. "After the death of Mme
de Lambert," said Trublet, Fontenelle's biographer,
"the Tuesday was at Mme de Tencin's, but passing
from the Rue Richelieu to the Rue Saint-Honore the
Tuesday was remodelled." Mme de Geoffrin was Mme
de Tencin's successor.

' Her nom de Parnasse, used chiefly by her friend Sainte-Aulaire,

no An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

" So long as Mme de Tencin lived," wrote Marmontel,
" Mme GeofFrin was in the habit of going to see her,
and the cunning old woman penetrated the motive of
her visits so well that she used to say to her guests,
* Do you know why la Geoffrin comes here ? It is to
see what she can collect from my inventory.' And,
indeed, at her death a part of her company, and the
best part, had passed into the new society."

When Fontenelle, who was accustomed to dine at
Mme de Tencin's almost every day, was told that she
was dead, he said, " Ah, well, I shall have to dine with
la GeofFrin."

No study of an eighteenth-century Frenchwoman
could be exhaustive without some reference to Mme de
Tencin, who embodied many of the worst characteristics
of the period.

To contrast Mme de Tencin with Mme du Chatelet

is to contrast utter heartlessness, selfishness and depravity

with tastes and actions which were far more free and

untrammelled than people consider wise to-day, perhaps,

but which were natural and honest if not invariably

honourable, and which were based on a fixed code and

according to certain standards then in vogue. Mme

du Chatelet was the large-minded individual to whom

special laws must be applied ; Mme de Tencin, on the

other hand, was beyond the pale of all law. Mme du

Chatelet did things of which others could not approve,

because she felt they were right for her ; Mme de

Tencin deliberately did the wrong things, and no amount

of condemnation deterred her for a moment from the

path she had chosen. The only point in her favour,

which at the same time is a reflection on the morals

of the day, was that she was clever enough to live as

The Salons and a Supper Party m

she did without being ostracised. Because she was
without scruples she was probably the happier of the
two women. She knew how to propitiate others, a step
to which Mme du Chatelet rarely condescended ; and
she seems to have gloried in publicity, whereas Mme du
Chatelet went only so far as to disregard appearances.

There were too many differences in their condition
and standing for them to be good friends. Mme de
Tencin was a woman of the lower classes, Mme du
Chatelet was a great lady. The former had led the
life of the gutter, the alcove^ the gaming-house, and
the fringe of society. She had been known as a femme
galante before she became a femme de salon^ and her
company was largely composed of lovers, who were
so numerous and well-known that their names were
on everybody's lips. Mme du Chatelet's circle, if not
spotless, was at least outwardly respectable, and she
remained in favour with the devout Marie Leczinska,
which was a guarantee that she had not stepped too far
outside the convenances. Perhaps the strongest bond
the two women possessed in common was their deter-
mination to take advantage to the full of such liberty
as had become possible under the relaxed conditions of
the Regency. In their different ways each was remark-
able, but whereas in the case of Mme du Chatelet
to know all may be to forgive at least half, in Mme
de Tencin's case the more that is known the more she
appears unpardonable.

Mme de Tencin made several unsuccessful overtures
to Emilie ; she wanted to win over Voltaire through
her. Voltaire did not like her. Emilie, who was
always good-natured, even though she wore an air of
superiority towards women acquaintances, treated her

112 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

with calm indifFerence, perhaps more especially because
she read her intentions, Mme de Tencin was one of
those (Clairaut was another) who advised Voltaire to
give up writing plays. His retort, delivered in an
obvious and courteous manner, was Zaire. That had
happened in 1731.

In 1736 Mme de Tencin opposed him when he was
trying to get into the Academy. Later she showed
great interest in his diplomatic visit to the King of
Prussia, and acted in an underhand manner towards
Mme du Chatelet.

Voltaire had been on more or less friendly terms with
Mme de Tencin before he knew Mme du Chatelet, for
in 1726 they were both in the Bastille, and he wrote
to Mme de Ferriol to assure Mme de Tencin that
one of his greatest griefs whilst in prison was to know
that she was a fellow- captive. " We were like Pyramus
and Thisbe," he declared, *' separated only by a wall,
but we were not able to kiss through a chink in the
partition." Later, when the opportunity for kissing
came, Voltaire had no desire to make use of it. Indeed,
if it had not been that they possessed mutual friends, the
ill-feeling between them might have developed into open
disagreement. Mme de Ferriol was Mme de Tencin's
sister and the mother of Pont de Veyle and d'Argental,
who was Voltaire's hon ange. Saint-Simon said of the
two sisters, *' Both are beautiful and amiable ; Mme
de Ferriol has more gentleness and gallantry, the
other far more wit, intrigue and profligacy." Duclos
condemned Mme de Tencin without mercy. He agreed
that she was pretty when young, and that as she grew old
she preserved her charms of wit ; but he accused her
of having a genius for intrigue, of being thoroughly

The Salons and a Supper Party 113

corrupt and utterly unscrupulous in her endeavours to
advance the interests of her friends, and in particular
of her scapegrace brother the Cardinal.

Born at Grenoble in 1682, Mme de Tencin was intended
for the religious life, but feeling that she would prefer to
make a stir in the world, she had her vows revoked by
a pontifical bull, and entered upon a career of which
not the least discreditable episodes were her liaison with
the Regent, which came to an end through her rapacity,
her abandonment of her son d'Alembert in 17 17, and
the suicide at her house of Councillor Lafresnay, who
left a testament to witness that she was to blame for
his violent death.

But when she installed herself in the Rue Saint-
Honor^, men of letters and men about town crowded
to her house, and were nothing loth to avail themselves
not only of her ambitious projects on their behalf, but
of more personal favours which she dealt forth with
no unsparing or partial hand. The beginnings of the
salon were humble enough. Fontenelle was one of
the first to come, dressed in his large fair wig, in a
light suit and a yellow waistcoat. Lamotte wore a smart
red cloak. Saurin, the mathematician, was negligent of
his appearance, as befitted his profession, but he was
perhaps the most talkative and assertive of all. These
four drank their morning chocolate together, and ate ham
toasted on a spit, Mme de Tencin herself serving her
three guests. After Mme de Lambert's death, Marivaux
and Mairan took the places of Lamotte and Saurin, and
four new friends joined the circle — Duclos, De Boze,
Astruc, and Mirabaud, the seven forming a permanent
court, a respectable senate known by the name of the
" seven sages."

114 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise

MIrabaud was secretary to the Duchesse d'Orl6ans,
De Boze was a numismatist, Astruc a doctor who had
invented a new specific against small-pox ; Duclos was
a litthateur^ a libertine, and a cynic ; Mairan, who was
later to cross intellectual swords with Mme du Chatelet
on the subject of fire, was a great friend of IVjme de
Geoffrin's. He was a facile and courteous talker, was
famed for his politeness, and wrote instructive and agree-
able letters. He was the author of the Traite de VAurore
horeale, which Voltaire called *' I'aurore de sa gloire."

Perhaps Marivaux was '^the most interesting of the
seven. He depicted his hostess under the thin disguise
of Mme Dorsin in Marianne, giving her credit for
being " an admirable conversationalist."

The novelist was as original in his life as in his works.
** I would rather be humbly seated on the last row of
the little group of original authors," he wrote, " than
proudly placed among the front rank of the numerous
herd of literary apes." His originality lay more in his
manner of expressing his ideas than in the ideas them-
selves. His muse was a coquette.

It was said of his career that it resembled that of a
pretty woman, and that it followed the course of the
seasons, opening with a delightful spring, merging into
the full bloom of summer, followed by a sad autumn
and a desolate winter.

In his day this author was given a place in the front
rank, but his work did not live. Voltaire said of him
that he knew all the bypaths of the human heart, but
not the main road.

When Marivaux was a young man he fell in love
with a girl who was very beautiful and more youthful
than she was artless. The day before the wedding was

The Salons and a Supper Party 115

arranged to take place the lover stole softly into his
lady's boudoir to speak to her for the last time before
she became his wife. She did not hear him enter the
room, so busy was she practising various facial expressions
in front of her mirror — the amorous, the pensive, the
smiling, the sighing, and the provocative. Seeing that
she must be the most hardened of coquettes, Marivaux
walked out again without saying a word. He never
returned.

Before long Mme de Tencin's salon was open to all :
financiers, for her guests gambled heavily in stocks and
shares according to the system of the notorious John
Law ; to courtiers, soldiers, and men of the long robe.
Those who did not know the salon in the Rue Saint-
Honor6 did not know Paris. Chesterfield, Prior, and
Bolingbroke were amongst the English there. The
usual society amusements were in vogue : they wrote
portraits, evolved maxims and epigrams, and discussed
problems of sentiment.

The salon was on the threshold of the Academy, and
about a year after refusing (on the death of Sainte-
Aulaire) to intervene on behalf of the Duchesse
d'Aiguillon's candidate, the Abb6 de La Bletterie, Mme
de Tencin made a campaign for the '* good devil," Abb6
Girard, against the Abb6 de Bernis. She was beaten
after a hot fight. The election of Marivaux, in 1736,
was a triumph for her. Voltaire was his opponent, and
swore to succeed, while Mme du Chatelet canvassed
everywhere for him, and Richelieu did all he could.
" Marivaux has been elected unanimously," she wrote
to Richelieu in triumph, when the result was known.
All the seven sages were already Academicians, or were
about to join the immortal Forty. When Montesquieu,

ii6 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

Piron, Helv^tius, Autreau and Danchet were added to
the seven, Mme de Tencin called her salon her menagerie.
Marmontel paid a visit there in his youth, and would no
doubt have become a frequent guest had he not been
advised by his guardian, La Popliniere, that to dawdle
in ladies' drawing-rooms was an occupation likely to
interfere with serious work. At any rate he left an
interesting picture of Mme de Tencin's receptions :

*' In spite of his repugnance to see me escape from
him," wrote Marmontel of La Popliniere in' his Memoirs,
" he could not refuse Mme de Tencin, to whom he was
respectful out of policy, when she requested that he
would take me to her house to read my tragedy. The
piece was Aristomene. The audience was respectable.
I there saw assembled Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Mairan,
Marivaux, the young Helv6tius, Astruc, and others, all
men of letters or science, and in the midst of them a
woman of excellent talents and profound judgment, but
who, enveloped in her exterior of plainness and simplicity,
had rather the air of the housekeeper than the mistress.
This was Mme de Tencin. I had occasion for all my
lungs to make myself heard by Fontenelle ; and, though
very near his ear, I was obliged to pronounce every word
very loudly and forcibly. But he listened to me with
so much kindness, that he made the efforts of this painful
reading pleasing. It was, as you may well conceive,
extremely monotonous, without inflexion or colour ; yet
I was honoured with the suffrages of the assembly. I
had even the honour of dining with Mme de Tencin,
and from that day I should have been inscribed on her
list of dinner visitors ; but M. de la Popliniere had no
difficulty in persuading me that there was too much
wit there for me ; and, indeed, I soon perceived that

The Salons and a Supper Party 117

each guest arrived ready to play his part, and that the
desire of exhibiting did not always leave conversation
the liberty of following its facile and natural course.
It was a question as to who should seize the flying
moment most quickly to air his epigram, his story, his
anecdote, his maxim, or his light and pointed satire ; and
to make or find this opportunity the course they took
was often unnatural.

" In Marivaux impatience to give proof of acuteness
and sagacity was visibly betrayed. Montesquieu, with
more calm, waited till the ball came to him, but he
expected his turn. Mairan watched opportunity. Astruc
did not deign to wait. Fontenelle alone let it come
without seeking ; and he used the attention with which
he was listened to so soberly, that his acute remarks
and charming stories never occupied more than a moment.
Helv^tius, attentive and discreet, sat collecting for a
future day. His was an example that I should not
have had the constancy to follow ; and therefore to me
this society had but little attraction.

" It was not the same with that of a lady to whom
my happy star had introduced me at Mme de Tencin's,
and who from that time had the kindness to invite me
to go and see her. This lady, who was then beginning
to choose and compose her literary society, was Mme
Geoffrin. I answered her invitation too late, and it
was again M. de la Popliniere who prevented me from
going to her house. ' What should you do there ? *
said he ; 'it is but another rendezvous of fine wits.' "

Walpole drew a good likeness of Mme de Tencin's
successor. After crediting her with a vast amount of
common sense, penetration of character, the power of
portraiture, the knack of exacting great court and

ii8 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

attention, he admits that she had little taste and less
knowledge, that she tried to obtain influence in order
to advance the interests of the authors under her pro-
tection, and concludes his remarks with, " She was bred
under the famous Mme Tencin, who advised her never
to refuse any man ; for, said her mistress, though nine
in ten should not care a farthing for you, the tenth
may live to be an useful friend."

Mme de GeofFrin's salon first opened in 1741. Among
her guests were Algarotti, Voisenon, the Abbe de Saint-
Pierre, Thomas, Morellet, d'Alembert, Diderot and Saint-
Lambert.

It was at Mme de GeofFrin's house that the argument
between Mairan and Mme du Chatelet began ; and when
the discussion grew heated and Mairan appealed to his
hostess, the latter said, to calm him, " Sir, surely you
would not draw a sword against a fan." History does
not say that the fair Emilie rose upon these words and
left the room, but the action would have been in keeping
with her character. She was not particularly in favour
at Mme de GeofFrin's house. This lady did not care
for women, and the only one who was allowed to be
present at her most important dinners was Mile de
Lespinasse. But that was later. Mme de GeofFrin's
salon did not attain to its most glorious heights until
after the death of Emilie, which occurred in the same
year as that of Mme de Tencin. It was said that Mme
de GeofFrin was fortunate. In 1749 her husband died.
Till then he had taken it upon himself to order the
dinners and order them frugally — at supper there was
sometimes only chicken, spinach, and an omelette. He
left her a fortune, and Mme de Tencin died and left
her good company, and there she was without a rival.

The Salons and a Supper Party 119

The latter statement, however, is not literally true.
She had a serious rival in Mme du DefFand, and one
of the few points which they had in common was their
perfect accord on the question of Mme du Chatelet,
who they agreed added nothing to the festivity and
harmony of salons.

The relation between Mme du DefFand and Mme
du Chatelet is one of the most astonishing things of
its kind. Appearances may have been deceitful. If
they were not, the two women must be regarded as rival
wits who embraced whilst they would have preferred
to choke one another, and made the prettiest possible
speeches full of compliments whilst in an undertone they
made remarks about one another hardly suitable for
publication. Mme du Chatelet had a virtue above all
price — she never spoke ill of people behind their backs,
but she was not nearly so circumspect in their presence.
Voltaire was Mme du Deffand's friend. He tried to
make Mme du Chatelet her friend too. Emilie had
one fault natural to a jealous woman — she was not fond
of the friends of her lover. Still an intimacy existed,
and Voltaire bracketed them together in one of his
letters as " two most lovable women." In his letter
to Mme du Deffand when Mme du Chatelet died, he
wrote that Emilie sincerely loved her, and that she had
spoken only two days before her death of the pleasure
she would have in seeing her in Paris. But then Voltaire
always wrote pretty phrases. In the spring of 1749
they met, perhaps not infrequently, at supper, but it
must be believed that there were insurmountable pre-
judices on both sides, which rendered such meetings
more or less of a shock to both.

Emilie was too much of everything to please Mme

I20 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise

du Deffand's fastidious tastes — too pedantic, too frivolous,
too positive, too enthusiastic, too angular, and too direct.
On the other hand, Mme du Deffand had a number of
peculiarities which accorded but ill with these qualities,
and irritation, exasperation, groans and sparks were the
result of the clash of character. The footing on which
they stood was both caressing and menacing, the armed
neutrality of enemies at peace ; the only difference being
that Mme du Chatelet was the more inclined of the
two to uphold the armistice, while Mme du DefFand
was longing for the opportunity of becoming aggressive.
What else made her dare to pen such an outrageous
portrait of any woman whose eyes it might reach ? and
why, if she saw it, did not Mme du Ghatelet retort ?
It was thought that she wished to do so, but that she
died before her chance came. There is no evidence
to show when the portrait was written. However, there
is in existence a letter from Mme de Vintimille to
Mme du DefFand written at Fontainebleau on October 7,
1739, which refers to a description of Emilie, but it is
hardly safe to assume that this was more than a mild
sketch which might have been a forerunner of the other.
" You mentioned Mme du Chatelet in your last — I am
very anxious to see her, because, since you have favoured
me with her portrait, I fancy myself perfectly acquainted
with her. I am much obliged to you for having given
me your real opinion of her, as I like to be guided
by your judgment. I must endeavour to meet her
somewhere, and to make the King of Prussia the subject
of our conversation, admitting that she deigns to listen
to me ; for probably 1 shall strike her as being very
foolish."

The king's favourite no doubt referred to Mme du

MADAME DU DEFFAND
Who wrote a scathing pen-portrait of Mme du Chatelet

The Salons and a Supper Party 123

Chatelet's well-known jealousy of Frederick the Great,
who at that time, if the date of the letter be correct, was
still Prince Royal ; but could she have discussed so
amiably and have been so interested in a woman described
in such scathing expressions as appear in the well-known
portrait which ran through the ruelles and was thought
to be very amusing, in spite of its ill-nature ? Thomas
said that its author reminded him of a na'ive doctor
of his acquaintance : " My friend fell ill," he remarked ;
" I treated him ; he died ; I dissected him."

" Imagine," wrote Mme du Deffand, " a tall, hard
and withered woman, narrow-chested, with large limbs,
enormous feet, a very small head, a thin face, pointed
nose, two small sea-green eyes, her colour dark, her
complexion florid, her mouth flat, her teeth set far
apart, and very much decayed : there is the face of
the beautiful Emilie, a face with which she is so well
pleased that she spares nothing for the sake of setting
it off. Her manner of dressing her hair, her adornments,
her top-knots, her jewellery, all are in profusion ; but
as she wishes to be lovely in spite of nature, and as
she wishes to appear magnificent in spite of fortune,
she is obliged in order to obtain superfluities to go
without necessaries, such as under-garments and other
trifles.

" She was born with sufficient intellect, and the desire
to appear as though she had a great deal made her
prefer to study the most abstract sciences rather than
more general and pleasant branches of knowledge. She
thought she would gain a greater reputation by this
peculiarity, and a more decided superiority over all
other women.

" She did not limit herself to this ambition ; she wished

124 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

to be!a princess as well, and she became so, not by the
grace of God nor by that of the king, but by her own
act. This absurdity went on, like the others; one
became accustomed to regard her as a princess of the
theatre, and one almost forgot that she was a woman
of rank.

*' Madame worked so 'hard to appear what she was
not, that no one knew what she really was ; even her
faults were perhaps not natural ; they may have had
something to do with her pretensions, her want of
respect with regard to the state of princess, her dullness
in that of the savante, and her stupidity in that of a jolie
femme.

" However much of a celebrity Mme du Chatelet
may be, she would not be satisfied if she were not
celebrated, and that is what she desired in becoming
the friend of M. de Voltaire. To him she owes the
eclat of her life, and it is to him that she will owe
immortality."

Many things may be forgiven the witty, sharp-tongued,
sightless amie of Walpole, but this ill-natured composition
deserves no pardon. The truth in the background which
was always to be found in Mme du DefFand's caricatures
makes the whole none the less insulting. Mme du
DefFand was a victim to ennui. Perhaps she once
suffered more than ordinarily from that terrifying com-
plaint, and set to work upon the above in a drastic
attempt to obtain relief. It was not a fair return for
Voltaire's complimentary little impromptu written at her
house only a few years previously :

Qui vous voit et qui vous entend
Perd bientot sa philosophic ;
Et tout sage avec du Deffand
Voudrait en fou passer sa vie.

The Salons and a Supper Party 125

Mme du DefFand's salon was among the gayest and
brightest of all. At one time or another most of the
famous men and women were to be seen there. Henault
was, of course, the demigod, Pont-de-Veyle the standing
dish. M. and Mme de Beauvau, better known at
Luneville, were great friends with their hostess. The
Chevalier de Boufflers kept the circle amused at his gay
sallies, and told stories of his mother, the charming
Marquise. The Comtesse de Boufflers, too, V Idole du
'Temple^ was never long absent, and the Duchesse de
Boufflers, who had fortunately by then changed her name
to Luxembourg and thus saved oceans of confusion, was
a very prominent guest. She was called la chatte rose on
account of her beauty and certain not unfeline propensities.
The following little story suggests them. A verse about
her was running through Paris, It began :

Quand Boufflers parut a la cour
On crut voir la mere d'amour.

Some said it was by Nivernais, others by Tressan. She
suspected the latter of being its author. Discussing it,
she remarked to him, " It is so well made, that not only
should I pardon the one who wrote it, but if I could
find him I should reward him with a kiss." " It is I,"
replied the expectant Tressan. For his pains he received
a couple of resounding boxes on the ear.

There was besides the Duchesse de la Valliere, whose
house Mme du Chatelet frequently visited. The duchess
was the daughter of the Due d'Uzes and much inclined
to gallantry. The Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupre, called
la petite devote^ Mme de Flamarens, Mme d'Aiguillon,
the Princesse de Talmont, the Marechale de Mirepoix
and many others, formed a representative and brilliant
group, typical of the society of the day.

8

126 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Sometimes a small number of them arranged another
kind of entertainment — a supper, a picnic in the country,
or a water-party. Longchamp, in describing Mme du
Chatelet's ordinary habits, gives an account of one such
an occasion on which both she and Mme du Deffand
were present. It has been quoted as typical of the free
manners of the period.

Mme du Chatelet, he said, " passed the greater part
of the morning with her books and writings, and did not
like to be disturbed. When she stopped work, however,
she did not seem to be the same woman. The serious
air gave place to gaiety, and she gave herself up with the
greatest enthusiasm to the delights of society. She might
have been taken for the most frivolous woman of the
world. Although she was forty years old, she was always
the life of the company, and amused the ladies of society
who were much younger than she with her witty sallies.
When their husbands were with the army or called away
by other duties, these ladies, to amuse themselves, some-
times arranged pleasure parties, little trips into the
country or to neighbouring towns, where they dined or
supped in some hostelry or tea-garden in the neighbour-
hood of Paris. Whilst I was in Mme du Chatelet's
service I only saw one of these joyous parties. It was a
supper which took place at Chaillot, in an inn called the
Maison Rouge, a sign which, as far as I believe, has since
been changed. (In this evasion Longchamp was perhaps
wise. He did not wish the hostelry to be identified too
easily.) I was sent there the evening before by Mme
du Chatelet to order a copious and dainty repast for a
company of six distinguished individuals. The five who
with her formed this little party were Mme la Duchesse
de Boufflers, Mmes les Marquises de Mailly, de Gouvernet,

The Salons and a Supper Party 127

du DefFand, and Mme de la Popliniere. The carriages
belonging to these ladies, after some turns in the Bois
de Boulogne, arrived at the rendezvous at the hour
arranged. It was summer, and very hot. Although
lightly clad, these ladies, when they arrived, began
making themselves comfortable, and took off part of
their dress and ornaments, even that which propriety
demanded them to keep on. I have already said that
they were not shy before their servants."

At Chaillot the friends were together enfamille. They
helped themselves. The servants of the Maison Rouge
placed the dishes they brought on a sideboard in an
antechamber. They were fetched from there by the
ladies' lackeys. Longchamp directed the proceedings. At
dessert the lackeys supped in their turn in another room
and Longchamp did the honours. Wine was no more
spared there than in the banqueting-hall, and they were
no less gay. *' The ladies amused themselves vastly.
We could not doubt that. We could hear them sing
and laugh, and perhaps they would have danced if they
had only had partners and violins ; but these things had
not entered into their plans. They did not think of
leaving the Maison Rouge until five o'clock in the
morning. Then the carriages came to take them home.
They found in them mantles or pelisses which their
maids had had the thoughtfulness to put in for them,
and which were not useless to the ladies considering the
heavy dew which was falling. Arrived at Paris they
separated and went to their own hotels." Longchamp
remained to pay the bill ; he concluded that Mme du
Chatelet had not borne the expenses alone, and that the
" pique-nique " had been a joint affair. He followed to
Paris on foot.

128 An Eightcenth^Ccntury Marquise

Perhaps of all forms of entertainment Mme du Chatelet
loved the theatre best. She had good histrionic powers,
and she had been known to warble through a whole opera
in an evening to please her guests at Cirey. Nothing
delighted her more than to take part in one of Voltaire's
plays, either at Sceaux, Anet, Luneville, or wherever her
friends arranged for such a performance.

Her early letters are full of references to the opera
and the actresses and singers, many of whom she knew
personally because they stayed in the chateaux whilst
rehearsals were taking place. Amongst them was the
celebrated Mile Gaussin, who created the roles of Zaire
and Alzire and played in Zulime^ Mahomet and Nanine.
It was this lady's boast that she had no prejudices : " I
go where the wind blows me, I love when it pleases me,"
she said ; '* I listen only to folly, and I laugh at the
wisdom of others." Truly a woman after Mme du
Chatelet's own heart. Another favourite was Mile Le
Maure, who surpassed herself in Isse^ the opera by
Lamotte and Destouches in which Emilie herself excelled.
In Les Elements^ by Roi and Destouches, " the singer's
voice was better than ever," but even her charming
performance could not redeem Quinault and Lulli's opera
Athys. Mile de Seine, whom Mme du Chatelet calls
by her married name, Dufresne, was to play in Alzire,
but Le Franc begged Voltaire to allow her to take part
in his Zoraide instead, and this caused a feeling of
unpleasantness between the rival dramatists, which was
settled in the end by the " nai've, youthful and gracious
Gaussin " appearing in Alzire.

Mme du Chatelet never rested. She went to the
opera with Mme de Saint-Pierre, to the comedy with
Mme d'Aiguillon ; she walked in the park with Fontenelle,

The Salons and a Supper Party 129

and in the Jardin du Roi ; she supped with Mme de
Rohan, with Mme de Luxembourg, with la petite
Crevecoeur, and most frequently of all with Mme de
Brancas. At this time the last-named lady showed her
great friendship, inspired thereto by Richelieu. Emilie
said that the Duke's interest in herself was a virtue in
the eyes of Mme de Brancas.

The duchess was quite a well-known figure at Court.
Born in 1676, her maiden name was Marie-Angelique
Fremyn de Moras. She was an heiress. When she was
nineteen it was proposed that she should marry the
Comte de Duras, but the plan fell through and the
Duchesse du Maine, whose favourite she was, helped her
to make a better match with the Due de Villars-Brancas.
*' Never did any one appear more like the goddess of
youth," wrote Saint-Simon of the young duchess ; " she
had all the charm and all the necessary gaiety. She
danced ravishingly."

In 1703 Mme de Brancas was appointed dame
d'honneur to Madame ; more than forty years later she
took the same post in the household of the shy and un-
prepossessing dauphine, Marie-Therese d'Espagne. She
did her best to keep her mistress bright and cheerful,
but was hopelessly unsuccessful. When the Spanish
princess died, a year after her marriage, her household
was re-formed for the new dauphine, Marie-Jos^phe de
Saxe, and Mme de Brancas retained the post of her
chief lady.

Mme de Brancas was a very intimate friend of
Richelieu's. Her son, the Due de Lauraguais, married
first Mile Felicite d'O, and later one of the charming
Miles de Nesle. The first Mme de Lauraguais died at
the age of nineteen, and Mme du Chatelet, who had only

1 30 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

recently lost her baby son, sympathised deeply with Mme
de Brancas in her bereavement. " Her letter touched
me to tears," she wrote to Richelieu ; " it would make
the rocks weep, and I do not pride myself on being
made of stone. Was it not sad to see this flower cut
in its first bloom ? " But in those days life was too full
of incident to allow of much time for mourning, and the
round of gaiety was soon resumed. There were country
visits for Mme du Chatelet to pay : a week in the
company of Du Fay at Saint-Maur, the gay home of
the Condes ; a week at Chantilly, where she felt like the
heroine of a romance as she sat in a wood within sound
of the sweet murmur of a fountain ; a rush journey to
Cr6teil, where her mother lived. She travelled a hundred
leagues there and back in five days, without going to
bed, " un pied chauss6 et I'autre nu." In the intervals
there were little trips to Versailles, Fontainebleau, and to
the Chateau de Madrid, where Mile de Charolais lived ;
and the afternoon visits in town never ceased ; to the
Hotel de Richelieu, to the rooms of the Chevalier
d'Hautefort, to call upon the Venetian Ambassadress,
and so forth and so on through the endless list of her
friends.

Besides she read all the good books that appeared,
and many unworthy of the qualification. Montesquieu's
Causes de la 'Decadence de V Empire Romain she did not
regard as up to the standard of the same author's Lettres
Persanes. The Tale of a Tub she thought very pleasant
and very extraordinary. The Vie de T'urenne she recom-
mended to Richelieu because he loved to be bored
intellectually. In short, during the few months she spent
in Paris in the early autumn of 1734 and spring of 1735
Mme du Chatelet 's days were as busy and full as any

The Salons and a Supper Party 131

could be, and the wonder of it was that through it all
she prosecuted her studies and never lost interest in them
or her pleasure in trifles. In the T'raite du Bonheur she
boasts that she laughed more than anybody at puppet-
shows, and that to her a new casket, a piece of furniture
or a porcelain vase were objects of veritable delight.
Not one of the frivolous joys of life was too frivolous
for her. The activity of her mind and the natural
simplicity of her character occasioned a bizarre struggle
between work and play. In Paris the latter gained most
of the day. At Cirey she applied herself unrestrainedly
to the former. She, as well as Voltaire, welcomed the
quiet of the terrestrial paradise.

CHAPTER V

A PARADISE ON EARTH

IT was the summer of 1735 before the lovers returned
to Cirey. Voltaire had been paying a visit to
Luneville, where he stayed until the second week in June.
He wrote to Thieriot, " Here I am in a Court, though
no courtier ; I hope to live here like the mice in a
house, which live none the less gaily because they do
not know the master and his family. I am not made
for princes, and still less for princesses." Nevertheless
he managed to find much entertainment at the ducal
Court. " Voltaire seems to be enjoying himself marvel-
lously in Lorraine," wrote the fair Emilie, " and I am
delighted. I am not at all like a dog in the manger.
He has seen all the princes and princesses, has been to
balls, the comedy, has had his plays acted, rehearsed
the actresses, and, above all, he sees much of Mme de
Richelieu, and appears enchanted." But his time was
not all given to frivolity. Whilst in Lorraine he visited
a scientific institute admirably arranged and little known.
The large hall was filled with scientific appliances,
especially relevant to the Newtonian system. The in-
struments were valued at some ten thousand crowns,
and most of them had been constructed by a simple
locksmith who had studied philosophy and was sent
by Leopold, Due de Lorraine, to gain a knowledge of
his subject in England.

132

A Paradise on Earth 133

When Voltaire was back in Cirey he began to turn
his attention to science. *' Verses have gone out of
fashion in Paris," he wrote to Cideville in April 1735 ;
" every one is -beginning to reason, to turn geometrician
or natural philosopher. Sentiment, imagination, and the
graces have been banished." Was Mme du Chatelet
in any way responsible for this point of view ? She
has been blamed for causing him to subdue his highest
creative genius, and she has been praised for keeping
him in France when he might otherwise have settled
permanently in another country. Surely the praise
cancels the blame 1

" I have returned to my cherished country," sighed
Voltaire in utter relief, as he set to work afresh. The
chateau was not yet finished, and was in no fit state
to receive guests. Emilie had wished for a visit from
Richelieu, but she warned him that in coming he would
run dangers of being badly lodged, of finding a hundred
workmen in his way, in short, of not being treated well in
any respect — if it could be called not well, seeing that he
was awaited with the eagerness of the tenderest friendship.
She wrote to Maupertuis that she was happier than
Christina of Sweden who left her kingdom to run
after pseudo-scientists, whereas she (Mme de Cirey)
gathered together those for whom the Northern queen
might have searched a good deal farther off than Rome ;
but in spite of this boast no savants were in evidence
at the moment, and the Cirey colony was composed
solely of Voltaire, Emilie herself, her little son, and
his tutor Linant. The latter was a thorn in Emilie's
flesh. He was one of Voltaire's unsuccessful proteges.
Voltaire's kindness to him was quite pathetic, he merited
it so little. It was one of the great man's best traits

134 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

to be generous to the undeserving, to give them time
and temper and money, and then be baulked of the
reward he had a right to look for. All this was an
excellent example in patience and charity for Emilie.
She bore it sometimes in silence, sometimes like an angry
hen protecting a chick for which she feared the onslaught
of a hawk.

Voltaire had first concerned himself with Linant at
the close of 173 1, and presently told Cideville that he
made verses full of imagery and harmony and was worthy
of his goodwill. Thinking he showed great promise,
Voltaire made several attempts to interest people in
Linant, all of which failed without exception ; and in the
spring of 1735 he decided to make him tutor at Cirey.
He was then already becoming disillusioned, for his
prot6g6 was idle, ignorant, and wrote " like a woman
who writes badly and cannot even spell." Voltaire,
seeing the young man would be destitute without help,
decided that it would be an advantage for him to stay
in the country for a few months and teach a child whose
requirements were not exacting and would give him time
for study. Linant had few of the qualifications of a
tutor. He stammered, was short-sighted, and knew very
little Latin. It was proposed that the marquise should
teach the classics to the tutor, who was to pass on to
the son what he received from the mother. That was
quite a Voltairian plan. But M. du Chatelet's consent
had to be obtained before the idea could be carried out.
" Mme du Chatelet has a husband, she is a goddess
married to a mortal, and this mortal dares to have wishes,"
was the poet's quaint way of expressing it. One of the
wishes was that the tutor should also be a priest. *' Non-
sense," cried Voltaire emphatically : " point de pretres chez

A Paradise on Earth 135

les Emilies." In this he was not quite consistent, for a
little later, when he wanted to engage a chemist, and
Moussinot suggested one who was also a priest, he
thought there would be a great saving in combining the
offices, and stipulated that the man should work in the
laboratory on week-days and say Mass in the chapel on
Sundays. The kindly marquis never allowed his wishes
to obtrude unpleasantly, however, and the affair of Linant
was settled with or without his consent, and soon proved
unsatisfactory to all concerned. The new tutor was
incorrigibly lazy and ill-behaved. He had the audacity
to make love to Mme de la Neuville, and Voltaire had
to apologise on his behalf. He was supposed to be
writing a tragedy, but never had any of it to show. He
did get as far as to write a quatrain on Cirey :

Un voyageur, qui ne mentit jamais,

Passe h Cirey, s'arrete, le contemple ;

Surpris, il dit : " Cast un palais " ;

Mais voyant Emilia, il dit que c'est un temple.'

Voltaire was pleased with that — he liked to hear eulogy
of his nymph — but when, a short time afterwards, the
ungrateful preceptor, forgetting the profound respect he
owed to the name and sex of his benefactress, wrote
her from a neighbouring estate where he was visiting
(without even having obtained permission to do so) that
" the ennui of Cirey was the worst of all ennuis," Voltaire
could hardly restrain his annoyance, and was much put to
it to calm the indignant Emilie, who wished to chase the
ingrate from her door then and there. Voltaire made
excuses for him. He said he was young, had little know-

' A traveller who always told the truth arrived at Cirey and paused in
. contemplation. Surprised, he said, " It is a palace," but seeing Emiiie he
said, " No, it is a temple."

136 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

ledge of the world, and threw him upon her charity,
saying that if she turned him off he would starve. Not
only was he forgiven, but was allowed before the year was
out to introduce his sister into the household, though she
wrote letters like a servant and had the pride of a queen.
Then the inevitable happened. The young lady
quarrelled with her mistress, and openly sowed discord
in the household. She was quite as lazy and parasitical
as her brother, and imposed on those who fed her.
"Voila toute la famille de Linant plac^e dans nos
cantons," cried Voltaire — "the mother, the son, the
daughter, all are at Cirey." But when the demon of
prose-writing had seized upon the sister as well as the
brother, Emilie's patience, too long strained, gave way,
and she insisted that the Linants must go. There was no
appeal from this decision. Go they did, but not without
inflicting a wound upon Voltaire's over-sensitive nature.
" My duty is to forget him, for he has offended Mme
du Chatelet," he wrote. He promised not to write to
Linant himself, and so far kept his word, but he sent
him money through Thieriot when he heard he was
unhappy.

No doubt dismissal was the only safe course. Linant
at last completed the tragedy commenced seven years
previously, of which Voltaire had said if he worked hard
there was a chance of his finishing the fifth act in another
fourteen years. It was submitted to d'Argental, who was
appointed judge. A sitting was held at his house upon
the play, at which Algarotti was present. *' This Pro-
metheus has stolen some rays from the sun, and the
statue shows signs of life," was the verdict expressed by
the latter. Nothing great ever came from Linant's
struggles to attain literary fame ; but his relations with

A Paradise on Earth 137

Voltaire and Emilie show up two people who had every
excuse to be self-centred in a generous and disinterested
light which shone at times upon others equally helpless,
equally self-deceived, and just as anxious to achieve a
fame they had not earned. Linant's case was not the
only one of the kind which was brought to the notice of
Algarotti and d'Argental. At this period these two were
closely united in friendship with the Cirey household.
During 1736 and 1737 Emilie wrote more letters to
them than to any one else, including her favourite
correspondents Richelieu and Maupertuis. In the latter
case she had good reason for her silence, because at that
time he was travelling towards the Pole.

Her letters are the letters of a busy woman, one who
is more concerned with a good reason for writing than
because she wishes to turn pretty phrases or finds
pleasure in expressing the warmth of her friendship.
Not that her letters were ever cold ; those to Richelieu,
Maupertuis, Algarotti, and dArgental certainly were
not. They had a good sprinkling of compliments, in
accordance with the fashion of the day. No one followed
this fashion more thoroughly than Voltaire, who was one
of the most voluminous correspondents of the eighteenth
century. He wrote almost every letter as though the
person he addressed were his greatest, if not his only,
friend.

Voltaire said that there was nothing of Mme de
Sevigne's style about Mme du Chatelet's letters. He
compared her writing to that of a Pascal or a Nicole.
He explained that she was born with a singular eloquence,
but that this eloquence only became manifest when the
object of it was worthy.

"Letters in which she was only concerned with

138 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

endeavouring to show wit, little refinements and delicate
turns of language, such as are given in the case of or-
dinary thoughts, did not rouse her immense powers to
their full extent. The use of the right word, accuracy,
exactness, and force were the characteristics of her elo-
quence . . . but this vigorous, grave, and firm trend of
her thought, did not leave her unmoved by the beauties
of sentiment."

However much of eighteenth-century French wit
Mme du Chatelet possessed, she was lacking in that
particular sense of humour which sees amusing possibilities
in difficulties and trials. In her letters there are now and
again pale gleams of something approaching fun, but at
no time can they be described as hilarious.

Her first recorded letter to Algarotti was written in
October 1735. She was expecting him to pay a visit to
Cirey, but was not sure that he was coming, as there had
been talk of his accompanying Maupertuis and Clairaut
to the Pole. " It would have been very wrong of you,"
she wrote, " to have left for the Pole without making a
tour in Champagne, and I have always hoped that you
were incapable of playing me such a villainous trick. I
do not know whether you will convert Clairaut from
his purpose ; but I shall still be happy enough if he does
not pervert you. M. de Maupertuis has taken him away
from me ; he believes that it is quite sufficient if he
knows how to take the elevation of a star, and that it is
not necessary to come and take that of Cirey." Then
she proceeded to tell him that the castle was jiot yet
finished, hoped he would be pleased with the room she
had prepared for him, and appreciate still more the delight
with which she looked forward to his visit. She assured
him that Voltaire shared this sentiment, that it was in-

A Paradise on Earth 141

spired by his sincere friendship, and that he was preparing
verses relating to the polar exploits. " You will be able
to tune your lutes together. The voyage of the Argonauts
will not have been more celebrated, and certainly was not
more worthy of it." She begged him to come and spend
the winter philosophising. She described Voltaire's
library and her own, and told him she was learning Italian
as fast as she could for his sake, though the paperhangers
and workmen interrupted her. To help him to find the
chateau, she described his route through Charenton and
Bar-sur-Aube, from which village the post-chaise came
frequently, and that he would find it more reliable than
relays.

The visitor arrived the following week. He was the
son of a rich merchant of Venice, and was born in that
city on December 11, 17 12. He travelled through
Europe for the purpose of learning French and English.
Algarotti was a particularly charming young Italian, with
dark languishing eyes, and a warmth and gaiety of manner
which greatly appealed to Mme du Chatelet. Perhaps he
dressed a little too carefully, and was foppish as to his
curls ; but then he was so full of respect for her learning,
and so anxous to have her advice about // Newtonianismo
per le Dame^ on which he was working at Cirey, that
had she even noticed signs of ejflFeminacy and resented
them — which was not likely — she would have speedily for-
given him. Voltaire called him the brilliant and wise
Algarotti, and his dear swan of Padua. " We have the
Marquis of Algarotti here," he wrote to Thieriot from
Cirey on November 3, " a young man who knows the
languages and customs of every country, who makes
verses like Aristotle, and who knows his Locke and his
Newton. He reads us dialogues which he has made on

142 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

interesting questions of philosophy." In return Voltaire
read aloud the early cantos of the Pucelle^ or a chapter of
he Siecle de Louis XIV. " After that," he continued,
" we return to Newton and to Locke, not without drink-
ing the wine of the country and enjoying excellent cheer,
for we are very voluptuous philosophers." Of Emilie
he declared that she understood Locke better than he
himself, and that she read Virgil, Pope, and algebra as
others read novels. In short, they were a well-suited
trio, and spent a delightful time, as Algarotti himself
explained in a letter to the Abbe Franchini, envoy of
the Grand Duke of Tuscany at Paris :

" Here, far from the bustle of Paris, we lead lives
fraught with intellectual pleasures ; and we can say with
Boileau, that neither Lambert nor Moliere are lacking at
our suppers. I am putting the last touches to my Dia-
logues^ which have found grace in the eyes of the belle
Emilie and the savant Voltaire. I try, when near them,
to acquire those choice terms, that charming turn of
speech with which I should like to embellish my work."

He also embellished it with an engraving of Emilie and
himself set in a rustic scene, which represented the Cirey
gardens with the chateau on the right. The marquise
was, of course, highly flattered at being placed at the
head of the work to represent " wit, grace, imagination,
and science." But she would have preferred Algarotti to
dedicate his book to her. As he had already promised
this honour to Fontenelle, it was impossible. Algarotti had
taken his idea of a marquise, figuring in his Dialogues^
from Fontenelle's Pluralite des Mondes, " People will
think I am your marquise," said Emilie, and she dubbed
him marquis, a title to which he had no real claim.

Voltaire wrote the promised verses about the Polar

A Paradise on Earth 143

trip. They closed with an indiscreet reference to his
life with Emilie at Cirey, and were therefore not intended
for publication. They fell into the malicious hands of
Desfontaines, however, and he printed them without
permission, thus adding one misdemeanour to ,the many
which resulted later in serious disagreement.

" While Condamine, the great courier of philosophy,"
ran the poem, "goes to grill himself at the Equator,
Maupertuis and Clairaut, in their passion for knowledge,
mean to freeze at the Pole. Even the stars are astounded,
and remark, ' Either these people are fools or they are
gods.' And you, Algarotti, Swan of Padua, musical
pupil of the Swan of Mantua, you also wish to sing your
immortal songs to the Laplanders, whilst you trace
parallels on frozen mountains. Meanwhile, I await you
upon my meridian in the fields of Cirey, a tranquil
admirer of your knowledge of astronomy."

Allez done, et du pole observe, mesure,
Revenez aux Francais apporter des nouvelles.

Cependant je vous attendrai,
Tranquille admirateur de votre astrondmie,
Sous mon meiidien, dans les champs de Cirey,
N'observant desormais que I'astre d'Emilie.
Echauffe par le feu de son puissant genie

Et par sa lumiere eclair^,

Sur ma lyre je chanterai
Son ame universelle autant qu'elle est unique ;
Et j'atteste les cieux, mesures par vos mains,
Que j'abandonnerais pour ses charmes divins

L'equateur et le pole arctique.

A storm of indignation broke forth from Voltaire
and Emilie on account of Desfontaines' action in the
matter of these verses. The latter called him " this
pirate of literature." Voltaire wrote to Thieriot : " I
begged and prayed him to be very careful not to publish
this bagatelle. I made him feel that what may be

9

144 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

good among friends may become very dangerous in the
hands of the public. No sooner had he received my
letter than he began to print. That which astonished me
is that he knows the world so little as to suffer the name
of Mme du Chatelet to be handed over to the malignity
of the pamphleteer. If M. and Mme du Chatelet
complain to the Keeper of the Seals,^ as they ought to
do, I feel sure the Abbe Desfontaines will repent of
his imprudence." Voltaire's patience was so great,
however, that it was some years before that slippery
gentleman was caught in his own trap.

Algarotti paid a second visit to Cirey at the close of
December 1736, and in the intervals of his absence Emilie
wrote to him frequently, envying him his stay in England,
where she wished to study, telling him about Voltaire,
whom she called the first of the Emiliens (perhaps
Algarotti had been favoured with second place of honour
in her bodyguard), and sympathising with him because
Duperron de Castera had made a faulty and impertinent
translation of his Dialogues.

About the same time that Algarotti was at Cirey —
that is to say, in December 1736 — Cirey had another
visitor, a certain Chevalier de Villefort, who is only
interesting because he told the most amazing stories,
savouring of the Arabian Nights, about Cirey and its
mistress.

Villefort's account appears in the Correspondance du
President Bouhier.

After he had crossed the courtyard of the chateau,
a servant in livery came towards Villefort and conducted
him to the first hall. There a bell was rung, and a
long wait ensued before the door was opened. Sud-

' Chauvelin.

A Paradise on Earth 145

denly it sprang open in a mysterious manner, and a
waiting-woman appeared in the aperture with a lantern
in her hand. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon,
but all the shutters were already closed, Villefort asked
to see the Marquise du Chatelet. When the servant
returned after announcing him, she asked him to step
through a number of rooms, where he could make out
very little owing to the feeble light of the lantern. He
arrived at last at an enchanted spot where the door
opened on the instant — it was a salon lighted by more
than twenty candles. The divinity of the place was so
richly adorned and loaded with diamonds that she would
have been like Venus at the opera, if, in spite of the
gentleness of her air and the richness of her garments,
she had not been resting her elbow on papers bespattered
with xx's. Her table was covered with instruments and
mathematical books. She gave a half bow to Villefort,
and, after exchanging some questions, it was proposed
that they should go to see M. de Voltaire. A secret
staircase led to the apartment of the wizard poet. They
mounted, they knocked at the door — all without avail.
He was busy with some magic operations, and the hour
of leaving his study or of opening the door was not
yet come.

However, his usual rule was infringed for M, de
Villefort. After half an hour's talk a bell sounded
for supper. They descended to the dining-room, an
apartment as singular as the rest of the castle. At
each end there was a tower like those in a convent — the
one for serving the meal, the other for clearing it away.
No servant appeared on the scene ; they helped them-
selves. The food was very good, the supper a long
one. Presently the bell was heard again. This was to

146 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

announce the time for moral and philosophic readings^
which took place with Villefort's permission. At the
end of an hour the clock announced bedtime. They
all retired. At four o'clock in the morning Villefort
was awakened, and asked whether he cared to assist at
certain exercises of poetry and literature which were about
to be held. Complacent or curious, he went. " I should
never finish if I were to tell you all that is said of the
wonders and strange occupations of Cirey," concluded
Le Blanc, Bouhier's correspondent. "I will only add
that on the next day Venus and Adonis in a car
and the stranger on horseback were eating cutlets in
a corner of the wood, and the books were ordered to
follow them. It was asked by the curious what the
husband was doing all this time, but nobody knew. You
may take or leave as much as you like of this story,
which I give you as I received it and as it was told
all over Paris."

Eventually these rumours reached Emilie's ears. She
was not sure whether to be exceedingly indignant or
merely amused. She sent word of it to d'Argental, as
she always did about anything that appeared trifling, but
might bring about an embarrassing if not dangerous
publicity. " They tell me that M. de Villefort gave
descriptions which have been embroidered until they
sound like a fairy-tale," she wrote. " That which I have
been told has neither head nor tail, neither rhyme nor
reason."

D'Argental reassured her, in his usual diplomatic
manner, that no harm was likely to come of Villefort's
indiscretion.

No two individuals could have differed more than
Mme du Chatelet's friends Algarotti and d'Argental.

A Paradise on Earth 147

The former was showy and a little superficial, the latter
staunch, true, and plain in his ways. Emilie wanted
them to like one another, because she liked them both.
" D'Argental appears to me to be enchanted with you,"
she wrote to Algarotti ; "he is worthy of pleasing you
and of loving you. He is a charming friend. Speak of
me when you are together, I beg of you." The last
sentiment is characteristic of Mme du Chatelet. She
liked to be thought of, and talked of, and loved. When
d'Argental married Mile du Bouchet in 1737, she wrote
to Algarotti, ** I loved d'Argental with all my heart, and
I wish his wife to love me. So when you write to her,
please will you tell her something nice about me." She need
not have been afraid. Mme d'Argental was as loyal as
her husband. Voltaire addressed her as Madame I'Ange —
d'Argental being his ange gardien, who was always ready
to befriend him. Mme du Chatelet poured out to him,
in an almost unceasing stream, the anxieties which beset
her on account of her lover. He was so sensible and so
sympathetic. He knew what suffering meant, too, for
he had lived through a stormy youth to a serene and
happy prime.

Born in 1700, d'Argental had early been destined to
follow a military career. He fell passionately in love
with Adrienne Lecouvreur, and his mother, in the hope
of curing him, decided to send him to San Domingo.
The actress, hearing of this resolution, herself addressed
a letter to Mme de Ferriol, begging her not to send her
son to the other end of the world, promising never to
see him again, and putting herself entirely in the hands
of the mother of the young man who loved her in spite
of all she could do to bring him to reason. This letter,
written in a most charming style of appeal and self-

148 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

efFacement, only came to the knowledge of d'Argental
sixty years after it had been penned, when he was an
old man with one foot in the grave.

When Mile Lecouvreur died she appointed d'Argental
trustee on behalf of her two natural daughters]: a rather
embarrassing legacy, for, in order to keep her secret, he
had to pay a large sum as indemnity to the relatives,
and hold himself responsible for the education and suitable
marriage of the two girls.

DArgental passionately loved everything connected
with the stage, and had made a study of the history of
the drama. " He lived only in the green-room," said
Marmontel. Voltaire submitted all his plays to him,
and often found cause to congratulate himself on having
followed his advice. La Harpe declared that dArgental's
admiration of Voltaire was a real sentiment, indulged in
without ostentation, that he adored his talents as he
loved his person, and thoroughly rejoiced in his success.
Marmontel was not nearly so flattering. He called him
rdme damnee of Voltaire, and the enemy of all talent
that seemed likely to succeed. But he could not deny
that dArgental was extremely helpful during the nerve-
racking periods when Voltaire had committed an unusually
blatant indiscretion, and had to flee for very life into
hiding.

Such an occasion happened in December 1736, when
his satire Le Mondain had been found at the house of
M. de Lu^on, and distributed by President Dupuy.
The copies were garbled, and Voltaire was much an-
noyed. This poem contains flippant allusions to Adam
and Eve. Its author admitted that, " quite innocent as
it was, it was certainly not intended to be made public,"
and it brought a storm of abuse and threats of im-

A Paradise on Earth 149

prisonment with it. D'Argental warned Voltaire that
his position was not safe. " What a frightful life," cried
the poet-philosopher, who was at that moment certainly
not philosophic, "to be eternally tormented by the fear of
losing one's liberty on the least report, without a proper
trial ! I would sooner be dead."

It is difficult to realise in these days, perhaps, that
the danger of arrest for such offences was a real and
imminent one, and that Voltaire lived continually in its
shadow. To this truth most of Mme du Chatelet's fears
and alarms, her ill-tempers and nervous excitement are
traceable, and at this date she was in greater trouble
than usual. When he fled from Cirey she could not go
with him. That would have been taken amiss, although
everybody knew that she had virtually resolved to pass
her life with him. A tearful parting took place at
Vassy, whither she had accompanied him, and Voltaire
caught the coach which was to take him to Holland.
It was the tearing asunder of two souls.

To d'Argental Voltaire wrote : " As I saw the moment
arrive when it became necessary to separate for ever from
the one who has done everything for me, who left Paris
for me, all the friends and all the pleasures of Hfe, one
whom I adore and whom I have reason to adore, you will
easily imagine what I felt; the thought is horrible." And
then a different note creeps in, the note of the one who
feels the chain of love irksome, because other interests
pull in a contrary direction. " I should leave with inex-
pressible joy, I would go and see the Prince of Prussia,
who often writes to beg me to come to his Court, I would
put between jealousy and myself a wide enough distance
to save being troubled in the future. ... I should be
free and I should not abuse my liberty ; I should be the

150 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

happiest of men. But your friend is near me and is
plunged in tears. My heart is stricken. Would it do
to allow her to return alone to a chateau which she has
built for me, and to deprive myself of life because I
have enemies in Paris ? In my despair I postpone my
decision."

Emilie, womanlike, concerned herself first with the
more practical side of the trouble. She, too, made
d'Argental — " ange tutelaire de deux malheureux " she
calls him — the recipient of her anxiety. " "When I look
at the snow-covered earth, the dark and stormy weather,
when I think of the climate he is going to, and his
excessive susceptibility to cold, I am ready to die of grief.
I could endure his absence if I could feel reassured about
his health."

Voltaire had gone to Brussels incognito, and "was to be
addressed as M. de Renol or Revol, a merchant. Emilie
hoped he would stay in Holland. Already she felt pangs
of jealousy against Prince Frederick, soon to be Frederick
the Great, who was to regard her as his rival in Voltaire's
affections. Voltaire had received a letter from him in
August of that year : "If my destiny does not favour
me to the extent of possessing you altogether, at least I
hope to see one day the one whom I have long admired
from afar." At this time Frederick was twenty-four.
" I positively do not wish that he should go to Prussia,
and I go down on my knees to you," she wrote to
d'Argental, who had advised Voltaire to take advantage
of this opportunity. " He will be lost in that country ;
entire months would pass before I could have news
of him. I should die of anxiety before he returned.
The climate is dreadfully cold. Besides, how can he
return at any given moment ? In Holland he would be

A Paradise on Earth 151

almost as though he were in France — one could see him
from one week to another, there would be news. His
affairs are not at all desperate : you flatter me in the
hope that they will be settled within a few months.
Why, then, should he go so far ^ I might be able to see
him again this spring at the Court of Mme de Lorraine."
She meant at Commercy, where the widow of Duke
Leopold, Elisabeth-Charlotte, daughter of Madame, was
then residing. " His stay in Holland might be useful to
him, but it could only harm him to go to Prussia. All
these reflections are nothing compared to those which the
character of the King of Prussia furnishes. The prince
royal is not king. When he is we will both go and
see him ; but until that takes place there is no surety
about anything. His father sees no other merit in men
than being ten feet in height. He is suspicious and
cruel. He hates and persecutes his son ; he keeps him
under an iron yoke ; he will believe that M. de Voltaire
may give him dangerous counsels. He is capable of
having him arrested at his Court, or of giving him up to
the Keeper of the Seals. In one word, no Prussia, I
beg you. Do not speak of it again. Recommend him
to hide and be wise," — and so on, her womanly fears
accumulating more and more strength as she went on.

In order that the address of Cirey " should not serve
to excite curiosity," she asked d'Argental to send her
letters to Mme de Champbonin at Bar-sur-Aube. The
worst feature of the whole affair was the fact that Voltaire
would have been arrested before except for the respect
paid to the house of du Chatelet, and that there were
those ready to warn the Marquis that he must no longer
give shelter to so dangerous a guest. Emilie cudgelled
her brains day and night as to which of her relatives,

152 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

which of her enemies, or what lampoon, if any, could be
held responsible for bringing about a possibility so odious.
Her suspicion fell on a distant cousin whose name she
had the misfortune to bear, and who had once held an
official position. He hated her, and had quarrelled openly
with her six months before. He had gone so far as to
persuade her mother to write to M. du Chatelet to force
her to abandon the person she had taken under her pro-
tection— a letter which might well have wrecked the
household. She thought it was more than likely that he
had gone a step further and had done this vile thing out
of revenge, under the pretence of rendering a service to
M. du Chatelet. She did not know ; she could only sur-
mise what had taken place. Besides, Voltaire's Elements
de la Philosophie de Newton had been dedicated to her,
and, worse still, the first few cantos of that dangerous
Pucelle were written, and either might be responsible for
the threatening disaster. She begged d'Argental to weigh
these conflicting ideas and find out the truth at all costs.
*' I hope sincerely that 1 have been mistaken," she wrote
in her agitation, " but if I am not mistaken, as I greatly
fear, it is of the greatest importance that I should know.
It would change my whole life. It would be necessary
to abandon Cirey, at least for a time, and come to live
in Paris. Here there would be no pretext for begging
M. du Chatelet not to give him a refuge, and at least we
could see each other. ... It would be terrible to leave
Cirey, but anything would be better than such a letter to
M. du Chatelet. ... I pray you on my knees to clear
up this iniquitous mystery ; my honour and peace of
mind depend on it." Even then she was not satisfied to
let the matter rest. She counted up the members of
her family again, her mother, the suspected cousin, her

A Paradise on Earth 153

brother with whom she was great friends, and the Bailli
de Froulay, a relative of her mother's, who was incapable
of such a trick. No fresh light came to her, but the
mere idea that she or some one belonging to her could be
the cause of misfortune to Voltaire was enough to make
her die of grief.

In the meantime Voltaire passed from Antwerp to
Amsterdam and to Leyden, and Mme du Chatelet was
left without news of him. " I am a hundred and fifty
leagues from him, and it is twelve days since I had
any news," she complained. " I have not heard since
the 2oth,'* she wrote on December 31 ; "my heart is
breaking with anxiety and grief ; you will perceive this
from my letter." Presently, however, when it became
certain that Voltaire would not go to Prussia, she grew
more hopeful, and even reconciled to his strange wan-
derings under an assumed name. The disguise was so
thin that Alzire was played in honour of the supposed
merchant Revol at Brussels, at Antwerp, and in all the
towns through which he passed. " What a chaos of
glory, ignominy, good and bad fortune ! Happy, happy
obscurity ! " she sighed ; " his laurels follow him every-
where. But how can glory of this kind help him ? The
happiness of obscurity would be worth far more."

" O vanas hominum mentes ! 6 pectora coeca : "

from which Latin quotation it may be gathered that
the marquise, after an interlude of stress, was more
like herself again. She enjoyed introducing Latin
quotations in her letters when she wrote ; Voltaire did
it too.

The news of Voltaire's whereabouts was not kept out
of the papers all this time. The Gazette d' Utrecht had

154 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

a paragraph in its issue of January 14, 1737, on his
arrival in Leyden from Aix-la-Chapelle. It was hinted
that it was his purpose to study under Professor
S'Gravesande, the celebrated Newtonian philosopher,
whose advice he desired on the subject of his Philosophie
de Newton. He also intended to consult Boerhaave on
the score of his health. In a previous issue the Gazette
had printed a report that the Marquise du Chatelet
had gone to Lorraine, as indeed the marquis had wished
her to do, in order that she might be present at the
marriage of Princess Elisabeth-Therese and Charles-
Emmanuel de Savoie ; and that Voltaire, who had been
living at her house for a year and a half, had chosen
the occasion of her absence to visit the Prince Royal of
Prussia.

Poor Emilie hardly knew what to make of the
conflicting accounts. She was torn this way and that
way. There was a rumour — ill-founded, as it turned
out to be — that "the old serpent Rousseau" had re-
turned from exile. She was terrified lest this should
upset Voltaire, because she had heard him say a thousand
times he would leave France the day J. B. Rousseau re-
entered it. She went so far as to imagine that Chauvelin
might have recalled Rousseau, out of animosity against
her lover, which she said would be cutting off his nose
to spite his face. "After animosity so marked," she
continued, " he would never return here, and I am
accustomed to sacrifice my happiness to his tastes and
to the justice of his resentment. I am as indignant as
he, I swear it, and all honest people ought to be the
same. . . ." Then she discussed the possibility of
Voltaire's secret return to Cirey, and whether he could
remain in hiding there. It might be dangerous, and,

A Paradise on Earth 155

if so, how could she take it upon herself to persuade
him ? To hide was a humiliation ;. besides, the district
was priest-ridden, and the people round about were so
curious. She would prefer to know that he was free and
happy in Holland than that for her sake he should
lead the life of a criminal in his own country. She
would rather die of grief than be the cause of a false
step on his part.

Driven almost into hysteria, endeavouring to remain
heroic, Mme du Chatelet appears a most pathetic figure.
Voltaire's letters, when they came, were gloomy and
depressed. D'Argental alone was left to lean upon — a
tower of strength and sympathy in her affliction — and
his letters had the soothing effect of David's harp. She
began to blame herself for giving way to her fears.

But in the end she could contain herself no longer,
and urged d'Argental to persuade Voltaire to return to
Cirey at all costs. She was ill ; she had had fever for
two days ; the violence of her feelings was capable of
killing her in four. *' Who is there could save him in
spite of himself ? " she cried. " I at least have nothing
to reproach myself with, but that is a sad consolation.
I am not born to be happy." His letters, few as they
were and seldom as they came, were cold. She knew
it was only for prudence' sake, but he called her Madame,
though the letter was signed. D'Argental could surely
not condemn her for giving way to misery. "This is
a disparity so extraordinary that my brain was mazed
with grief," she added.

Meanwhile the exiled " M. de Revol " had other
compensations besides the complimentary performances of
Alzire. He was superintending the printing of the
Elements, and had promised to stay at Amsterdam until

156 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

it was through the press, which he expected would keep
him busy until the close of the winter season. At the
end of February, however, he capitulated. " I am leaving
Holland immediately, in spite of myself," he wrote to
Prince Frederick ; " friendship calls me back to Cirey."
He spread a report that he was going to England, and
returned to the terrestrial paradise. There is no letter
on record in which Emilie expressed her joy at this
solution of her troubles. Her relief and gratitude must
be left to the imagination.

On March i she wrote to d'Argental, enclosing a
letter to him from Voltaire, which she described as
*' bien noire."

*' Poor fellow ! his position is cruel," she admitted ;
which was generous enough on her part, for his letter,
which M. du Chatelet took in person to Paris, struck
a note which in the future was never absent for long,
and which Emilie might well have resented. After
assuring his guardian angel that he had not dared to
write sooner, and had not written to any one else, he
continued : " I confess to you that if I had not been
recalled by a friendship stronger than all other sentiments,
I would willingly have spent the remainder of my days
in a country where at least my enemies could not harm
me. ... I have only to expect persecutions in France ;
that will be the whole of my reward. I should regard
my presence in the country with horror if it were not
that the tenderness and all the great qualities of the
person who holds me here did not make me forget where
I was. ... I became a willing slave for the sake of
living with the individual near whom all disagreeables
disappear. ... I have always said that if my father,
my brother, or my son were prime minister in a despotic

A Paradise on Earth 157

state, I would leave it to-morrow, but Mme du Chatelet
is more to me than father, brother, or son. I ask nothing
more than to live buried in the mountains of Cirey."

Mme du Chatelet added a touch of her own which
amounted to genius : " Advise him to be careful at all
times, to print Newton in France, and to keep the Pucelle
under a hundred locks ! "

The poet was indeed buried — under the name of
Mme d'Azilly — to which imaginary person his letters
were addressed. The spring passed away quietly.
Voltaire corresponded chiefly with the Abbe Moussinot,
whom he warned to put nothing in writing which might
reveal his secret, and with Prince Frederick. Mme du
Chatelet wrote not at all, or if she wrote her letters have
been lost, for the next few are dated September and
November, and were addressed to Maupertuis to welcome
him back from the Polar regions. But if she did not
write, she thought the more, especially about Voltaire's
letters to Prussia. She watched the growing intimacy
between prince and poet with alarm. She scented a
coming struggle.

Frederick was charmingly complimentary on paper
where Emilie was concerned. All he asked was that
he need never meet her. A single extract is sufficient to
mark him hypocrite.

" How much I approve of a philosopher," he wrote,
*' who knows how to take his relaxation in the company
of Emilie ! I know very well that I should greatly
prefer to make her acquaintance than to understand the
centre of gravity, the squaring of the circle, potable
gold, or the sin against the Holy Ghost."

In the same letter he advised the departure of the
ambassador, his dear C^sarion, who was known more

158 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

prosaically as the Baron de Keyserlingk, and whom he
was sending to Cirey to see " the chief of all thinking
beings," in default of being able to come himself.
Keyserlingk was furnished with a letter of credit and
a portrait of the prince. Although a born Courlander,
Cesarion was " the Plutarch of this modern Boeotia."
Voltaire regarded this embassy as an honour, and ex-
pected Emilie to do the same. " Mme du Chatelet is
awaiting this amiable man with impatience whom Frederick
calls friend, this Ephestion of this Alexander," he
declared.

An ill-timed attack of the gout, to which he was
subject, following on military business, delayed the
visit, but at length the ambassador set forth, Frederick's
last words to him ringing in his ears : " Remember
that you are going to a terrestial paradise," he said,
" to a spot a thousand times more delightful than the
Island of Calypso ; that the goddess of this place yields
in nothing to the beauty of the enchantress of Tele-
machus ; that you will find in her all the charms of
the mind, so superior to those of the body, and that
this marvel among women occupies her leisure m search-
ing after truth. It is there that you will see the human
mind in its highest degree of perfection, wisdom without
austerity, surrounded by tender loves and smiles ! " and
then he proceeded to pay Keyserlingk the greatest
possible compliment, by saying he regarded him as
perhaps the one mortal who might be worthy of be-
coming a citizen of Cirey, and that he expected him to
return bearing the golden fleece — that is to say, the
Pucelle.

In due course the ambassador arrived. In July
Voltaire wrote to the Prince that he was surrounded

A Paradise on Earth 159

by his favours — Keyserlingk, the portrait, Wolff's Meta-
phy^icSy and Beausobre's £)ijj^r/<2//(?«j, . besides a charming
personal letter ; things which chased away the fever and
languor from which Voltaire was suffering at the moment.
The visit, from the guest's point of view, was a huge
success. Voltaire wrote to Thieriot that the only real
prince in Europe had sent a little ambassador into his
Eden. " We received him like Adam and Eve received
the angel in Milton's Paradise, only that he had better
cheer and more gallant fetes."

And all the time Emilie played hostess with more than
usual care, for she could be very negligent of her guests
if she did not feel an interest in them. In this case,
however, she thought it wise to live up to the very
embarrassing compliments which the prince strewed
thickly in his letters. These compliments frightened
her ; she felt they were veiled threats, threats which
might at any moment break into her peace and happiness.
The only thing she wanted was Voltaire, and Frederick
was angling for him. Therefore she was her sweetest
and gayest, helped to arrange comedies and fireworks,
dressed fashionably, wore her most sparkling smile, and
all because she wanted Keyserlingk to assure the prince
that Mme du Chatelet was worthy the love of her poet.
Underneath the gay exterior all her wits were ready to
circumvent the prince. Voltaire was a child ; she knew
it. He had to be safeguarded against himself. He
must be watched lest he should do himself an injury.
The moment was come when she had to put her foot
down firmly. Keyserlingk was sent back to Prussia
bearing a huge burden of treasures, the Histoire de
Louis XIV^ some short poems, and a few fragments of
philosophy, but not a single line of the Pucelle. " Your

10

i6o An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

ambassador will tell you the thing was impossible," wrote
Voltaire, perhaps a little regretfully. " For almost a year
this little work has been in the charge of Mme du
Chatelet, who will not allow herself to be deprived of it.
The friendship with which she honours me does not
permit me to risk a thing which might separate me from
her for ever. She has renounced everything to live with
me in the bosom of retreat and study ; she knows that
the least knowledge of this work would certainly raise a
storm. She fears every accident."

When he had left Cirey, Keyserlingk received a com-
plimentary letter from Voltaire, and his portrait in
verse.

" Favori d'un prince adorable,
Courtisan qui n'est point flatteur,
Allemand qui n'est point buveur,
Voyageant sans etre menteur ;
Souvent goutteux, toujours aimable.

We shall remember all our lives, that we have seen
Alexander of Remusberg in Ephestion Keyserlingk."

Frederick returned the compliments with interest.
" How happy is Cesarion ! He has passed delicious
moments at Cirey. The wisdom of Solomon was well
rewarded if the Queen of Sheba resembled the Queen of
Cirey, and so forth, ad nauseam.

The year 1737 was the year of the great competition
of Essays on the " Nature du Feu et sur sa Propagation,"
for the best of which a prize had been offered by the
Academy of Sciences. Voltaire set to work in good
time. The last day for sending in the essays was
September i ; but Emilie, a month before that date, with
one of her sudden impulses, decided that she too would
like to compete. Was she scared because so little time
was left at her disposal ? Not at all ! She desired to

A Paradise on Earth i6i

keep her aspirations secret from Voltaire, whose essay
was almost finished ; and to do this she had to confide
in some one — the only ipossible person being the ac-
commodating marquis, who was always there when he
was wanted, never when he was not. She found It
necessary to work at night. She only slept an hour
every night for a week, kept herself awake by plunging
her hands Into iced water, and then paced up and down
beating her arms. After this manner she wrote the most
abstract reasoning In a style which made It delightful
reading for Its own sake.

Mme de Graffigny, who read her essay first and
Voltaire's afterwards, thought the latter not at all worthy
of the former. **It is true," she said, "that when women
mix themselves up with writing they surpass men. What
a prodigious difference ! But how many centuries does
It take to produce a woman like her? " Perhaps It is as
well that Emilles are not born every day. They have a
way of breaking through recognised rules and irritating
smaller-minded people.

The essays by Emilie and Voltaire both contained
original ideas. Perhaps they were too original. Emilie,
who knew the line Voltaire had taken, combated his Ideas
boldly. She stated that fire and light had neither the
property of gravitation towards a centre, nor that of
impenetrability. " This proposition," said Voltaire, " has
revolted the Cartesians. ... As for myself, seeing that
light and fire are material, that they exert pressure, that
they divide, that they propagate .... I do not see
sufficient reason to deprive them of two principal pro-
perties of which matter is possessed." She also tried
to prove that light and heat were the same element,
luminous when it moved in a direct line, heating when

1 62 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

the particles had an irregular motion. Where she failed
was in not seeing that the movement was only vibratory,
and the differences of effect were caused by differences of
speed. But she discovered that different-coloured rays
of light did not give out an equal degree of heat, which
was later proved to be true.

Excitement ran high at the beginning of 1738, when
the awards were to be made. Alas ! disappointment was
in store for both. The prize was divided between Euler,
Lozeran du Fesch, a Jesuit, and the Comte de Crequy.
The winning essay, which contained the formula for the
speed at which sound travels, vainly sought by Newton,
was only sixteen pages long, that of Mme du Chatelet
ran to eighty-four. " When we saw the judgment,"
wrote Emilie to Maupertuis on May 22, " we were in
despair. It is hard that the prize should be divided,
and that M. de Voltaire had no share in the cake."
Voltaire, on the other hand, was deeply regretful that
his wonderful Emilie had not been amongst the chosen.

There was some compensation in store, however. The
Academy decided to print both essays at the close of
the Prize Essays, because, although they did not hold
with all the ideas they contained, they admitted, never-
theless, that they bore witness to much research, a
knowledge of the best works on physics, and were
replete with facts and fresh points of view. Besides, the
authors' names were likely to arouse the interest and
curiosity of the public. One was by a lady of high rank,
the other by one of the best of the poets.

Emilie was resigned. At least she had failed In good
company. Besides, she received a full meed of praise In
a letter from Prince Frederick. " Without wishing to
flatter you," he wrote, " I can assure you that I should

A Paradise on Earth 163

never have believed your sex, usually so delightfully
gifted with all the graces, capable also of such deep
knowledge, minute research, and solid discovery as
appears from your fine work. Ladies owe to you what
the Italian language owes to Tasso. This language,
usually soft and deprived of forcibility, appeared in a
masculine and energetic form when used by this clever
poet. Beauty, which ordinarily is the highest merit
ladies possess, could only be reckoned among the least
of your advantages." And to Voltaire he wrote on the
same subject : *' I can only say I was astonished when I
read it. One would never imagine that such a treatise
could be produced by a woman. Moreover, the style is
masculine and in every way suitable to the subject."
After that there came a few criticisms on her statements
regarding the origin of forest fires ; but surely Emilie
must have felt that her efforts had been of some value.

Beside this absorbing interest the other events at the
close of 1737 and early part of 1738 paled somewhat
in significance, Linant, having been dismissed, was
replaced by another tutor. Voltaire lost his brother-in-
law, M. Mignot, husband of his sister, Marie Arouet.
Two daughters were left fatherless and dowerless. Vol-
taire came to their rescue. He stepped into the breach,
provided them with dowries, and busied himself about
finding them husbands. He had the brilliant idea of
marrying the eldest, Louise, who was then twenty-five
years old, to the son of Mme de Champbonin. It
seemed to him that inestimable advantages were to be
derived from this arrangement. The Champbonin family
would be at her feet, she would be mistress of a pretty
chateau, newly decorated according to her taste. More
than any of these things would be the privilege she would

164 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

enjoy of spending part of the year in the company of the
divine Emilie, and on occasion going with them to Paris.
" In short, I shall be her father," was his final inducement,
although on no account would he care to risk making her
unhappy.

But Mile Louise would have none of M. de Champ-
bonin. She wanted to help choose her partner in life,
and in February 1738 married M. Denis. Her sister
Elizabeth wedded a M. de Dompierre in the following June.
These things kept Voltaire very busy. *' The marriage
of his two nieces and his physics laboratory have left him
very little time this year for the pleasure he takes in
doing good," wrote Emilie to d'Argental. Louise and
her husband spent part of their honeymoon at Cirey.
The good Mme Denis, who was to play a larger part in
her uncle's later years, was already much troubled about
his concerns.

" I spent nine days at Cirey," she wrote to Thieriot on
May 10, 1738. *' I accomplished everything with which
you charged me for Mme du Chatelet and M. de Voltaire.
They thank you a thousand times, and await you with
impatience. M. de Voltaire has very delicate health.
He was ill all the time that I was at Cirey. Mme du
Chatelet has grown stout, has a pleasant face, and is very
well. We spoke much of you. My uncle is attached
to you by taste and by gratitude. He is infinitely
thankful to you for having loved and consoled us during
his absence. I am in despair. I believe him to be lost
to all his friends. He is bound in a fashion which makes
it appear impossible that he could break his chains.
They are in a solitude terrible to humanity. Cirey is
four leagues from the nearest house, in a country where
there is nothing to be seen but mountains and uncultivated

A Paradise on Earth 165

land ; abandoned by all their friends, and hardly ever
seeing any one from Paris.

" That is the life which the great genius of our century
lives. In truth, he is in company of a woman of much
intellect, very pretty, and who uses every possible art to
seduce him.

*' There are no frivolities which she omits, nor passages
from the best philosophers that she does not recite to
please him. Nothing is spared by her. He seems more
enchanted than ever. He is building a very fine apart-
ment, where there will be a dark room for experiments
in physics. The theatre is very nice ; but they do not
play comedy for want of actors. All the country
comedians within a radius of ten leagues have orders
to show themselves at the castle. They did impossible
things to try and get some during our visit, but nothing
of the kind was to be had except very good marionettes.
We were received in the very best style. My uncle
loves M. Denis tenderly. I am not astonished at this,
because he is very amiable." And then she goes off into
praise of her husband, and there is no more of her nafve
description of her uncle's household.

Another visitor that year was Thieriot, who spent the
end of September and beginning of October with Emilie
and Voltaire ; and still another was the unfortunate Abbe
La Mare, whose arrival astonished everybody. " No
one has ever travelled so far for the sake of alms," said
Emilie. The Abbe was one of Voltaire's most unfortunate
and ungrateful pensioners. It was said of him that he
prided himself on his literary knowledge, and that his
head was topsy-turvy. Having been dismissed from the
post of King's Jester, he asked Mme du Chatelet whether
he might be hers. " The post isn't vacant, my friend,"

1 66 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

she replied. She called him a petit ingrat, because after
leaving Cirey he never even wrote to thank Voltaire, but
claimed his linen, which had been kept as a hostage,
through Abbe Moussinot. Voltaire had entrusted his
play rEnvieux to the Abbe. This play was a scathing
denouncement of Desfontaines, and Emilie was terrified
lest through La Mare's bungling, or his having taken
a copy, it should fall into the wrong hands. She wrote
to d'Argental on this subject : " Deliver me from the
torment of La Mare. I am suffering death and passion.
Please draw this thorn out of my foot, amiable guardian."
She was to suffer from another visitor who quite
unwittingly also became a thorn in her flesh. It was
the gentle, discursive, and well-meaning Mme de
Graffigny, who arrived at Cirey in December 1738, in
a flutter of joy and contentment, and left two months
later sickened with misery and disgust.

CHAPTER VI

MME DE GRAFFIGNY AT CI KEY

""\7'OU will jump with joy at the date of this letter,

A and you will say, * Ah ! mon Dieu ! she is at
Cirey.' "

The letter in question was indited by Mme de
Graffigny to M. Devaux on December 4, 1738.

No one can ever think of Devaux as Devaux after
reading Mme de Graffigny's letters. He is Panpan, or
Panpichon, or any of the fond nicknames she bestowed
upon him as truly to her readers as he was to her. She
was very fond of bestowing nicknames, and she had the
art of making them fit the person to whom they belonged.
She wrote the most amusing, the most indiscreet, and the
most intimate letters, and she told things about Voltaire
and Emilie that they would have been only too glad to
have had buried for ever.

Born in 1695 ^^ Nancy, of noble family, but without
a fortune, Fran^oise d'Issembourg-d'Happencourt was
married in her youth to Fran9ois Huguet de Graffigny,
Chamberlain to the Due de Lorraine. He was a very
objectionable person, tyrannical, selfish, and brutal. He
rendered his wife's life one long misery. In her despair
she turned to literature and friendship for consolation.
Three promising young writers at the Luneville Court
became her friends — Saint-Lambert, Desmarets, and
Devaux. The last-named was her favourite, and was

X67

i68 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

seventeen years younger than she, so it may be supposed
that she regarded him as her son.

In 1735 Voltaire was at Luneville, and met Mme de
Graffigny. He was heartily welcomed in their midst by
the little group of literary aspirants there, and was named
the " Idol." He was gracious to all, and especially
to Saint-Lambert, writing the verse which must have
greatly pleased its recipient :

Ma Muse, les yeux pleins de larmes,
Saint-Lambert, vole aupres de vous,
EUe vous prodigue ses charmes.
Je lis vos vers, j'en suis jaloux.*

At length Mme de Graffigny's difficulties increased.
She was obliged to apply for a judicial separation from her
husband ; she was almost penniless ; she had no home.
She accepted an invitation to Cirey with eagerness, and
looked forward with great delight to spending some
months in the society of her beloved Idol.

She was well received by him on her arrival at Cirey.
She had travelled by " roads which might have been
made by the devil himself," in fear lest the carriage might
upset at any moment, and at times obliged to paddle
through the mud on account of this danger. It was two
o'clock in the morning before the chateau was reached.
Mme du Chatelet, whom she called the Nymph, welcomed
her graciously. Then she went up to her room to rest.
A moment later Voltaire made his appearance, holding a
candlestick in his hand, and looking like a monk. He
was so pleased to see the visitor that his demonstrative-
ness almost approached transport. He kissed her hands
ten times, and asked for news with an interest that was

* My muse, with tears in her eyes, approaches you,
Saint-Lambert, and lavishes her charms on you.
I read your poems and suffer jealousy.

Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 169

quite touching. His second question concerned Devaux.
It took a quarter of an hour to ask and answer it. After
that he inquired after the other members of the trio —
Desmarets and Saint-Lambert. Then he took his leave.

Mme de Graffigny soon made herself at home at Cirey,
and she tried to make Panpan at home too. That is to
say, she wrote voluminous letters to him every day, and
many times a day, and described to him everything she
saw and everything she heard. No detail was too small
to be touched upon. The way a bow was tied upon a
curtain, the colour of a cupboard door, the number of
steps down into the garden, the least word that dropped
from the inspired lips of her acting host, the retiring
manners of her nominal host, these and a thousand other
such points kept mind and heart and pen ever busy. " I
should like to describe everything that I see and every-
thing that I hear, my dear Panpan," she confessed the day
after her arrival. " In short, I should like to afford you
as much pleasure as I am having. But I fear lest the
heavy touch of my hand should mix up and spoil every-
thing. I believe it will be better to tell you everything
plainly, not day by day, but hour by hour."

And she succeeded in her desire to give pleasure, not
only to Panpan, but to thousands of others who were
curious as to the vie intime of Voltaire and his marquise.
First of all she described them both outwardly.

The most noticeable thing about Emilie was her constant
stream of conversation. "Her chatter is astonishing. . . .
She speaks like an angel, I recognise that. She wears an
Indian gown and a large apron of black taffetas, her black
hair is very long, and is fastened up at the back at the
top of her head, and falls in ringlets like the hair of little
children. It suits her very well. As I have only seen

lyo An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

ber style of dress, I can only write of that. As for your
Idol, I do not know whether he wore powder on my
account, but all I can say is that he makes as much
display as though he were at Paris. Le Bonhomme goes
to Brussels to-morrow. We shall be a trots, and no one
will weep on that account. It is a confidence we have
already made to one another."

Then she went on to describe the first supper of which
she had partaken in that " enchanted spot." It was laid
in Voltaire's room.

" I found this supper made delightful," she wrote,
" by all that I felt within myself, as well as by my sur-
roundings. What did not we discuss ? Poetry, sciences,
the arts, all in a tone of badinage and good-humour.
How I wish I could reproduce them for you — these
charming discourses, these enchanting discussions — but
that is beyond me. The supper was not plentiful, but
it was choice, tasty, and dainty ; there was plenty of
silver-plate on the table. Opposite were five globes
and all the instruments of physics, for this unique repast
took place in the little gallery. Voltaire was beside
me, as polite and attentive as he was amiable and clever ;
the lord of the mansion was on the other side : that is
to be my place every evening ; thus the left ear will be
gently charmed, while the other is scarcely likely to be
bored, for he speaks very little, and retires as soon as the
meal has been served."

Besides these four there were, just then, only two other
inmates, very unimportant inmates, in the chateau. The
one was the invalid Marquis de Trichateau, who added
nothing to the gaiety of the assembly, but was concerned
in the great law-case, the details of which Emilie was
not slow to pour into Mme de Graffigny's ears ; and

Voltaire's " divine emilie "
(After the painting by Marianne Loir)

171

Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 173

the other was Voltaire's gros chat^ Mme de Champbonin,
whom Mme de Graffigny called the grosse dame, because
she was, " feature by feature," the short fat woman in
Marivaux's Paysan Parvenu. She paid an early call upon
the new visitor, who soon decided that she had a most
agreeable character. A point in her favour was that she
loved Voltaire madly because he had such a good heart.
Together they discussed the Idol, and, although she
stayed a long time, Mme de Graffigny was not bored
by her talk. Usually the old lady remained in her room
and read books which did not make her more learned.
It was one of the unwritten laws of Cirey that all guests
should spend a great deal of time in their own rooms.
There was no other entertainment provided whilst the
host and hostess were at their respective writing-tables.
Mme de Graffigny found plenty of occupation in de-
scribing all the habitable rooms in the castle. She began
with the suite belonging to Voltaire :

*' His little wing is so close to the main part of the
house that the door is at the bottom of the chief stair-
case. He has a little ante-chamber as large as your
hand ; then comes his own room, which is small, low,
and upholstered in crimson velvet, a cosy corner done
the same with golden fringe. It is winter furniture."

The window of this room looked out upon a meadow
crossed by the river Blaise. On opening a door he
could hear Mass said — a concession to the conventions.
The walls of his rooms were wainscoted, and in the
panels pictures were framed ; mirrors, beautiful lacquered
corner-cupboards, porcelain marabouts, a clock supported
by marabouts of a peculiar shape, an infinite number
of ornaments, expensive, tasty, and everything so clean
that you could kiss the parquet ; an open casket con-

174 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

taining a silver vase ; in short, everything which was
luxurious, and therefore necessary, to Voltaire. What
money ! What work ! He had a case for rings, which
held two dozen with engraved stones, as well as two set
with diamonds. From this room one passed into the
little gallery, which was as much as thirty or forty feet
long. Between the windows were two very fine statues,
on pedestals of Indian varnish. The one was Venus
Farnese, the other Hercules. The other side of the
windows was divided into two cupboards, one for books,
the other for scientific instruments. Between the two
there was a stove in the wall, which made " the air
like spring." In front was a high pedestal, on which
stood a large Cupid, about to shoot an arrow. At its
base this Cupid bore the well-known inscription by
Voltaire :

Qui que tu sois, voici ton maitre :
II Test, le fut, ou le doit etre.

This was not finished ; there was to be a sculptured
niche for the Cupid which would hide the front of the
stove. The gallery walls were panelled and painted
yellow. Clocks, tables and desks were in profusion.
Nothing was wanting. Beyond was the dark room for
experiments in physics. Nor was this finished. There
was also to be one for instruments, which at that time
were kept in the gallery. Everything but physical comfort
was catered for, for there was only one sofa, and no padded
arm-chairs. Voltaire was no lounger.

The panels of the wainscoting were hung with beautiful
India paper, and there were screens of the same. A door
led directly into the garden, and there was a pretty grotto
outside. Could any Idol have found a more perfect
temple .?

Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 175

Yes ; but only one. The Idol's idol. Her rooms
were still more beautiful, even more recherche. Mme
de Graffigny visited them in the company of their
mistress.

The bedroom was panelled in wood and varnished in
light yellow relieved with edges of pale blue. That
was the colour scheme, and everything harmonised — even
the dog's basket. The bed was of blue watered silk ;
the wood of the arm-chairs, the chest of drawers, the
corner-cupboards, the writing-desk, all yellow. The
mirrors, set in silver frames, were all polished and
wonderfully brilliant. A large door made of looking-
glass led to the library, which was not yet furnished.
Then there was Madame's boudoir, a really eighteenth-
century boudoir, which made one feel ready to go down
on one's knees and worship at the shrine of beauty.
The wainscoting was blue, and the ceiling was painted
and varnished by a pupil of the famous Robert Martin.
In the smaller panels were pictures which Mme de
Graffigny thought were painted by Watteau, but which
were really by Pater and Lancret. The chimney-piece
and corner-cabinets were loaded with treasures, amongst
others the wonderful amber writing-desk which was a
present from Prince Frederick. There was an arm-chair
upholstered in white taffistas, and two stools of the
same. This divine boudoir had an outlet through its
only window on to a terrace, from which the view was
charming.

On one side of the boudoir was a clothes closet, paved
with marble slabs, hung with grey linen, and adorned
with prints. Even the muslin window-curtains were
embroidered. Nothing in the world could be so lovely !

And then her jewels ! They were finer than those

176 An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise

belonging to Mme de Richelieu. Mnie de Graffigny
could hardly contain her surprise. She had known
Mme du Chatelet when she had only one tortoise-shell
snufF-box ; now she possessed fifteen or twenty of gold,
of precious stones, of beautiful lacquer, of enamelled gold,
a new fashion which was very expensive, and incense-
boxes of the same kind, one more magnificent than the
other ; jasper watches with diamonds, etuis ^ and other
wonderful things ; rings containing precious stones, and
charms and trinkets without end. " Indeed," concluded
Mme de Graffigny, " I cannot get away from the subject,
for they have never been rich." Perhaps she suspected
that some of Emilie's treasures came out of the pockets
of Voltaire. Perhaps she was right in thinking so.
Voltaire was often accused of living at the expense of
the du Chatelets ; but he lent money for the rebuilding
of the chateau, which was not all paid back, and he
bought furniture, good wines, and other luxuries. His
purse was sometimes at Emilie's service — when she
gambled at cards, for instance — and no doubt he at
times helped to satisfy the taste for gewgaws, in which
he encouraged her.

One would think that by this time Mme de Grafiigny's
taste for description would have been more than satisfied.
Not at all ! It was essential — quite essential — that
Panpan should know what her own particular apartment
was like. " It is quite a hall, taking height and size
into consideration, where all the winds disport themselves
through a thousand chinks and crannies round about the
windows, which I shall stop up, if I live to do it. This
huge room has only a single window cut in three, as
in olden times, and having six shutters. The walls,
which are white, to some extent diminish the dullness

Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 177

consequent on little light of day and but little view ; for
an arid mountain, which is almost close enough to touch,
shuts it out completely. At the base of the mountain
there is a meadow of about fifty feet breadth, on which
one can see twisting a little river with a thousand turns.
Re-enter ; for it is ugly by the window. The tapestry
is by great people unknown to me, and also ugly
enough. There is a nook, hung with very rich hangings,
which are disagreeable to the sight, because they do
not match."

In this great barn of a place the fireplace was so
small that even when it blazed to the uttermost the air
was hardly tempered. Indeed, the whole castle, with its
thirty-two fires burning every day, struck chill. The
furniture of her room was stiff, old-fashioned, and ugly.
The whole was a great contrast to the comfort of
Voltaire's and Emilie's apartments. Mme de Graffigny
heartily disliked the room, not without good cause.
There was also a study, a dress-closet, and a room for
her maid, Dubois, which was only lighted from the
corridor, and therefore not so draughty ; and a fine
staircase, difficult to ascend because it was so old, led
to this suite of guest-rooms. But the real disadvantage
was that every part of the castle, except those occupied
by the chief lady and gentleman, were of a disgusting
filthiness ! Emilie and Voltaire were both much con-
cerned with their own comfort, otherwise the servants
probably did as much or as little work as they chose ;
and a tumbledown castle is not the kind of place to
remain clean and sweet without much effort on the part
of those responsible for its upkeep.

There was one other apartment which received attention
from everybody concerned. It was the bathroom. In

II

17^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

those days a bathroom was apparently not in constant
use for its legitimate purpose. We hear of the fair
Emilie taking a bath when she was expecting Desmarets
to arrive at Cirey — no doubt as a kind of welcoming
ceremonial. Certainly this room was occasionally used
as a drawing-room. It was so like the study that
perhaps confusion arose on that account. Emilie dated
one of her letters to Algarotti from "la chambre des
bains," and Voltaire held a reading there, behind closed
doors, as though his poetry took on an added flavour
from the mystery of the surroundings. If we are to
believe Mme de Graffigny, the apartment was a work of
art in itself. She goes into ecstasies over it.

" Ah, what an enchanting place ! The antechamber
is the size of your bed ; the bathroom is tiled all over,
except the floor, which is of marble. There is a dressing-
room of the same size, of which the walls are varnished
in sea-green, clear, bright, lovely, admirably gilt and
sculptured ; furniture proportionate : a little sofa ; small
and charming arm-chairs, of which the wood is in the
same style, carved and gilt ; corner-cupboards, por-
celains, prints, pictures, and a dressing-table. The
ceiling is painted ; the room looks rich, and very much
like the study ; there are mirrors and amusing books
on lacquer tables. All this seems as though it were
made for the people of Lilliput. No, there is nothing
prettier ; for this retreat is delicious and enchanting.
If I had an apartment like that, I would be wakened
at night for the pleasure of looking at it. I have wished
for you to have one like it a hundred times, because
you have so much good taste in little nooks of this
kind. It is certainly a pretty honhonmere^ I tell you, .
because the things are so perfect. The mantelpiece is

Mme de Graff igny at Cirey 179

no larger than an ordinary arm-chair, but it is jewel
enough to be put in one's pocket."

At length, and none too soon, Mme de Graffigny's
mania for describing things was exhausted, and she
turned to the far more interesting task of describing
people.

There was a good deal for the student of human
nature to observe in that household, and the thing that
struck the casual visitor first was the variable relations
between Voltaire and Emilie. Were they happy together ?
No ! Yes ! No ! All their little differences of opinion,
their tiffs, their tempers, their irritated nerves were
perfectly obvious to the looker-on in that circumscribed
area, where nothing happened to turn the attention in
a more profitable direction. Emilie was too trying for
words. She sulked, she stormed, she spied, she refused
to allow her lover out of her sight. Voltaire resented
her interference, forgot his usual suave politeness, pleaded
colic to save a confession of anger, and deliberately dis-
obeyed her commands. When he was ill " he wriggled
like a devil in a holy water pot." One day, when they
were going to play a comedy, he received annoying
letters. He gave fearful cries and fell into convulsions.
Dorothea had tears in her eyes as big as a fist.

Mme de Graffigny, who had no clue at all to private
troubles, which at this time were making life difficult
for both of them, saw only the results of their anxiety,
and judged the worst. She forgot that people with
temperaments could not be expected to live in perfect
peace — that there is a zest in quarrels sometimes, and
a still greater zest in reconciliations ; that though the
annoyances of daily life together may seem unbearable
at times, the pains of separation would be no better.

i8o An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

Voltaire and Emilie were not the kind of couple who
find it impossible to live together, and equally impossible
to exist apart. They had periods of storm and sunshine
and great stress, but in the main they were lovers, and
on certain intellectual lines they were entirely necessary
the one to the other.

Their quarrels were petty in the extreme. Now it is
Voltaire's coat that does not please his lady. She begs
him to change it. He gives many reasons for not
wishing to do so — the chief one the fear of catching
a worse cold than the one he has at the moment. She
insists. He sends his valet for another coat and dis-
appears. Presently a message reaches him, asking him
to return. The response comes that he is not well.
A visitor arrives. Emilie goes herself, and finds Voltaire
chatting gaily with his gros chat. At last he comes to
her command, but resumes his black looks and injured
air. Then she begins to cajole. Presently they are
both smiling, and peace is re-established. A reading of
Mir ope takes place ; the quarrel is forgotten.

Another time it is a glass of Rhine wine that she
orders him not to drink. Angry words pass between
them — very- angry words. Those present try to joke
it off. In time — it is a long time — they succeed. A
recitation from the Pucelle causes all else to be forgotten.
There are whispers that Madame forgets herself so far as
to throw such handy portables as plates and forks when
she is roused, that Monsieur lets his tongue run away
with him and utters words such as " Stop looking at me
with those haggard, squinting eyes of yours," and others
he assuredly regrets the moment they have left his lips ;
still, even were such lapses true, are they not counter-
balanced by the merriest scenes imaginable, when every-

Mme dc Graffigny at Cirey i8i

body is friendly and gay, and nothing can disturb the
harmony and good-fellowship ? There were experiments
in physics and explanations of cylinders and globes,
wonders seen under the microscope, puppet-shows, magic-
lantern exhibitions, play-acting, sing-songs, recitations and
readings, stories fit to make you split your sides, and punch-
making which produced laughter for laughter's sake.

Voltaire at his best can be one of the most delightful,
most amusing fellows, with a stock of entertainment in
his brain and at his finger-ends which never fails until
his audience is too tired to laugh any more, and he
recites something serious and gives them thrills of a
different kind. Emilie too ! Could any one be more
versatile .? She can sing through a whole opera in an
evening if need be ; she accompanies herself on the
harpsichord ; she can act any part ever written, and the
more grotesque it is the more she delights in the roars of
laughter and jeers that her performance evokes ; she can
tell tales that bring the tears to the eyes of every one
present, good honest tears that keep the heart young
and tender, and leave no scars. She can be very, very
sympathetic. Witness the evening when she desired to
hear all about Mme de Graffigny' s life-history — had she
had any children, and other intimate questions. When the
sad tale of her husband's brutality, tyranny, and avarice
was told, every one present wept. She had had children,
who had all died young ; her husband had made her
suffer and almost caused her death, so that she had had
to take steps to get rid' of him ; she was almost penniless
and homeless. Emilie " laughed to keep herself from
crying," Voltaire burst into tears, Mme de Champbonin
did likewise. It was so infectious that Mme de Graffigny
cried too. For two hours they made remarks on thj^

1 82 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

mm

atW

unfortunate fate. Emille, who liked to go to bed
eleven, sat up out of sheer kindness and sympathy, afraid
that if her guest went to bed with her heart so full she
would not sleep. She did not leave her until after three
in the morning. " She spoke like goodness itself speak-
ing," she consoled and comforted and crooned like a
mother over a sick child. She made all kinds of offers
in the fullness of her friendliness, suggesting that Mme
de Graffigny should live with her, should be provided for.

But alas ! Emilie was one of those unfortunate in-
dividuals who can never rest on the good impression
she has created. Before many days had passed she was
to act in a manner which not only put these overtures
of friendship entirely into the shade, but awakened — and
justly awakened — an enmity which was never to die out
of Mme de Graffigny 's memory as long as she lived.
And her excuse — well, the only excuse she had for any-
thing of the kind was Voltaire.

But the hour had not yet struck. Before it came
there was to be more fun and frolic, a visitor in the
shape of Emilie's brother, the Abbe de Breteuil and
Grand Vicaire de Sens, an Abbe who loved good living
and questionable stories, and who was himself assez bon
conteur. More plays than ever were arranged for him ;
Emilie gave up some of her work and dressed herself
more becomingly while he was there — when there were
no visitors she was often mal tenue — and Voltaire said of
him that he was "the most gay, the most pleasing of
guests and of lovers."

Every one was requisitioned to act. Even Mme du
Chatelet's little convent-bred daughter, Fran^oise Gabrielle
Pauline, now twelve years old, was sent for from Joinville,
four leagues away. She was the true offspring of that

MADAME DE GRAFFIGNY
"SVhose gossiping letters reveal the vie intime of Voltaire and ]Mme du Chatelet at Cirey

183

Mmc de Graffigny at Cirey 185

erudite mother. She took naturally to Latin, and she
learnt her part in the play travelling in the coach to
Cirey. She was not very pretty, but at least she had
"joues rebondies," cheeks that Voltaire pinched in a
fatherly manner.

Mme de Graffigny found that the part she had been
asked to play was that of a young woman who was dying
to be married, and who kept on asking whether there
was not a queen at Paris. It seemed to her that the
play was a farce, and that she was being chaffed, which
she greatly resented. The play was one of the versions
of Boursouffle. These comedies were distinguished by
being called respectively " Grand Boursouffle " and " Petit
Boursouffle." The first was performed in 1761, under
the title of Echange, or Qjiand est-ce quon me marie ?
The other, with the famous part of Mile de la Cochon-
niere played by Emilie herself, was performed under the
auspices of Mme du Maine at Anet.

Mme de Graffigny's wishes were met, and she was
excused from playing the part of the forward young
woman, and given that of a governess instead.

The little theatre where all the representations took
place was pretty, small, and not finished, but it did well
enough for the shows. Mme de Graffigny enjoyed them
all immensely, especially the puppets. She was greatly
diverted by the piece in which Punch's wife thinks she
kills her husband and sings Fagnana, fagnana !

Voltaire and Emilie were in their element when play-
acting. She allowed her wild animal spirits to get the
better of her ; he was like an amiable child as well as a
sage philosopher. Emilie wrote to Maupertuis about the
theatre at Cirey, saying they had a company of tragedians
and a company of comedians ; that they played Alzire

1 86 An Eightcenth-Ccntury Marquise

and r Enfant Frodigue^ and only such plays as were com-
posed at Cirey, for that was , one of the rules. They
were indefatigable, and tired everybody out. They had
been known to go through thirty-three acts of tragedies,
operas, and comedies in twenty-four hours. But that
was exceptional.

When the Abbe de Breteuil, who only stayed a week,
had gone, and there were no guests present, Emilie and
Voltaire remained tied to their desks. The former
worked during the greater part of the night, as well as
all day long. She kept Mme de Champbonin's son
copying her manuscripts until five o'clock, or even seven,
in the morning. She slept only for two or three hours,
and left off working for an hour for coffee, and at supper-
time. Voltaire was nearly as much a slave to his pen.
Coffee, which began about eleven, and was taken in
Voltaire's gallery, was over by noon. Supper was at
nine. When he was busy Voltaire did not come down
for it till it was half over, and when he had finished
hurried back to his work. Mme de Graffigny was much
impressed by the manner in which the poet was served.
His valet-de-chambre remained behind his chair, and the
other servants handed everything that was required to
him, " like pages waiting on the king's gentleman " ; but
it was done without an air of luxury or affectation, and
Voltaire was scrupulously particular to see that Emilie
was served first with what she liked.

Mme de Graffigny must have been aware that her
pen tripped far too lightly over the paper. She soon
resorted to several expedients for disguising her real
meaning, expedients which any child could have fathomed
at a glance. She called Voltaire Nicomedeus and Emilie
Dorothea, and she talked as though they were people

Mmc de Graffigny at Circy 187

of whom Devaux had written to her and she was making
comments on their conduct, saying how glad she was
to hear that they were at ease enough in his presence
to eat from the same spoon ; that she rejoiced in what
he told her of the happiness of their union, and hoped it
would last, and so forth. But her greatest source of
enjoyment was to copy little extracts of the poems and
prose she heard at the readings, and this indiscretion
finally led to her undoing. She wrote a description of
Catinat from UHistoire de Louis XIV ; she told him the
story of Merope, crying as she wrote it, for when Voltaire
had read it her heart felt " plus gros qu'un ballon."
She ventured to send him parts of Mme du Chatelet's
translation of The Fable of the Bees, which she thought
admirable. The preface had been written in half an
hour. " Our sex ought to raise altars to her," cried
the grateful Graffigny. " What a woman she is ! How
small I am compared to her ! If I were diminished
physically in proportion, I should be able to escape
through the keyhole." But her crowning mistake was
in describing the Pucelle to Devaux, who, it is true,
had heard some of the early cantos at Luneville. It
does not say much for Mme de Graffigny's perspicacity
that, after being in Emilie's house and seeing her day
after day, she had not realised the risk she ran in as
much as mentioning that terrible Pucelle in her letters.
Poor blundering old lady, she little deserved the indignity
that was to befall her, if intention may be said to play a
part in the enormity of crime. No one could have been
more innocent of the desire to do harm than she. But it
is always the well-meaning people who make the most
mischief.

First of all she noticed something wrong about her

1 88 An Eightccnth'Century Marquise

letters from Panpichon. They did not arrive when they
ought to have done so. One was missing altogether ;
and then she suspected, nay, she soon was sure, that they
were being opened, read, and sealed up again before she
received them. She thought the people at the post office
must be exceedingly curious concerning her expressions
of friendship. She knew nothing of authorities in wait
to discover the smallest of Voltaire's indiscretions. To
her the charm of Cirey was gone for ever. It had not
lasted long — only a bare three weeks. Now she had
"vapours," she was ill, her eyes troubled her, she brooded
over the mystery, she felt an air of hostility against her,
she was indeed utterly miserable. She refused to tell
her dear Panpan the cause. She wrote to him : " I
have received the letter which I told you had not come
to hand. You speak in it to me of a verse of the Pucelle
which you find charming. I no longer remember which
it is. Please return to me the leaf of the letter in which
I speak of it . . . this letter is necessary to me. Do not
make any comment upon it."

Her fits of the blues increased. " You will not believe,
my dear friend, that I could suffer from vapours in this
enchanted palace ^. Ah, well ! Nothing is more true
than that I have been overcome by them," she wrote.
She read Voltaire's Essay on Fire, but it did not relieve
her mind. At length she threw herself on her bed, and
lay there for three hours without them passing away.
She was more miserable than ever ; she withdrew to her
room constantly, and thought of nothing else but the
terrible thing that had happened. At last, at last Panpan
must share her confidence ; she was so overcome by her
frightful experience that she felt on the point of death,
and could no longer keep it secret.

Mme de Graffigny at Circy 189

On the evening of December 29 she had supped in
company with Voltaire, Mme du Chatelet, and the others.
Everything was quiet, there were no signs that a storm
was brewing, no premonitory rumbles from the thunder-
clap that was to burst at midnight, not without streaks
of lightning. After supper, being told that no letter had
arrived for her, and pondering upon how this could be,
she withdrew to her room to seal one to Panpan. She
generally used black wax, hoping it would give him gay
thoughts — that was one of her little jokes. She was
happily absorbed in her occupation, the time passing in
memories of her favourite little poet, when suddenly,
without warning, the door burst open, and Voltaire
entered the room unceremoniously and in a state of
extraordinary agitation.

" I am lost ! " he cried ; '' my life is in your hands."

Naturally Mme de Graffigny did not in the least
understand this melodramatic appeal to her. " What
can you mean i' — bon Dieu ! " she asked.

*' What do I mean ? Why ! that a hundred copies
of some verses of the Pucelle have been circulated. I am
off. I shall flee to Holland — to the end of the world —
I hardly know where." Then in excited language
he begged her to write to Panpan and insist that he
should do what he could to withdraw the verses from
publication.

Mme de Graffigny assured him in all good faith that
she would do everything possible to help him, and mildly
expressed her regret that such a contretemps should have
taken place during her visit. She had still no inkling
of the truth. But Voltaire refused to listen. He burst
into a rage, and accused Mme de Graffigny to her face
of sending the poem to Devaux. " No shuffling,

19° An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

madame ; it is you who sent them," he said. At this
she fell a-trembling, and protested her innocence. Then
he declared that Mme du Chatelet had proof that Panpan
had read the verses to Desmarets at the house of some
lady, and that he had given copies of them away. He
begged her to write to Panpan to send back the original
and the copies. She was so frightened that, hardly
knowing what she did, she wrote as he requested. Whilst
she was writing Voltaire redoubled his cries that he was
lost, and that nothing could save him.

The scene lasted about an hour, but it was only
preliminary to a far worse state of affairs. Presently
Emilie burst into the room like a fury, and repeated
Voltaire's accusations with added epithets. Mme de
Graffigny remained silent under this shower of abuse.
It was impossible to do otherwise, for the lady's language
flowed in a forcible and uninterrupted stream. She drew
the offending letter from her pocket and thrust it into
Mme de Graffigny's face, almost shrieking at her : " There
is the proof of your infamy. You are one of the most
unworthy creatures. You are a monster whom I have
sheltered, not through friendship, for I never had any
for you, but because you had nowhere else to go. And
you have been shameless enough to betray me, to ruin
me, to steal from my writing-desk a work which you

deliberately copied " and much more of this kind.

She stood in front of her victim, who was rendered almost
speechless and uncertain as to whether she was about to
receive a blow. As soon as she could find her tongue
she murmured : " Be quiet, madame. I am too unhappy
that you should heap such indignity upon me."

At last Voltaire dragged Emilie away by main force.
She continued her torrent of abuse in so loud a tone that

Mmc de Graffigny at Grey 191

Mme de Graffigny 's maid, who was two rooms away,
heard every word. The scene lasted until five o'clock in
the morning, and Mme de Graffigny was quite exhausted.
When she recovered herself sufficiently to look at the
letter which had been thrust under her eyes she saw in it
the unfortunate phrase, " The canto of the Pucelle is
charming." She explained its meaning at once. She had
told Devaux how much the reading had delighted her,
but there had been no copying or stealing or anything
else underhand.

What an unfortunate scene 1 What a sad termination
to Mme de Graffigny's enjoyment of her visit ! She
could not realise that Emilie, tuned to breaking pitch
on the subject of Desfontaines' perfidy, of which Mme
de Graffigny as yet knew nothing, had completely lost
her wits and wreaked her gathering passions on the head
of the nearest possible victim. They were not justifiable
passions, by any means — they were ugly and vulgar, and
all the more unpardonable for being hurled at the weak
and defenceless ; but Voltaire was all she had, and the
happiness of her life and his was threatened. Let the
woman with one treasure, which she fears to lose, be
the first to judge her. She was guilty, moreover, of
opening private letters, and nothing can ever be said
in extenuation of that except the worst of excuses, that
at that date everybody's letters were more or less under
public surveillance, and perhaps there was not the privacy
attached to them that exists to-day. By her own con-
fession Emilie was accustomed to open Voltaire's letters,
except those she knew were on business, and these she
regarded as sacred. That gave an element of domesticity
to their friendship which was half its charm. But even
then, there was a wide step between opening Voltaire's

192 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

letters and those addressed to Mme de Graffigny. She
ought to have been thoroughly ashamed of herself for
what she had done, and when she had cooled down and
come to her senses she was so, no doubt.

Voltaire, feeling he had misjudged the case, was the
first to ask for pardon ; but to persuade the excited Emilie
to do likewise was a far more difficult matter. He
argued with her for hours in English, He besought,
he prayed, he insisted. Megaera (so Mme de Graffigny
renamed her now) refused. The poor insulted lady could
not recover from her trembling and convulsions. She
spent three days and three nights in tears. She was " in
hell," homeless, friendless, without money, unable to
leave the house, though she would have preferred to
sleep on straw in a stable rather than in the room that
seemed so full of horrible memories.

When the apology was given it was unsatisfying. At
eight o'clock that evening Megaera, followed by her
attendants, came in, and after a curt bow remarked in a
dry tone, " Madame, I am sorry for what has happened,"
and then she turned to Mme de Champbonin and spoke
of something else, and drew her husband into the con-
versation with the sang-froid " of some one who has just
got out of bed." M. du Chatelet had already done his
best to explain away his wife's unreasonableness. He
advised Mme de Graffigny to send for the suspected letter
and clear her name. Mme de Champbonin was also of
this opinion. Voltaire continued to weep forth excuses,
and confessed that his mistress could be very terrible, and
was wanting in flexibility, but that her heart was neverthe-
less in the right place. Mme de Graffigny was not easily
consoled. She spent the days in her room, only coming
forth at supper-time like some prowling bat. The suppers

Mme de Graffigny at Grey 193

were dreadfully uncomfortable. Nobody spoke. The
Megasra threw looks of fury at her victim now and
again, until the latter felt it a relief to get up from
the table and leave the room at the earliest moment
possible.

It must have been obvious to every one but the poor
blind Graffigny woman that beneath her uncompromising
attitude Emilie was aching with distress at the misery she
had caused. But she had too much false pride to confess
it. It was out of her power to be really ill-natured.
Whilst she thought her rage was justified, she had let
it loose without restraint. But the matter once explained,
she did not wish for any more scenes. Seeing that her
apology had not been taken in the right spirit, she spoke
of the matter again, saying plainly and simply that her
apparent coldness was due to the embarrassment she
felt that such a thing should have happened, but if
Mme de Graffigny would help her everything should
resume its usual course.

Emilie was capable of forgetting, but not so the
Graffigny. She had been wounded in the tenderest
spot — her dependence on others. After the second
explanation things were a little better, and Emilie took
Mme de Graffigny for a drive— a doubtful pleasure to the
latter. Fortunately visitors arrived, and caused at least
some diversion. The " Gradot Mathematicien," as Mme
de Graffigny called Maupertuis, came on January 12,
but, smarting under her rebuff, she was not interested
in him, and only supped in his company three times.
When he left on the 17 th to go and see Jean Bernoulli
at Basel, Voltaire wrote to the Abbe d'Olivet, " You
should come and take a cell in the convent or rather
the palace of Cirey. The one of Archimedius Maupertuis,

194 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

who has just left, would be well occupied by Quintillien
d'Olivet."

There had long been talk of inviting Mme de
Graffigny's three friends, Panpan, the little saint, and
the doctor. It was her motto that " to live in one's
friends was almost to live in heaven." But Mme du
Chatelet did not care for guests who expected too much
attention, so that she asked before inviting him whether
Saint-Lambert was one of those who liked to stay in
his room. She was assured that he was, but nevertheless
the visit fell through. Mme de Graffigny chided him
gently for not accepting the invitation. " Oh, my little
Saint," she wrote, " all that hinders you from coming
is the fear of appearing to be an ass. But I can assure
you that asses are well received here."

Supposing Saint-Lambert had come then — nearly ten
years before his actual meeting with Emilie — would there
have been such tragic consequences ? Things might
have gone differently.

Failing Saint-Lambert, Voltaire asked that Panpan
should be invited — that dear Panpichon, the pet of the
ladies of Luneville.

One evening at supper he remarked, *' Now then, let's
have dear little Panpan here, so that we may get to know
him."

" With all my heart," echoed Mme du Chatelet ; " tell
him he must come."

*' But you know how timid he is ; he will never speak
before cette belle dame" said Mme de Graffigny.

" Wait," said Voltaire : *' we will put him at his ease.
On the first day we will only look at him through the
keyhole ; on the second we will keep in the study, and he,
will hear us speak ; on the third he shall come into the

Mme de Graffigny at Cirey i95

sitting-room and shall speak from behind a screen. We
shall love him very much as soon, as he has grown
accustomed to us."

" Don't talk nonsense," said Emilie ; " I shall be
charmed to see him, and I hope he will not be afraid
of me."

But this visit did not take place, any more than the
other. Then they tried to get Desmarets to come, and
he allowed himself to be persuaded.

Mme de Graffigny was very fond of Desmarets —
fonder than he was of her. She called him the Doctor,
Cliphan, the big dog, the big white dog, or Maroquin,
whichever pleased her best at the moment. She grew
quite excited when he did not turn up at the hour he
was expected. When he came they all spent the first
day in Mme du Chatelet's room, where she lay lazily
taking a siesta ; but she soon enrolled him as an actor
in Boursouffle, sang to him accompanied by the harpsi-
chord, and took him for drives and rides. His old love
was forgotten, he only busied himself with the new.

And the old love, broken and unforgiving, was
wondering where to lay her diminished head. She had
bethought herself of a convent in the neighbourhood,
but the plan fell through. At last it was arranged that
she should go back to Paris, and there the Duchesse de
Richelieu offered her hospitality. She left Cirey on
February 8, a sadder if not a wiser woman.

One day Voltaire had come to her room to tell her of
La Voltairomanie. No sooner had he begun to speak of
it, than a servant came with a message from Mme du
Chatelet to call him away. Another day, while Mau-
pertuis was staying at Cirey, Athys (she called Voltaire
Athys now, because it was shorter than Nicomedeus),

12

19^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

believing Dorothea occupied with her guest, sent for
Mme du Graffigny to read her his Memoire sur la Satire,
which was the reply to La Volt air omanie. While they
were in the middle of this absorbing occupation, Dorothea
entered suddenly, stood still at the door, pale with anger,
her eyes flashing, her lips quivering. After a moment's
silence and embarrassment on both sides, she said, " If
you will permit me, Madame, I wish to speak to
Monsieur." Athys said, " I am reading what I have
written to Madame." Mme du Chatelet made an effort
to restrain herself, and the reading continued ; she objected
to one or two of the phrases, and then began to argue
with him. At length she flung herself out of the room
in a rage. Mme de Graffigny felt uncomfortable ; she
had wished to escape, but was not allowed to do so.
The reading continued.

Had Mme de Graffigny only realised the gravity of
the situation, she would at least have had some sympathy
with Mme du Chatelet, who during the preceding weeks
had been plunged into the bitterest despair and anxiety
over the Desfontaines affair.

I

CHAPTER VII

A LIBEL AND A LAWSUIT

N none of her relations with Voltaire does Mme du
Chatelet appear more the devoted friend and com-
rade than in the Desfontaines affair. Ever since Voltaire
had taken the trouble to obtain Mme de Prie's influence
in releasing the Abbe in 1724 from an imprisonment
which for once had probably been justly deserved, and
had procured for him a shelter under the roof of his
own friend, the President de Bernieres, Desfontaines had
been a danger and a menace to him. In 1735 and for
three long years he made attacks on Voltaire's work in
one form or another. First he wrote a slander against
the man to whom he owed his honour, if not life itself.
For this he begged pardon on his knees. Then he
translated the Essay on Epic Poetry^ from the English in
which Voltaire had written it, so badly that the harassed
author had to re-translate the whole. Then he wrote
against the Henriade^ allied himself with the arch-enemy
J. B. Rousseau, composed an infamous satire on Julius
Ccesar^ and made himself generally so objectionable that
Voltaire, bewildered, wrote to Thieriot, " What fury
possesses this man, who has no ideas in his mind except
those of satire, and no sentiments in his heart except those
of base ingratitude } I have never done anything but
good to him, and he has never lost a single chance of
outraging my feelings."

In 1736 Desfontaines seemed about to suffer for his

197

198 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

indiscretion in holding up the French Academy to ridi-
cule ; and Voltaire, seeing him in the depths of mis-
fortune, was generous enough to forgive all he had done ;
but Desfontaines continued his attacks. " He is like a
dog pursued by the public, which turns now to lick and
now to bite," continued the victim of the Abbe's spite ;
and because it was impossible to remain patient for ever
under repeated insult, the seeming worm turned at last,
and showed that it was not a worm at all, but a scorpion
with as keen a sting as any. In language suitable to
the retort he wished to make, Voltaire wrote a strong
denunciation of his tormentor under the title of Le
Preservatif^ fathering it upon the innocent Chevalier de
Mouhy. The Prhervatif was full of just and unjust,
instructive and destructive criticism. In it Voltaire de-
clared that Desfontaines, as a mark of gratitude, made a
libel against him, which he showed to Thieriot, who made
him suppress it.

The disguised authorship did not deceive his adversary.
In reply Desfontaines produced the Voltairomanie^ a pub-
lication which shook the terrestrial paradise of Cirey to
its very foundations. It appeared on December 12, 1738,
and in it the Henriade, the Temple du Gout^ and the
EUments de Newton were held up to ridicule ; and, worse
still, Voltaire, the man and his life, or certain episodes of
his life, such as the onslaught by Rohan's men, and his
beating on the bridge of Sevres by Beauregard the spy,
were dragged to light and given the worst possible inter-
pretation— his personal courage being impugned. Mme
du Ch^telet, receiving a parcel which contained this vile
compilation on Christmas Day, concealed it from Voltaire,
and poured forth some of her resentment to d'Argental.

" I have just seen this fearful libel," she wrote on the

A Libel and a Lawsuit 199

26th. " I am in despair. I fear your friend's sensitive-
ness more than the public, for I feel assured that the cries
of this mad dog cannot harm him. I have prevented him
from seeing it ; his fever did not leave him till to-day.
Yesterday he fainted twice. He is in a state of great
weakness, and I should greatly fear if, in the condition
he is in, he should suffer any violent shock. He is
extremely sensitive on these points. The Dutch book-
sellers, the return of Rousseau, and this libel — these
things are enough to kill him. There is no fraud which
I would not practise to hide, or at least soften, news
so afflicting ; and I dare not flatter myself that I shall
succeed for ever."

Mme du Chatelet's state is more easy to imagine than
to describe. She had worked herself up into a fury
against Desfontaines and against Thieriot, who seemed
to her the most dishonest and ungrateful persons it was
possible to imagine. She was in a fever of anxiety on
behalf of Voltaire ; she was dying to do something to
ameliorate a condition of things which was unbearable,
and she did it, and did it in her most characteristic
manner, by writing an answer to the defamatory letter
by the Abbe Desfontaines herself. When JVIme du
Chatelet decided to hit out, she hit out straight from
the shoulder, like a man.

" Naturalists," she wrote, " seek with care certain
monsters which nature occasionally produces, and the
researches they make concerning their origin are only
undertaken out of simple curiosity, which does not pro-
tect us against them ; but there is another kind of
monster the search for which is more useful to society,
and the extermination of which is far more necessary.
Here is one of an entirely new kind ; here is a man who

200 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

owes his honour and his life to another man, and who
has gloried not only in outraging his benefactor, but
even in reproaching him for his benefits. Unfortunately
for human nature, there have always been ingrates, but
perhaps there have never been any who have gloried in
their ingratitude. This crime heaped on crime was
reserved for the Abbe Desfontaines. The new libel
which he has just published against M. de Voltaire bears
this double character. The horror and contempt which
this infamous writing has inspired against its author in
all those who have brought themselves to read it, have
avenged M. de Voltaire sufficiently, and no one doubts
but that he will follow the advice of all his friends — that
is to say, of all honest people — who have begged him
not to compromise himself with a wicked scamp, who
for a long time has been an object of public horror, and
to treat with contempt shafts which cannot reach him,
and which will recoil upon the feeble hand which launched
them. Moreover, no one would deign to raise the
question of this libel if it were not full of falsehoods
which it is necessary to refute, however contemptuous
may be the source from which they originate."

She then proceeded to enumerate the misstatements —
to use no harsher term — which Desfontaines had had the
audacity to make in La Volt air omanie. He had claimed
intimacy with President de Bernieres prior to Voltaire's
introduction, which the latter's widow could easily refute ;
he denied that Voltaire had ever taken up cudgels on
his behalf; and, worst of all, he contradicted Voltaire's
statement in the Preseruatif that Thieriot had ever set
eyes on a libel written by him against Voltaire. He said,
in fact, that no such libel had ever existed. Emilie was
quite ready to bear witness to the contrary ; nay, she

A Libel and a Lawsuit 201

panted to disclose the truth. " M. Thierlot," she said,
" is so far from ever having thought of denying the fact
[of having seen the libel] that during his last visit to
Cirey he acknowledged it in the presence of several
people worthy of trust, and spoke of it with the indigna-
tion that such a horror merited." Her reply continued
for many pages, and concluded with a parting shaft :
" Socrates thanked God that he was born a man, and
neither brute, Greek, nor barbarian ; and Voltaire ought
to be equally thankful that his enemy is so contemptible."

This long and indignant reply to the Voltairomanie
Mme du Chatelet despatched to d'Argental, telling him
of her embarrassment and of her desire to keep the
affair secret from Voltaire, but, at the same time, of her
determination not to let it pass in silence. " I flatter
myself that 1 have shown more moderation than he would
have done, even though I may not have been as spirited."
She wrote adding that she did not wish to take such an
important step without consulting the guardian angel, and
hoping he would approve of her plan. Her chief anger
was against Thieriot, and she felt there was nothing she
would not do to induce him to clear his name of the
imputation against him.

" What do you think of a man," she continued in the
same letter, " who suffers them to say publicly of him
* that he trails, in spite of himself, the shameful remains
of an old bond, which he has not yet had the strength of
mind to break ' ? — he who owes the little that he is to
the friendship with which M. de Voltaire honours him ;
and, further, who informs me coldly ' that he has not
read this libel, but that M. de Voltaire drew it upon him-
self,' while I'Abbe Desfontaines has the audacity to say,
'When M. Thieriot was asked whether the fact of the

202 An EighteenthXcntury Marquise

libel at the President de Bernieres' house was true, he
was obliged to answer that he had no knowledge of any
such thing.' I wrote about this in good strong terms,
but if he does not make the most authentic reparation to
M. de Voltaire, I wiU pursue him to the end of the
universe to obtain it."

All the fat was in the fire, as the saying goes. Thieriot
temporised, prevaricated, wrote a letter to Mme du
Chatelet full of weak argument and weaker defence.
He did not, it appeared, wish to be mixed up in the affair
at all. His answers were vague and equivocal. He was
afraid of the vituperations which might be hurled at his
head. He desired to run with the hare and hunt with
the hounds. Mme du Chatelet could hardly contain her
indignation. She took his letter phrase by phrase, and
rent each one of them to pieces. What ! he recognises
my zeal for my friend ? Is it not edifying that Thieriot
should appreciate my zeal ? The Preservatif had scandal-
ised him ^ Just then he was edified, now he is scandalised !
He remembered the facts but not the circumstances ?
No doubt it was very convenient for him to forget
circumstances which concerned Voltaire. He wrote about
the author of L,a Voltairomanie without mentioning his
name.'' Then he was the only one who pretended not
to know it or dared not pronounce it. He spoke of
having nursed Voltaire through the small-pox, but never
a word of the favours Voltaire had showered upon him.
And as a final fling, it was worth noting that aU the very
important circumstances which Master Thieriot had found
it convenient to forget were written in black and white,
word for word, in twenty letters still in existence, which
should be printed, for fear he should forget what was in
them again.

A Libel and a Lawsuit 203

What a staunch friend, what a terrifying enemy, was
this divine Emilie !

Meanwhile Voltaire had been concealing from her the
very truth that she had been concealing from him. This
mutual deception between friends for each other's sake was
praiseworthy.

" All my precautions have been in vain," she wrote to
d'Argental on January 3. "This unfortunate libel has
reached your friend. He confessed it, but he did not
show it to me. I even saw that all he feared was lest
I should see it. I could not do less than appear to be in
accord with his delicacy on this score, and I conformed to
it by not letting him know that I had any knowledge of
it. I sacrificed to his feelings the pleasure which I should
have had in telling him that which I was prepared to do
on his behalf. Thus, my dear friend, no one else but you
is aware of it. He has never shown so much coolness
and wisdom. He will not reply to this frightful libel
except to destroy the slander which I know well he could
not leave in existence without dishonouring himself."

Emilie had undoubtedly taken too much upon herself,
but one can only like her for it.

Voltaire was soon to learn what she had done, and
naturally was not altogether pleased. He wrote to
d'Argental : *' Mme du Chatelet is laughing at me, with
her kindness of soul and her hidden benefits. She has at
last confessed to me and read to me what she sent you.
Would to God that it had been as presentable as it was
admirable ! " But to Thieriot he wrote more irritably
than to d'Argental: "She was very wrong indeed to
have hidden all this from me for a week. It means
she has retarded my triumph for that length of time."
He had already decided to take legal action against

204 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Desfontaines for criminal libel. His chief witnesses were
to be Mme de Bernieres and Thieriot ; but — a bolt from
the blue — Thieriot refused to say a word. His treachery
dawned slowly on Voltaire's mind. For twenty-five years
they had been confidential friends. Voltaire had done
much for the younger man ; on one occasion he had
hidden fifty louis in the trunk which Thieriot had brought
to Cirey, as a pleasant surprise for him. And now this
blow ! He wrote to implore him to explain :

" I have been your friend for twenty years, and all the
bonds which could unite friendship have drawn us one to
the other. . . . And to-day, a man universally detested for
his wickedness, a man who has been justly reproached for
ingratitude to me, dares to treat me as an impudent liar,
when he is told that as the price of my services he has
issued a libel against me. He cites you as a witness, he
prints a statement that you have betrayed your friend,
and that you are ashamed of still being a friend. ... I
know only from you that Desfontaines wrote a libel
against me in the time of Bicetre. I know only from
you that this libel was a horrible irony called Apologie
du S'teur Volt aire T

Thieriot had not only mentioned the libel in the
presence of Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet ; he had
written about it, and the letters were in Mme du Chatelet's
possession.

" How is it," continued Voltaire, *' that he has the
impudence to say you disavow that which you have said
to me so many times . . . that he dishonours me through
your lips } "

A few days later he refers to Thieriot's ill-considered
letter to Emilie :

" Why have you written a harsh and unsuit^bl^ letter

A Libel and a Lawsuit 205

to Mme du Chatelet under the existing circumstances ?
In the name of our friendship write her something better
suited to her feelings. You know the strength and pride
of her character ; she looks upon friendship as a sacred
bond, and the slightest shadow of policy in friendship
appears to her in the light of a crime. How can you
say to her that you hate libels as much as you love
criticism, after sending her the manuscript letter against
Moncrif, the verse against Bernard, against Mile Salle ? —
what do you expect her to think ? . , . Once again, inform
her that you are not vacillating for a moment between
Desfontaines and your friend. Give the truth its due."

Nothing hurt Voltaire more in the Desfontaines affair
than Thieriot's defection. Pressure was brought to bear
upon the defaulter from every side. Prince Frederick's
influence was enlisted ; d'Argental wrote to urge him
to remain the poet's friend, and to render the service
demanded of him ; the gros chat, Mme de Champbonin,
was despatched to Paris to woo him with feline blandish-
ments; and, wonder of wonders, M. du Chatelet bestirred
himself — no doubt at his wife's instigation — and wrote
a long and persuasive epistle well calculated, as Emilie
herself said, to make him reflect seriously, perhaps to
die of shame.

The other witness, Mme la Presidente de Bernieres,
did all that was required of her without persuasion. It
was suggested that Voltaire had been lodged and fed
at the president's expense. This she contradicted, saying
that Voltaire had paid amply for himself and his friend.
Emilie was delighted. " La bonne Bernieres," she cried,
" I love her with all my heart " — and she prayed that
Thieriot might see the letter. Voltaire clinched the
matter by writing a reply entitled Memoire sur la Satire ;

2o6 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

and the result of his shafts and Emilie's somewhat
hysterical shrieks of denunciation appeared when Des-
fontaines was forced to retract his libel or go to prison.
Being the man he was, he chose the former alternative,
and signed a deed to that eiFect on April 4. Voltaire,
gasping, bruised, and exhausted, was victorious. Emilie,
smarting, weary, but rejoicing in her role of protector,
was triumphant.

Only one anxiety remained. Throughout the trying
time of the Desfontaines affair, Voltaire had been fretting
to go to Paris, and fight openly on the field of battle.
Among others the Abbe Moussinot had urged him to
do so, much to Emilie's despair. She had brought all
her wits to bear on the subject of keeping him at Grey,
and prayed d'Argental " on her knees " to write and say
he would do wrong to go. She also begged him to send
an antidote to Moussinot's suggestions. Voltaire said,
" It is fearful that they will not let me go to Paris."
However, no sooner was peace restored, and Voltaire
fairly settled at work on a tragedy, than Emilie expe-
rienced a sudden perverse desire to make a move.
Voltaire had suffered severely, and did not appear to
be quite recovered in health. The only thing that she
thought would restore him was the bustle of travel. He
was not grateful for her solicitude, however. " I do
not know when I shall return to my charming solitude,"
he sighed. " I am ill, and perhaps I shall never come
back." But he had to go.

It was May 8, 1739, when they left Cirey, after living
there with very little interruption since March 1737.
Their destination was Brussels, their object the law-suit
about the Marquis de Trichateau's estates, which was
to keep them in a kind of exile for some years to come.

A Libel and a Lawsuit 207

Brussels was reached on May 28, after a stay at Valen-
ciennes, where they had been entertained by the Intendant,
M. de Sechelles, who arranged balls, ballets, and comedies
" with infinite gallantry," as Emilie put it. On the 30th
they proceeded to Beringhen, the estate composed of
Ham and Beringhen, situated near Liege and Juliers,
which had been left to the Marquis de Trichateau
through his mother, the Baronne de Honsbruck. The
Marquis de Trichateau died at Cirey in 1740, leaving
the landed property to the Marquis du Chitelet. Voltaire
had for some time been trying to dispose of " this little
corner of the earth," which was burdened by debts,
to the King of Prussia ; but Frederick was not keen
on buying it on his father's behalf, although it promised
a convenient meeting-place between him and Voltaire.

The latter returned to the charge again and again,
though he had to confess that the district was extremely
desolate. " If Mme du Chatelet stays in this country
for long," he wrote, " she may be called the Queen of
Savages. . . . To-morrow we are going to the superb
chateau of Ham, where we are not at all sure to find
beds, windows, or doors. They say that thieves abound
here. In that case they must Ke thieves who are doing
penance. No one is worth robbing except ourselves."

From Beringhen they returned to Brussels, and took
up their residence in the Rue de la Grosse-Tour ; but they
were still living what Emilie calls " a wandering life,"
in a letter she wrote to Prince Frederick to thank him
for a present of amber inkstands and a box of games.
** They arrived whilst we were at Enghien, rehearsing
a comedy," she wrote. "We went down promptly from
the theatre to play a little game of quadrille with the
charming cards you sent."

2o8 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

A day or two later their host, the Due d'Aremberg,
caused Prince Frederick's health to be drunk in good
wine of Hungary, which tasted like nectar. They re-
mained the duke's guests until July i8, "in a castle where
there are no books except those that Mme du Chatelet
and I brought ourselves," wrote Voltaire, " but as a
recompense there are gardens more beautiful than those
of Chantilly, and one leads that free and delightful life
which makes the charm of the country. The owner
of this fine resort is worth far more than many books."
They returned to the Rue de la Grosse-Tour on July 1 8,
and set to work again. Mme du Chatelet was extremely
busy with her lawsuit, learning Flemish and studying
mathematics under Koenig, whom she had taken to
Brussels with her. These occupations left her so little
time that she hardly knew whether Brussels was gay
or sad. She feared that she would not have the
advantage of his help for long, and desired to make
the most of it. KcEnig was not well at this time, and
appeared to look back with regret upon his life in
Switzerland.

Mme du Chatelet found it hard to make progress
under his tuition, and was discontented because she did
not get on more quickly. She thought she was being
hindered by the anxieties the law-case was causing her,
and thereupon redoubled her efforts. "Just imagine," she
wrote to Maupertuis, " that although I am often obliged
to stay in town for supper, I get up every day at six o'clock
to study, and in spite of this I have not yet been able to
finish the algorithm. My memory fails me at every
moment, and I fear that it is too late for me to learn such
difficult things. M. de Koenig encourages me some-
times; but he, who often told me to go slowly, hurries

A Libel and a Lawsuit 209

me on at a pace with which I have great trouble to keep
up. It is nearly six weeks since we have been working
as much as our journey, his health, and my affairs have
permitted, and I should be quite unable to respond with
the application of rules I have learnt in even the smallest
problem. To see things under another form disconcerts
me ; in short, at times I am ready to abandon the whole
thing. In magnis voluisse sat est, is not at all my motto.
If I cannot at least succeed in being mediocre, I wish
I had never undertaken anything. I do not know if
Koenig feels that he can make anything of me ; I believe
my incapacity disgusts him. He who has attained to
things so difficult may well pride himself on the honour of
it. But I cannot complain. He is a man with a clear and
profound mind. He is as patient with me as he can be,
but he is discontented with his fate, although assuredly I
forget nothing which can make his life pleasant and which
may win his friendship."

So much for science. Law was quite as trying. No
one knew whether the case would last three months or
three years; the only certain thing was that in the end it
would be won. And as it turned out, for the next few
years Emilie had to move from Brussels to Paris and back
to Brussels at irregular intervals. Voltaire was in her
train. He followed of necessity ; and he grumbled.
Perhaps it relieved his feelings. But, by his own confes-
sion, the society of Mme du Chatelet was " his banquet
and his music." At the end of August she dragged her
two slaves to the capital. Voltaire lodged in the Hotel
de Brie, Emilie at the H6tel de Richelieu, and Kcenig
vanished for a space, to be heard of soon again. Paris
was very gay, and there were many changes at Court.
Mme de Mailly was now the reigning beauty. The

210 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

marriage of Louis XV's eldest daughter to the Infante
Philippe took place on August 26, and gave rise to a
number of festivities which Emilie thoroughly enjoyed
and which Voltaire found boresome. " Paris is an abyss
where one loses repose and the contemplation of one's
soul, without which life is only a troublesome tumult,"
he wrote to the good Champbonin. "I no longer live. I
am dragged in spite of myself into the stream. I go,
I come. I sup at the end of the town, to sup the next
night at the other end. From the society of three or
four intimate friends it is necessary to fly to the opera,
to the comedy, to see curiosities, to be a stranger, to
embrace a hundred people a day, to make and receive a
hundred protestations, not one instant to oneself, no
time to write, to think, or to sleep. I am like the ancient
who died, crushed by the flowers they threw at him."
And after being tossed about in a perpetual tempest and
brilliant chaos, they had to go back to Brussels to plead
sadly, "It is like the gout after gambling. My dear tom-
cat," he concluded quaintly, " I kiss your velvet paws a
thousand times."

As for Emilie, she was never flustered ; she never
lost her wits, and she could collect her thoughts every-
where, being quite capable of dancing, feasting, and
playing cards all night, and getting up to work out
mathematical problems before breakfast. During this
visit she saw a good deal of the learned Mme d'Aiguillon,
who had studied English very successfully, probably to
please her friend Algarotti. " She seems quite English
now," she wrote to the Italian ; " she understands this
language better than I do, and I think perhaps almost
as well as you do."

Emilie was also in communication with Maupertuis

A Libel and a Lawsuit 211

concerning Bernoulli, whom she desired as a successor
to Koenig. Voltaire thought the latter a great meta-
physician, but wanting in imagination, nor did he agree
with his Leibnitzian views on matter.

In November the illustrious couple spent a week or
so at Cirey, and then returned to Brussels, passing
through Liege. The law-case was as exacting as before.
Mme du Chatelet regretted Cirey as much as she
regretted Paris ; Voltaire said they had " abandoned the
most agreeable retirement in the country to bawl in
the labyrinth of Flemish chicanery." Yet the days passed
much as at Cirey, seeing few people, studying till
evening, and supping gaily. He was at work on
Louis XIV, but was short of material. Emilie was
concerned with the publication of her Instilutions de
Physique, written a couple of years before. She sent it
to Prince Frederick, with whom she was now in regular
correspondence, from Versailles in April 1740. Voltaire
had remained at Brussels. " I hope and fear almost
equally that you will have time to read it. You will
perhaps be as much astonished to see it in print as I
am ashamed." She told him that he would gather from
the preface of the book that it was intended for the
education of her only son, " whom I love with extreme
tenderness." It began : " I have always believed that
the most sacred duty of men was to give their children
an education which hinders them in after-years from
regretting their youth, which is the only time in which
they can really learn. You are, my dear son, in that
happy age at which the mind begins to think, and in
which the heart has as yet none of the keener passions
to trouble it." Voltaire had already sent Kis Me iaphy si que
de Newton, wherein he had combated the principles of

13

212 An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise

Leibnitz, which Mme du Chatelet upheld. " Perhaps
you will be astonished that our opinions differ so much,"
she added. " It seems to me that our friendship is the
more sure and well-founded since such differences of
opinion cannot affect it. The liberty of the philosopher
is as necessary as the liberty of conscience."

Frederick found her book delightful, and that was
saying a great deal for a work on metaphysics ; but he
thought parts of it might have been compressed with
advantage. Cideville wrote to her to say that the work
was written with the elegance and grace which she com-
municated to everything she touched. "You are capable,
Madame, of awakening a taste for the most abstract
sciences. . . . Can it be that the sublime author of this
grave and dogmatic book is the adorable woman T saw
lying in bed three months ago, whose large, fine, gentle
eyes, dark eyebrows, charming and noble countenance,,
ingenious and piquant intellect, cheerfulness and sallies
of wit give us all in truth quite different things to think
of than philosophy, and who knows how to mix sentiment
and admiration very agreeably ? "

Lecteur, ouvrez ce docte 6crit ;
La physique pour nous quitte son air sauvage,
Et vous devinierez a son charmant langage
Que c'est Venus qui vous instruit.^

Unfortunately the Institutions was to cause a good deal
of ill-feeling. Although Mme du Chdtelet referred to
Koenig's help in her preface, the mathematician chose
to quarrel with her because he thought she had appro-
priated too much of his work. Voltaire was up in

* Reader, open this learned script ; physics no longer wears a savage
air, and you will divine from the charming style that it is Venus teaching
you.

A Libel and a Lawsuit 213

arms in her defence in a moment. He could not bear
ingratitude. He had suffered enough from it himself
to know. He wrote a strong letter to Helvetius :

" There are very few lords with an income of two
hundred thousand livres who do for their relatives what
Mme du Chatelet has done for Koenig. She looked
after him and after his brother, lodged them, fed them,
loaded them with presents, provided them with servants
and carriages in Paris. I can witness that she incon-
venienced herself considerably on their account, and in
truth paid very well for the metaphysical romancing of
Leibnitz with which Koenig sometimes regaled her in
the morning. All this has ended in proceedings quite
unworthy of him, which Mme du Chatelet, in the
largeness of her heart, wishes to ignore."

The obscure writer Abbe Leblanc repeated the on dit.
He appeared to have a special knowledge of the subject,
and referred several times in an ill-natured way to Mme
du Chatelet, saying that her passion for Voltaire was
made ridiculously conspicuous, and that Paris was simply
amused by her scientific pretensions.

" I must tell you," he wrote, " of a scene which Milady
Newton — that is to say, Mme du Chatelet — has prepared
for us. She has been unfaithful to this great philosopher,
and has deserted him for Leibnitz. During her stay
in Paris she had the Institutions de Physique printed in
three volumes, in which she adopted the system of the
German philosopher and refutes Newton and his disciples.
The work is ready, and has cost her two thousand
crowns, which she has borrowed to have it printed. But
that which prevents her from springing it on us is that
she quarrelled with a German geometrician who was being
paid by her when she composed it. M. Guillaume, in

214 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

V Avocat Pathelin^^ mixes the colours for his cloth with
his dyer. The said erudite lady has done the same, they
say. The geometrician has told the secret of the school ;
he has sworn to me and to all those whom he has seen
here that this work was nothing else but the lessons he
had given her, and that, since they had appeared, he
would claim as his all that was good, and leave to Mme
la Marquise only the follies and extravagances which
she had added. However that may be, when Mme du
Chatelet arrived here, M. Kcenig (which is the name of
the German who is called here her geometrical valei de
chamhre) — M. Koenig, I say, was the most honest and
at the same time the most learned man there was in
France ; when she returned, she spread the report every-
where that he was the most dishonest man and the most
ignorant man that she had ever known in her life. Such
a prompt contradiction does not appear to be in favour
of the lady, it seems to me. The geometrician and
she both produced documents to justify their conduct ;
and, taking it all in all, I fear greatly that the lady
acted very badly, and that the geometrician on his part
conducted himself quite as badly. After all, if, as they
said to him, she paid for his lessons, he was wrong to
cry out about it and claim them back again." ^

Koenig's opinion of the work was expressed in a letter
to Maupertuis in February 1741. " Mme du Chatelet's
book has appeared at last. I confess to you, Monsieur,
that one must have a mania for writing in order to dare
to commit a foolishness of this kind. They say that it
has already been refuted. I shall enjoy seeing how she
will reply on such matters as she does not understand."

* An old farce.

^ Portefeuilles du President BouMer.

A Libel and a Lawsuit 215

The opportunity was soon to be given him of seeing
how she replied upon matters she thought she understood
very well.

Early in 1741, Mairan, the Perpetual Secretary of the
Academy of Sciences, addressed to Mme du Chatelet a
letter in reply to her Institutions de Physique on the sub-
ject of vis viva, or, as it is now termed, kinetic energy.
It roused a wide discussion among the scientific men of
the day. Voltaire agreed with Mairan's anti-Leibnitzian
views, and did not defend her. " I flatter myself," he
wrote, "that your little war with her will only serve
to augment the esteem and friendship you have for
one another. She was ^ little bit vexed that you should
have reproached her for not having read your treatise
carefully. I only wish she might have been persuaded
by the things you say in it as easily as she read them,
but remember, my dear and amiable philosopher, how
difficult it is for the human mind to renounce its views.
. . . Mme du Chatelet will not sacrifice the vis viva even
for you."

Her reply was dated March 26, at Brussels. In it,
it was said, she left nothing unanswered, opposed reason-
ing to reasoning, shafts of wit to shafts of wit, politeness
to politeness. It is unnecessary to follow the technicalities
of the discussion, but in the end the marquise was in the
main victorious.

" Mairan is aggrieved, which is quite natural," she
wrote to d'Argental, on May 2. " He has a right
to be so, seeing that he was wrong, and that he mixed
personalities in a purely literary dispute. It was not
I who began saying piquant things. The Institutions
contains only very polite statements about him and the
reasons against his paralogism, but in his letter there are

2i6 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

only very sharp things against me and no reasons for
his theories. Could I possibly do too much to remove
the outrageous reproach which he made, that I had
neither read nor understood, but had simply transcribed
the results of another ? Is there anything more piquant
than that, and at the same time more unjust? I quite
realised all his malignity. Koenig's remarks have given
reality to his reproaches, and he could not get over the
idea that I had adorned myself with the peacock's feathers
like the jay in the fable."

Mme du Chatelet may have desired to ignore what
she regarded as Koenig's perfidy, but from this letter
it is easy to see that it hurt her none the less. Writing
to Maupertuis from Fontainebleau in October 1740, she
said : " They inform me from Berlin that it is an under-
stood thing that Kcenig dictated it to me. I do not
ask any other proof of your friendship in the matter
of this injurious rumour than that you should tell the
truth, for you know that my self-love is easily satisfied,
and that I do not blush to admit the part he had in it.
The only thing I have to blush for is to be under
the slightest obligation to so dishonest a man."

Maupertuis had gone to Berlin at the request of
Prince Frederick, who had also gathered Algarotti,
Euler, and Wolff at his Court. Eventually Maupertuis
married one of the Court ladies-in-waiting. Later he
quarrelled with Kcenig, with Diderot, and with Voltaire,
who satirised him in Docteur Akakia ; but in the matter
of the Institutions de Physique he appears to have sym-
pathised more with Kcenig than with Emilie, and a
breach in their friendly relations was the result. Again
Voltaire saw that his championship was required, and was
up in arms on her behalf. " I am grieved," he wrote

A Libel and a Lawsuit 217

to Maupertuls on. July 21, "to see you cold to a lady
who, after all, is the only one who can understand you,
and whose manner of thinking merits your friendship.
You were made to love one another. Write to her
(a man is always right when he puts himself in the
wrong to please a woman) ; you will regain your friend-
ship, because you still have her esteem." The letter
came, but it was not all that could be desired. " You
have written a little dryly to a person who loves and
esteems you, if I may say so," he continued on August 9.
" You have made her feel that she has been humiliated
in an affair she thought she was conducting with
generosity. She has been much afflicted." But this
quarrel did not last long. " I do not know how to
love nor how to be reconciled by halves," wrote Emilie.
*' I gave all my heart to you, and I count on the sincerity
of yours." That was one of her characteristics — she
could do nothing by halves.

Voltaire's two letters to Maupertuis were written from
The Hague, whither he had gone to supervise the
printing of the Anti-Machiavelli for Frederick, who
had become king in May of that year, and found it
advisable that some of his ideas on the duties of monarchs
should be re-edited. This caused a separation of Voltaire
from Emilie, of which she did not at all approve. She
had tried to prevent it. It made her heart bleed, she
wrote to Frederick, to see the human race deprived of
such a valuable work as the Refutation de Machiavel.
She thought it was an incomparable work, knew of
nothing better written ; the thoughts in it were fine
and just, and possessed all the charm of eloquence. If
necessary, of course Voltaire would be ready to go to
Holland and serve the king in this matter, but at the

21 8 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

same time she hoped such services might be dispensed
with.

The correspondence — Voltaire's and Frederick's, with
an occasional dash of Emilie — grew warmer and warmer,
the compHments were heaped thicker and thicker, the
jealousy — on the part of Emilie — strengthened daily,
and she became aware that now Frederick was king and
had no one to consider but himself she would have to
exert all her powers to counterbalance those he was
bringing to bear upon Voltaire.

The Hague visit lasted about a fortnight, and Voltaire
returned to Brussels early in August. Already there was
talk of a meeting between the king and the poet. It
was suggested that it should take place at Antwerp on
September 14. Emilie begged to be present. Perhaps
she feared Frederick's personal influence even more than
his written invitations ; perhaps she thought such an
interview would cause her to shine with reflected glory ;
or perhaps she suspected the truth — which was that
Frederick, whilst he could not help acknowledging her
as an important factor in Voltaire's life, nevertheless
resented her interference in his plans. Her presence
might win him over to a fairer view of the case. Frederick
did not hesitate to express his real feelings. He wrote to
Voltaire from Berlin on August 5, " To speak to you
frankly concerning her [Emilie's] journey, it is Voltaire,
it is you, it is my friend that I desire to see, and the
divine Emilie with all her divinity is only the accessory
of the Newtonian Apollo." The next day he reiterated
his wish even more forcibly : " If it must be that Emilie
accompany Apollo, I consent ; but if I could see you
alone, I should prefer it. I should be too much dazzled,
I could not bear so much splendour all at once ; it would

A Libel and a Lawsuit 219

overpower me. I should need the veil of Moses to
temper the united radiance of you two divinities."

However, Voltaire, or Emilie under the name of
Voltaire, won by insistence. The moment when Apollo
and Venus Newton (as Frederick called her) were to see
Marcus Aurelius in the flesh was at hand, when destiny
stepped in and prevented such an apparent anachronism.
Frederick had an attack of fever. He wrote on Septem-
ber 5 from Wesel : *' If the fever does not return I shall
be at Antwerp on Tuesday (to-morrow week), where I
flatter myself I shall have the pleasure of seeing you with
the marquise. It will be the most charming day of
my life. I fear I may die of it, but at least one could
not choose a more delightful kind of death."

Emilie was not long kept in a state of suspense.
Surely she must have gnashed her teeth and groaned
about Frederick's untimely ague, which proved " to be
more tenacious than a Jansenist," and for which the
best cure appeared to be a visit from Voltaire alone at
Moyland, near Cleve. " I do not know which afflicts
me most," she wrote, " to know that your Majesty is
ill, or to be disappointed in the hope I had of paying
my court to you." Had she told the truth she would
have confessed that the greatest pain she suffered was
that Voltaire should go without her. She said as much
to Maupertuis : *' I felt great regret in seeing M. de
Voltaire leave, and the king ought to give me the credit
of this sacrifice. ... I hope he will soon send back to
me the one with whom I reckon on spending my life, and
whom I have lent to him for a very few days only."
Voltaire was becoming used to Emilie's appropriative
way. He knew just the arguments she would use to
prevent him leaving her : had he not suff^ered from them

220 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

in July when he went to The Hague ? She no longer
disguised her jealousy, her fears, her demands. She
wanted him always by her side, almost without a soul to
call his own. He saw alike her greatness and her petti-
ness, her generosity and her meanness. He applauded
and resented these respective traits. This combination
of the infinitely large and the infinitely little would
have amused him had it not been so irritating. She
allowed her feelings to overpower her judgment, and
she had lost her sense of proportion where he and his
affairs were concerned. *' Madame," wrote Carlyle,
summing up the position, " watches over all his interests
and liabilities and casualties great and small ; leaping
with her whole force into M. de Voltaire's scale of the
balance, careless of antecedences and consequences alike ;
flying, with the spirit of an angry brood-hen, at the face
of mastiffs, in defence of any feather that is M. de
Voltaire's." ^

It must be admitted on her side that Voltaire had done
many things which had justified her attitude. He was
impossibly indiscreet, child-like, emotional, and helpless
in many ways. He had needed some one to look after
his interests, and ought not to have blamed her for
abusing the privileges he had at one time been only too
ready to grant. In the disagreements of the present
they were seriously jeopardising their future relationship.
Voltaire was growing hardened to her appeals, Emilie
was exhausting her passion for him in much lamentation
and complaint.

The invitation to Cleve being too alluring to be dis-
regarded, Voltaire started off in the face of all Emilie's
upbraidings. He reached Moyland on September 1 1 ,
' Carlyle, History of Frederick the Great,

VOLTAIRE
{After an engraving by Alix)

A Libel and a Lawsuit 223

and found Frederick surrounded by his little Court,
which included Maupertuis, Algarotti and Keyserlingk.
" I was conducted into his Majesty's apartment," he
wrote, describing the interview in his Memoirs, " in
which I found nothing but four bare walls. By the
light of a candle I perceived a small truckle bed, two and
a half feet wide, upon which lay a little man, wrapped up
in a morning-gown of blue cloth. It was his Majesty,
who lay sweating and shaking beneath a beggarly coverlet
in a violent fit of ague. I made my bow, and began my
acquaintance by feeling his pulse as if I had been his
first physician."

Fortunately the attack was over by supper-time, and
the kindred spirits were able to discuss the immortality
of the soul, liberty, Plato, and a thousand subjects dear
to their heart with a freedom that Emilie's presence
would certainly have fettered.

Voltaire was in his element. He wrote his impressions
of the visit to Maupertuis. *' When we parted at Cleve,
and you went to the right and I to the left, I felt as
though I were at the last judgment, when the good God
separates the elect from the damned. Divus Fredericus
said to you, ' Sit at my right hand in the Paradise of
Berlin,' and to me, * Go, thou cursed one, to Holland.'
I am now in this phlegmatic hell, far from the divine
fire which animates the Fredericks, the Maupertuis, the
Algarottis."

The king, too, had been charmed. His favourite
poet had recited the admirable tragedy Mahomet, and
carried them all off their feet with the eloquence of it.
" The du Chatelet is lucky to have him," he wrote to
Jordan.

It was not till the close of 1740 that the real blow

224 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

fell upon the divine Emilie — that Voltaire escaped and
went to Berlin. In October he had returned to The
Hague and installed himself in the King's old palace,
still busying himself with the Anti-Machiavelli. Mme
du Chatelet went to Fontainebleau in the meantime.
She wished to look after Voltaire's interests at Court.
On the 2oth of the month the Emperor Charles VI died,
and Frederick's ideas of sustaining peace vanished in
smoke. Early in November Voltaire started for Reins-
berg, accompanied by Dumolard, librarian-elect to
Frederick. They passed through Herford, where the
carriage broke down, and Voltaire rode into the town
on horseback. He was attired far too gaily for equestrian
exercises. " Who goes there ? " said the sentinel at the
gate. " Don Quixote," responded Voltaire lightly.
From Reinsberg he went to Berlin, from Berlin to
Potsdam, and then through Wesel, Cleve, and The
Hague l^ack to Brussels, where Emilie had worked
herself into a state of hysteria and fever on account of
his absence. He had left Berlin on December 2 or 3.
He did not reach Brussels until January 2 or 3, owing
to bad roads and the floods, and contrary winds which
assailed him as he travelled by boat along the coast.

For twelve days whilst he was on the water Emilie
had had no news of him. She was mad with anxiety.
To the sorrow of his absence had been added the dread
of such a fatiguing, not to say perilous, voyage. But
at last he arrived. " All my troubles are over," she
wrote to d'Argental, " and he swears to me that it is
for ever." Meanwhile, Voltaire's version of his return
to Frederick was not quite so complimentary to the
divine Emilie. He had torn himself away from the
most delightful court in Europe for the sake of a law-

A Libel and a Lawsuit 225

suit, not at all " to sigh like a love-sick fool at the knees
of a woman " — even of a woman who had abandoned
everything for him, and to whom he owed every possible
obligation. He felt virtuous, too, because Frederick had
begged him to stay two days longer and this he had
refused. *' I do not say that from vanity," he wrote
to d'Argental ; " it is nothing to boast of ; but it is
necessary at least that my guardian angel should know
that I did my duty. Mme du Chatelet was never placed
more above kings."

Emilie found some crumbs of comfort in this. She
mentioned it to d'Argental, and added plainly her senti-
ments about Frederick. " He does not understand
certain attachments. One can only believe that he him-
self would care more for his friends. There is nothing
he has not done to retain ours, and I believe he is annoyed
with me. But I defy him to hate me more than I have
hated him during the last two months. There : you will
agree it is a pleasant rivalry," Poor Voltaire, however,
found it quite the reverse. He did not see the delight
of being fought over, and perhaps Emilie might have
relaxed her energetic hold had she heard the word ** duty '*
so often on his lips instead of " love."

As for Frederick, he smiled a meaning smile, and
wrote to Jordan that he thought the seduction of Berlin
was more than Voltaire could resist, the more so because
the marquise's purse was not so long as his own. Well,
well, kings must be allowed to be cynics, and Frederick
had just then paid well for his cynicism, because Voltaire
had sent him in a bill for his journey amounting to
thirteen hundred crowns — "not bad wages for a king's
jester ! "

But when his idol was determined to invade Silesia

226 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

Voltaire was a little disappointed, and Emilie rejoiced
at what she looked upon as a point gained to herself.
'* What does it matter how many provinces he takes,"
she cried, " as long as he does not rob me of my
happiness ! "

In the early months of 1741 Voltaire was working at
Mahomet^ which was performed at Lille, where he and
Emilie went to stay with Mme Denis in April. In May
they were back at Brussels. Towards the end of the
year they were in Paris. They paid a short visit to
Cirey in January, and then returned to Brussels.

One of the interests of this year was getting the fine
Hotel Lambert ready for occupation. It was situated
on the He Saint-Louis. Voltaire took his share of the
expenses. He described the house to Sir Everard
Falkener, who was then at Constantinople, saying that it
was one of the finest buildings in Paris, and placed
in a position worthy of the Bosphorus, for it looked
upon the river, and a long tract of land interspersed with
pretty houses was to be seen from every window.

The Hotel Lambert was built for M. Lambert de
Thorigny, President of the Chamber of Requests ; the
architect was Levau. One of the most beautiful features
of the interior was a monumental stairway. The first talk
of the purchase occurred in 1738, but it was not till the
end of March 1739 that the Hotel was bought from
the farmer-general Dupin at a cost of two hundred
thousand francs. Four years later the residence became
once more the property of its former owners. Mme du
Chatelet's feminine excitement at owning one of the most
beautiful hotels in Paris was but a short-lived reality. It
was not ready for occupation until 1742. On July 18
of that year President Henault wrote to Mme du

A Libel and a Lawsuit 227

Deffand : " Mme du Chatelet is in her new house."
She had then been there about three months, but by
the end of the same year she returned to the more
famiHar hotel in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. The
exact cause of this removal is not certain. Voltaire had
committed a new indiscretion, which perhaps had some-
thing to do with it. " The poor du Chatelet," wrote
President Henault to Mme du Deffand, " ought to have
a clause in the lease of all the houses she rents, that
she will fulfil every part of the agreement except when
Voltaire plays the fool during the period " ; and again :
" She appears to me to be overcome with grief at the
adventure of Voltaire."

The truth was that a letter was being talked of in
Paris, " as mad a one as possible," which Voltaire had
written to the King of Prussia. In it he expressed
approval of Frederick's decision to make peace. All
Paris disapproved, because Frederick's action was very
anti-French. Voltaire, in his usual nonchalant manner,
swore that he knew nothing about it ; he had, it was
true, answered the King of Prussia's letters, but no one,
not even the fair Emilie, had seen what he had written,
and there was nothing in it resembling the one every one
was discussing. He was accused of lack of patriotism.
Mme de Mailly, who was usually good-natured, gave
vent to uncontrollable anger, and demanded that he
should be punished as a public example. Voltaire
replied to her with a demand for an interview to prove
to her that he was still a good citizen. All this had
happened whilst Voltaire was on the verge of a great
success with Mahomet. It considerably prejudiced his
interests. The police reported the affair in August :

*' The tragedy which Voltaire was to have produced this

228 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

week gives cause for public reflection on this author.
It appears that he is generally decried. People are
persuaded that the letter to the King of Prussia, which
he repudiated, was certainly written by him. They cite
M. de la Reyniere, who has had it in his hands, and who
gave it to M. le Cardinal.^ They report that Voltaire,
having been to exculpate himself in the eyes of Mme de
Mailly, was very badly received, and that all those who
have protected him so far have not wished to be mixed
up in this affair. In spite of the protection of Mme la
Duchesse de Luxembourg, they say she has forbidden
hirh her door, as well as all other people of importance
have done. Mme du Chatelet is regarded with eyes
equally severe. They think it extraordinary that a
woman of quality should lead by the hand a man who
has become the object of general distrust. They say
derisively that it will be well to guard against seeing
her — that she has too much wit, and that she can
remain with Voltaire, who ought to be all the world
to her. They will no longer spare her on the score of
gallantry."

Nor was Voltaire's play spared. It was summarily
withdrawn after four performances, being declared in-
famous, wicked, and blasphemous, no doubt through
the agency of the usual cabal, of which Piron and
Desfontaines were active members. Voltaire, disappointed
and ill, departed suddenly for Brussels on the 22nd,
accompanied by Mme du Chatelet. They were still
mystified as to how the contents of the unfortunate
letter had become public property. Mme du Deffand
believed a supernatural agency had been at work.
Frederick blamed the post-office officials at Brussels,

1 Fleury.

A Libel and a Lawsuit 229

but the truth was that the letter had been opened and
copied at Paris.

In September Voltaire paid a rush visit to Frederick
at Aix-la-Chapelle. As he had been ill, Emilie for once
encouraged him in taking a short holiday. " He did
not abuse his liberty," she wrote to d'Argental on
October 10, "because he left on Monday and returned
on Saturday." The king gave him as magnificent
presents as before. He also offered him a fine house
in Berlin, and a pretty estate. Voltaire replied that he
preferred to dwell in the second story of Mme du
Chatelet's house.

The following month she had an astonishing piece
of news to communicate to the same correspondent.
"The King of Prussia has written to M. de Voltaire
to beg him to come to Berlin at the end of November
or beginning of December. He has refused ; but I
assure you that it does not appear to me to have the
merit of a sacrifice."

In the spring of 1743 Mme du Chatelet completed the
arrangements for the marriage of her daughter Pauline to
the elderly and none too charming Due de Montenegro-
Caraffa. Voltaire described him as " a Neapolitan with
a big nose, a thin face, and a hollow chest." The
marriage had been discussed for some time previously.
Mme du Chatelet wrote to Frederick in May 1743, a
few weeks after the wedding, to inform him that it
had taken place. She said shrewdly that if her prayers
had been heard, her daughter would have spent the
remainder of her life at /;/; Court, and that that would
have been a happiness of which she would have been
envious.

Within a month or two she exclaimed openly that the

14

230 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

King of Prussia was a very dangerous rival as far as she
was concerned. Voltaire, having failed to obtain a seat
in the Academy, and his tragedy Julius Casar having
been refused representation, made these things an excuse
for secret negotiations with Frederick, and left Paris on
June 14, 1743, to carry out a special mission in Berlin.
Emilie was in despair. The police report said that " all
Paris was laughing at the tears which Mme du Chatelet
shed on learning of Voltaire's resolution to go to
Prussia " ; and she wept still more because she did not
receive many letters from him.

Voltaire described the reason of his journey in his
Memoirs :

*' The house of Austria rose from its ashes into new
life ; France was pressed hard by her and by England ;
and we had no resource left but in the King of Prussia,
who had led us into this war, and who abandoned us
in our necessity. They conceived the design of sending
secretly to sound the intentions of this monarch, and
try if he was not in a humour to prevent the storm."

Richelieu and the Duchesse de Chateauroux conceived
the idea of sending Voltaire ; the king fell in with it, and
M. Amelot, Minister for Foreign Affairs, agreed. Voltaire
was charged to hasten his departure. He wrote to
Frederick that he had been persecuted by the Bishop
of Mirepoix in the affair of the Academy, and that he
desired to take refuge with a king. Boyer always signed
himself I'anc. de Mirepoix. Voltaire read the abbrevia-
tion for Vancien as V dne. His revilings upon the head
of the " ass of Mirepoix " were fast and furious.

Voltaire had the pleasure of revenging himself upon
the bishop who had helped to exclude him from the
Academy by enjoying a delightful journey, and serving

A Libel and a Lawsuit 231

the king and the State. Maurepas, who ruled Amelot,
also entered into the project with warmth.

" The most singular part of this business was that
we were obliged to let Mme du Ch^telet into the secret,"
wrote Voltaire in his Memoirs. " There was not, in her
opinion, anything in the world so unmanly, or so abomin-
able, as for a man to leave a woman to go and live with
a king ; and she would have made a mos<- dreadful
tumult had they not agreed that, to appease her, she
should be informed of the reason, and that the letters
should all pass through her hands." If she was aware
of the wire-pulling that had led to the journey she
greatly disapproved of, others were not. A letter from
Mme de Tencin on this subject throws a confused light
upon the negotiations, and a clearer one upon the
relations between herself and .Emilie. It was written
to Richelieu on June 17, 1743.

" It is necessary that I should give you a confidence,
of which I beg you to guard the secret. I should not
like to grieve Mme du Chatelet, and I should do so
deeply if what I am going to tell you were divulged
by some one who could have heard it from her. This
is it. They have reported that Voltaire was exiled, or
at least that, in the fear of being so, he took flight. But
the truth of the matter is that Amelot and Maurepas
sent him to Prussia to sound the intentions of the King
of Prussia on our behalf. . . . Mme du Chatelet would
tell you this assuredly, if you were here ; but would
not write it, in the fear that her letters might be read.
She believes that Voltaire will be lost if the secret
escapes through any fault of hers. . . . Above all, let
Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet believe that you have
learnt of this matter through the pet its cabinets.'"

232 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

Doubtless Richelieu laughed in his sleeve when he
received this effusion. The chief cause of it was far
from laughing.

" I am in inexpressible affliction," wrote Mme du
Chatelet to d'Argenson on August 28. "It is fearful,
after three months of trouble, to be no further advanced
than on the first day." She had been trying to get
Caesar played, in the hope that such an event would
hasten Voltaire's return. On October 10 she wrote to
d'Argental from Lille, that she had at last received a
letter from Voltaire, but that it was only four lines long.
" It is clear from this letter that he has not written me
for a fortnight. He does not speak of his return. What
things to reproach him with, and how far his heart seems
from mine ! " And then she said she was counting upon
him, and upon his wife and his brother, to tell Voltaire
how barbarous it was of him to expose her to such proofs
of her love. If he was not costing her her life, her
health was certainly suffering. Such a test was affecting
it noticeably. "But if only I can see him again," she
concluded, " all my griefs and ills will be cured."

Mme de Tencin wrote again on November 18 to the
duke that Mme du Chatelet had completely lost her
head, that she had gone to Lille in order to be more in
touch with news from Voltaire, and that she felt quite
sorry for her afflictions. " I shall not speak any more of
the princess to you," she concluded ; " it won't do to
quarrel with her for the reason I have given you."
Mme de Tencin, who was above all an intriguer, was
intent on discovering something about the negotiations
with Prussia from Mme du Chatelet, the " singular
princess " who was " quite mad," but amused and
irritated her by turns. She tried to make friends with

A Libel and a Lawsuit 233

her and worm out her secret, but all to no purpose ;
the du Chatelet and her lover remained bound to
Maurepas, and knew no better than to be his slaves.

In the midst of feasts, operas, and suppers the secret
negotiation went forward at Berlin. But Frederick was too
shrewd to make promises. At last he said : " Let France
declare war against England, and I will march." Voltaire
then returned to France. He had been away five months.
Where was his promise only to stay ten days at the
utmost ? He had remained a fortnight at Bayreuth, *' a
dehcious retreat " ; he had been well entertained at
Brunswick "with twenty dishes and admirable wines";
indeed, his journey had appeared celestial — a " passing
from planet to planet." Moreover he had spent an extra
fortnight at Berlin on his return journey. " Perhaps he
would spend his whole life there," was Emilie's complaint
to d'Argental. " I should feel sure of it if 1 did not
know that his affairs of necessity call him back to Paris.
He only wrote me four lines in a cabaret without explain-
ing his reasons for going to Bayreuth, nor for his long
silence," For two months she had had to learn of his
whereabouts from ambassadors and gazettes. She had
been dreadfully ill — she had had fever, a pain between her
shoulders and in her right side, and a racking cough.
She believed her chest was weak, and that she might
die of consumption like poor Mme de Richelieu, who
had succumbed to the same complaint in 1740. Her
woes were endless, her letters a long sigh of reproach
and grief at Voltaire's careless disregard of her feelings.
" I have been cruelly paid for all thut I did at Fontaine-
bleau," she wrote in another letter. " I procured for
M. de Voltaire an honourable return to his own country.
I reopened the way to the Academy for him ; in short,

234 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

in three weeks I undid all the harm that he had done
in six years." And all this zeal and proof of her attach-
ment had only resulted in this horrible journey to Berlin.
He did not deserve to set eyes on her alive again. This
idea filled her with self-pity. What fearful grief Voltaire
would experience when the intoxication with which the
Court of Berlin had inspired him should die out and
nothing be left to him ! She could not bear to think that
some day the memory of her would be his torture.

Voltaire, it must be confessed, had thoroughly enjoyed
his diplomatic role. It had been one long fete. " Through
all," he wrote, *' my secret mission went forward." But
he was not to reap the reward. Soon after his return
M. Amelot fell into bad odour with the reigning favour-
ite, Mme de Chateauroux, and was dismissed. Voltaire
was included in his disgrace. Emilie, disappointing as
it must have been, was inured to many worries of a
similar nature, and hardly realised this one in her joy
at the return of her poet. In November they were
together in Paris, from thence they went to Brussels for
another spell of law-suit, and then, in the early spring, to
Cirey — en Filicite — where all was bright again. " I am
once more in charming Cirey," she wrote to d'Argental;
*' it is more charming than ever. Your friend appears
enchanted to be here." The sun was shining very
brightly indeed, for the time being, on the love affairs
of the marquise and the philosopher. President Henault,
who spent a long day with them in July, bore witness to
their bliss. He was on his way to Plombieres, and came
in response to an invitation from Voltaire.

" I went through Cirey, where Mme du Chatelet
and Voltaire invited me. I found them alone, except
for a pere minime, a great geometrician and professor

A Libel and a Lawsuit 235

of philosophy at Rome. If one wished to draw a
delightful picture of a delicious retreat, an asylum
of peace, of union, of calmness of soul, of amenity, of
talents, of reciprocity of esteem, of the attractions of
philosophy joined to the charms of poetry, one should
paint Cirey. A building simple and elegant de rez-de-
chaussee^ with cabinets filled with mechanical and chemical
instruments. Voltaire in his bed beginning, continuing
and completing works of all kinds." The pere minime
whom he found on the second floor was Father Fran9ois
Jacquier, who a few years earlier had published Newton's
Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy with com-
ments. He had gone to Cirey to finish a scientific
treatise. Henault also described his pleasant visit to Cirey
to Comte d'Argenson; and Emilie wrote to d'Argental,
" I assure you that I was very pleased to show my house
to the president, and that I enjoyed the astonishment
it gave him."

They had had a reading of the Princesse de Navarre^
which Voltaire was writing for the marriage of the
Dauphin. " The president and I cried," wrote Emilie,
describing the beauties of the third act. Voltaire did
not feel so convinced about the success of the piece.
" It will make the dauphin and dauphine yawn," he said
humorously to d'Argental ; " but it may amuse you,
for Mme du Chatelet likes it, and you are worthy to
think as she does." The piece gave him an enormous
amount of trouble. " How to amuse them ? How to
make them laugh ? " he had written of the royalties
for whose entertainment he was providing. " I to be
working for a Court ! I am afraid of writing nothing
but nonsense. One only writes well when one delights
in the choice of a subject."

236 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Voltaire and Emilie remained at Cirey till September,
the former polishing and re-polishing the Princesse de
Navarre. Then they came up to Champs-sur-Marne, a
place within five leagues of Paris, for the celebrations
which took place on the king's recovery from an
illness.

On September 14 Voltaire wrote to Renault to tell him
of a characteristic little action of Mme du Chatelet's, and
that all unwittingly he had done her a great service and
saved her much discomfort. They had been driving
into Paris, and between the Croix des Petits Champs and
the Hotel de Charost had come upon a block of some
two thousand carriages waiting in three rows to proceed.
There were cries from two or three thousand pedestrians
among the carriages, drunken men, hand-to-hand fights,
" fountains of wine and tallow pouring on to every one,"
the mounted patrol increasing the confusion ; and to make
the matter worse. His Royal Highness Louis Philippe,
Due de Chartres, was returning calmly to the Palais -
Royal with his great carriages, his guards, his pages ;
and nobody could advance or retreat until three o'clock
in the morning. Their driver had never been in Paris
before. Mme du Chatelet was covered with diamonds.
She stepped out, crying for help, pushed through the
crowd without being robbed or mobbed, entered Henault's
house, sent for a roast chicken from the cook-shop at the
corner, and, concluded Voltaire, " we drank your health
gaily at your own house, to which all the world wishes
you would return."

At the beginning of January 1745 Voltaire went to
Versailles, and stayed at the Hotel de Villeray in order
to be present at the rehearsals of La Princesse de
Navarre. " Don't you pity a poor devil," he wrote

A Libel and a Lawsuit 237

to CidevilJe, " who is the king's fool at the age of fifty,
and who is more embarrassed with musicians, decorators,
comedians, singers, dancers, than eight or nine electors
would be in making a German Caesar." This had a
reference to the death of Charles VIL "I run from
Paris to Versailles, I make verses in the post-chaise. It
is necessary to praise the king highly, the dauphine
prettily, the royal family gently, please the whole court
and not displease the town."

The representation took place on February 23 in a
specially constructed hall. The king and all the royal
family were present. All the arrangements for this
magnificent fete had been carried out by Richelieu. On
the whole it was a success. Voltaire obtained more from
it than he had hoped : the brevet of historiographer of
France was delivered to him on April i, 1745, and
he received a pension of 2,000 livres as well as the
promise of a post as Gentleman of the Chamber as soon
as a vacancy should occur.

No sooner was Voltaire appointed historiographer than
he set to work on his Histoire de la Guerre de 1741.
This was remodelled later for the Precis du Steele de
Louis XV.

Only one other event of importance occurred in the
spring of 1745. Mme du Chatelet's son had been taken
ill with the smallpox, and Voltaire accompanied Emilie to
Chalons to nurse him. *' That is all one can do," he
wrote. " One is only a spectator of the ignorant tyranny
of the doctors." However, Voltaire knew a good deal of
the dread disease, and more than twenty years earlier had
written a long letter of advice on the subject to Emilie's
father. Now, by dint of much lemon-water and other
common-sense measures he succeeded in saving her son.

238 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Alas ! that it was for no better fate than the scaffold
during the Revolution.

In the autumn, as usual, Mme du Chatelet accom-
panied the Court to Fontainebleau, and Voltaire went
too. De Luynes, in his Journal, tells a story of Emilie's
ill-timed arrogance.

" The queen arrived between six and seven o'clock,
the king three-quarters of an hour later from Choisy.
The queen had three carriages, without counting those
of the equerries. Mme de Luynes and Mme de Villars,
Mme la Duchesse de Boufflers and Mme de Bouzols
were in the queen's carriage. Mmes de Montauban,
de Fitz-James, de Flavacourt, and du Chatelet were in
the others. Mme du Chatelet had begged the queen a
few days previously to have the honour of accompanying
her on this journey. She told Mme de Luynes after-
wards that she feared her health would not permit her
to take advantage of the queen's kindness ; but at
length, the evening before the journey, she sent word
that she would certainly be at Versailles before the de-
parture of Her Majesty. She arrived in effect a quarter
of an hour before Marie Leczinska stepped into her
carriage. They say that Mme du Chatelet (Breteuil),
puffed up with the grandeur which pertains to the house
of du Chatelet, and the prerogatives which she regards as
her due, desires to be considered first on all occasions
and to take first place. No one could have more ^"-
tellectual gifts than she, nor more scientific knowledge.
She knows even the most abstract sciences, and has com-
posed a book which has been published. She is so clever
that she sometimes has fits of abstraction, and the prejudice
against her makes people attribute her preoccupation to
haughtiness, of which she is frequently accused.

EMILIE GABRIELLE DU CHATELET

{From an old engraving)

239

A Libel and a Lawsuit 241

" The queen started immediately after Mass, Mme
du Chatelet stepped forward first of all for the second
carriage. She stepped in and placed herself in it com-
fortably, then asked the other three ladies whether they
would get in. These three ladies, shocked by her manner,
left her alone in the second carriage and went into the
third. Mme du Chatelet, slightly embarrassed, wished
to get out again to join the other ladies. The valet told
her the third carriage was full. So she travelled the
whole way alone."

This is a delightfully characteristic glimpse of the
divine Emilie. She wished greatly to repair her error,
and begged Richelieu to ask Mme de Luynes to express
her excuses to the Queen and try to explain away the
awkwardness of her behaviour. The queen received
Mme du Chatelet's excuses kindly, and no more was said
of the affair. But on November 19, when the return
journey was made, Mme du Chatelet took good care not
to be alone in a carriage again.

Early in the following year an important addition was
made to Mme du Chatelet's household in the person of
Longchamp, who left memoirs which are valuable if not
always reliable dealing with the more intimate aspect of
the life of the divine Emilie and her poet.

This same Longchamp, who later became secretary,
valet, and copyist to Voltaire, was at first employed by
Mme du Chatelet. His sister had been her maid, and
she suggested the post of maitre d^ hotel for her brother.
Longchamp arrived in Paris in January 1746, and went
to Mme du Chatelet's house, where he was expected.
She rang for him as well as her maid when she dressed
in the morning, and this offended his sense of propriety.
He was not easily shocked, but according to his views

242 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

she was not sufficiently circumspect. His sister assured
him that her mistress hardly regarded a man-servant as
a human being, and that he was to feel no embarrassment.
When it came to fetching boiling water for her bath,
however, and she took no more notice of him than if he
had been the kettle that contained it, he decided she had
gone too far, and declared that he could never accustom
himself to such freedom on the part of the mistresses he
served.

For five or six months he remained in Mme du Ch^te-
let's household, but did not find the work sufficient to
keep him fully occupied. Her chief meal in the day was
supper — indeed, it was the only substantial one — and for
this she was often out. Her dejeuner consisted of coffee
and cream with a roll. There was very little indeed for
her maitre d'hotel to provide, and not much cooking in
the house. During the months of his service Mme du
Chatejet only gave ten or twelve supper-parties, and then
there were not many guests, but few dishes and less wine.
Nor was the cellar as well furnished as Longchamp would
have liked to see it. The wine-merchant sent in a couple
of dozen bottles at a time, half of it red wine, misnamed
Burgundy — it was manufactured in Paris — and the other
half white, styled champagne, and no more genuine than
the other. When this quantity was finished it was
supplied afresh.

" My chief work," continued Longchamp, " was to
provide other things for the household, such as wood>
light, and forage. I was supposed to see that nothing
was wanting in the rooms, offices, or stables. Madame
did not supply food for her servants, but gave them
money instead. I had to pay them every fortnight — her
coachman, her two lackeys, and her cook at twenty sous

A Libel and a Lawsuit 243

per day ; her Swiss, her m^id, and myself at thirty sous
per day. Besides, I had the remains from the table,
which I shared with my sister. I was soon tired of the
monotonous life I led in the service of Mme du Chatelet,
where the greater part of the day I had to be idle. My
duties did not take nearly all my time. I sought for
some occupation which would dispel my boredom, and I
found one I liked very well. M. de Voltaire lodged in
the same house, as well as his secretary. I struck up
a friendship with the latter. When the work of the
household was done, and I had nothing else to do, I
went up to the secretary's room. He gave me works
of M. de Voltaire to read, and seeing that I wrote very
well, he begged me to help him in copying out the
author's MSS. This greatly interested me, and when
Mme du Chatelet was from home, which happened fre-
quently, I passed almost entire days in this occupation.
M. de Voltaire found me there one day, and knowing
that I was attached to the service of Mme du Chatelet
and a dweller in the house, he did not in the least object.
He examined my writing, and I perceived that it pleased
him. . . . But at the end of a few months I had to drop
this occupation, as well as to leave Mme du Chatelet's
employ. I was hurt by an injustice she had done my
sister, and made her leave as well. Some weeks later
there was an even greater loss to her household. It
was when the journey to Fontainebleau took place.
Mme du Chatelet usually went there, for she had the
right to a tabouret^ and took part in the queen's card
games. At the moment when she was ready to start for
Fontainebleau, all her servants left, because they said
living was dearer there than at Paris. They complained
of her economy and their low wages. Only a maid she

244 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

had had for a few days stayed with her. She had put
M. de Voltaire's servants on the same footing as her
own, and they left also. As an additional trouble, his
secretary had been taken violently ill, and had left."

It was then that Voltaire sent for Longchamp and
asked him if he would go to Fontainebleau, and appointed
him to be his secretary.

This happened in the October of 1746. Voltaire
remained unmoved by these domestic upheavals. The
presence of Longchamp insured a continuance of his
work, he had won a seat in the Academy in the spring
of that year, he had been appointed Gentleman of the
Chamber to Louis XV, and he was the favourite of
Mme de Pompadour. His heart was therefore content.
Life had assumed a new and successful aspect. Emilie
shared in his triumphs. Thus passed the spring of 1747.
Perhaps the new honours were found to be a little exact-
ing. It was something of a relief when in August an
invitation arrived from the Duchesse du Maine, inviting
them both to her incomparable Court.

CHAPTER VIII

SCEAUX AND ANET

THE Duchesse du Maine had a kind heart. She
shielded Mme du DefFand when the breach
between herself and her husband imperilled her reputa-
tion ; she afforded Voltaire a refuge and sanctuary when
he offended against the canons of good taste and had to
flee from Fontainebleau ; she welcomed the divine Emilie
at Sceaux and Anet, in spite of her exacting demands on
her hospitality, and she generally allowed herself to be
imposed upon by her friends, asking nothing from them
except to be spared as much ennui as possible if they did
not contribute actively to her amusement.

She was an odd little figure, the Duchesse du Maine,
but she played no inconsiderable part in the social affairs
of France during the first half of the eighteenth century.
In appearance, in habits, and in character she was ex-
ceptional. Her court was one of the most frivolous of
the period, though not so corrupt as some ; it had pre-
tensions to preciosity, and only succeeded in being finical ;
it was formed to be a model of fashion and culture, and
was in reality a carnival in which glitter and tinsel did
duty for more solid qualities. It was divided into two
distinct sections by an outburst of political activity on the
part of its hostess and her husband, which ended in the
imprisonment of both, and made a break of more than

two years in Mme du Maine's social life. Mme du

245

246 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Chatelet played a part in the second half of the court,
which was as interesting, though not as brilliant and
luxurious, as the earlier period.

The inception of the Court of Sceaux may be said to
have taken rise in a not unnatural desire on the part
of the Due du Maine to take to himself a wife. He
appealed to the King, his father, in the first instance, and
Louis XIV told him frankly that he thought it highly
undesirable that his legitimated sons should establish a
household of their own. Then he confided in Mme
de Maintenon, whose favourite he had been ever since
she received him in charge from the hands of his mother,
Mme de Montespan. A discussion took place, and owing
to the favourite's influence the Due du Maine so far
made his point as to be allowed to choose one of the
daughters of the Prince de Conde. Three were eligible
at that moment — Anne- Marie- Victoire, Mile de Cond6,
Anne-Louise-Benedicite, Mile de Charolais, and Marie-
Anne, Mile d'Enghien. Their names were far more
imposing than their persons. They were all exceedingly
tiny, almost dwarfs. The Duchesse de Bourbon, their
eldest sister, who had had the good fortune to outgrow
the others, called them poupees du sang. There was little
enough to choose between the three of them. One had
a scrap more intellect, one an inch more height than the
others. The Due du Maine thought he had quite enough
intellect for two, and chose the inch, which belonged to
Mile de Charolais.

If we are to believe Elisabeth-Charlotte de Baviere, he
did not choose very wisely. " Mme du Maine," she said,
" is not taller than a child ten years old, and is not well
made." She had one arm shorter than the other, but it
was not for the Due du Maine to complain of that, for

Sceaux and Anet 247

his own legs were not a good pair. " To appear tolerably
well," continued Madame, " it is necessary for her to keep
her mouth shut ; for when she opens it, she opens it
very wide, and shows her irregular teeth. She is not
very stout, uses a great quantity of paint, has fine eyes, a
white skin, and fair hair. If she were well disposed she
might pass, but her wickedness is insupportable." The
sting of the description is in its tail ; perhaps devilry
would have been a more appropriate word to use than
wickedness, for Mme du Maine's ever-changing moods
made any continuous evil impossible for her.

The marriage was referred to in a letter written by
Mme de Sevigne in April 1685, but did not take place
until March 1692, when Mile de Charolais won her
emancipation through a wedding which had all the eclat
due to that of a king's son. She meant to claim as
much attention wherever she went, for the rest of her
natural existence. As Duchesse du Maine she cast aside
every Hmitation, and appeared in her true character, the
predominating quality of which was a sublime daring.
Her first sign of revolt was against the influence of Mme
de Maintenon, who had always ruled the duke. She
railed against piety, and was free — for piety was essential
to any one with whom Mme de Maintenon cared to have
dealings of any kind. Then the duchess went a step
further : she showed her contempt for all the forms
of etiquette which obtained at Court, refused to play
second fiddle to anybody, subjected many who were of
importance to snubs and indignities, her own husband
being treated most shamefully of all, and, in short,
established a reputation for autocracy of the worst kind.
Ability and intellect were not wanting to support this
attitude. The Due du Luynes' estimate of her was,

15

248 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

perhaps, too flattering. He said : *' She has a superior
and universal mind, strong lungs, and excellent eloquence.
She has studied the most abstract sciences — philosophy,
physics and astronomy. She was able to discuss any
topic like a person who was well informed and has good
choice of language. Her voice was loud and strong, and
she could converse in the same high tone for three or
four hours without fatigue. Novels and light literature
interested her equally." He omits to mention, however,
the erratic moods, which destroyed much of the value of
these gifts.

Mme de Staal, who had the best of all opportunities
for studying her mistress, draws a less prepossessing
picture : " Her nature is impetuous and unequal. She
flies into a temper and is distressed, grows angry and
is appeased twenty times in a quarter of an hour. Often
she rouses herself from the deepest melancholy, and gives
way to a fit of gaiety, in which she is most amiable. Her
humour is noble, keen and light, her memory is extra-
ordinary. She speaks eloquently, but with too much
vehemence and prolixity. It was impossible to carry on
a conversation with her ; she did not care to be under-
stood, she only wished to be heard. Nor did she take
into account the wit, the talents, the defects and the
absurdities of those who surrounded her. They said of
her that she had not only never left her house, but that
she had not even put her head out of the window.

" She spent her days in devising pleasures and amuse-
ments of every kind. She spared neither care nor
expense to render her court agreeable and brilliant. In
short, Mme la Duchesse du Maine is of a temperament
of which it may be said, without exceeding the truth,
that it is composed of much good and much evil. She

THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE
Who held her brilliant court at Sceaux and Anet

249

Sceaux and Anet 251

has haughtiness without pride, extravagance without
generosity, religion without piety, a great opinion of
herself without contempt for others, much erudition
without much wisdom, and all the outward appearance of
friendship without the inner sentiment."

Intelligent as she was, Mme du Maine's vision was
peculiarly circumscribed. She regarded Sceaux as the
centre of the universe, herself as its deity, and every-
thing outside as of relatively little importance. She first
established her court at Sceaux in 1700, the Due du
Maine having bought the estate from the Marquis de
Seignelay. The chateau had been built by Perrault for
Colbert, and was beautifully situated amidst woods, water
and pasture-land. Mme du Maine had previously
gathered her circle of friends round her in a more modest
establishment at Clagny, but she found Versailles too
near for her comfort and privacy, she was overshadowed
and supervised by the Court, and was glad when she was
able to move to an atmosphere less laden with the con-
ventional *' Thou shalts and thou shalt nots."

Once installed at Sceaux, the Duchess surrounded her-
self not only with kindred spirits, but with every delight
and luxury that money could devise or buy. She made a
museum and filled it with sculptures and valuable porce-
lain ; she had a menagerie with strange birds and beasts.
Her card-room was a marvel of artistic colouring and
comfort, and a boudoir in the upper storeys, to which
she ascended in a kind of primitive lift, and which was
called the Chartreuse^ was as daintily and extravagantly
furnished as any great lady's rooms in the whole of
France. Here she sat, a jewel of many shining facets,
in a casket lined with softest satin of gayest hues. And
here her satellites composed the games of wit and hazard,

252 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

the poems, plays and music, the airy nothings of senti-
ment and sensation, which were inspired by the sight of
miles of verdant country stretching before the windows —
nature on the one hand, and, by every refinement of
culture and civilisation obtainable — art on the other.

Every imaginable form of diversion was indulged in
by turns or all together. No guest was admitted who
did not sympathise with and share in the worship of
merriment. This inviolable rule was responsible for the
exclusion of the host himself from his wife's gatherings.
It was feared that the Due du Maine might cast a
shadow of gravity where only levity was desirable. He
was so much under his wife's thumb, however, that he
hardly dared to let his shadow fall anywhere without
her express permission. It was said that she led hirti a
dog's life. Saint-Simon's account of their relations was
probably exaggerated, but it contains too many side-
lights on their respective characters not to be worth
quoting :

" With the mind, I will not say of an angel, but
of the devil, whom he resembled in doing service to
none, but ill turns to all, in deep-laid schemes, in
arrogant pride, in profoundest falsity, in artifices without
number, in feigned characteristics beyond all estimate,
yet pleasing, with the art of amusing, diverting, charming
when he wished to charm ; he [the Due du Maine] was
a gifted poltroon in heart and mind, and being so, a most
dangerous poltroon. . . . He was, moreover, pushed
on by a woman of the same stamp, whose mind — and
she had a great deal — had long been spoiled and cor-
rupted by the reading of novels and plays ; to a passion
for which she abandoned herself so much that she spent
whole years in learning dramas by heart and playing

Sceaux and Anet 253

them publicly herself. She had courage to excess ; she
was enterprising, audacious, passionate, knowing nothing
but the immediate passion, and making everything bend
to that.

" Indignant against the prudence and precautions
of her husband, which she called miserable weakness,
she constantly reproached him for the honour she had
done him in marrying him ; she forced him to be supple
and humble before her by treating him like a negro,
and she ruined him from top to bottom without his
daring to say a word, bearing everything in his great
terror lest her head should give way altogether. Though
he hid a great deal from her^ the ascendancy she had
over him was incredible ; and it was by force of blows
that she drove him wherever she would."

The vagaries in which Mme du Maine delighted, and
from which her husband shrank in undisguised distaste,
were, in the first decade of the new century, nothing
more dangerous than picnics a la Decameron, water-
parties by candle-light, midnight revels called grandes
nuits, and a fantastic mimicry of chivalric orders entitled
" L'Ordre de la Mouche a Miel." Among those who
participated in these extravagances were, first and fore-
most, Malezieu and Genest, who were poets en titre to
the ducal court. The former was the more active of the
two. He composed numberless verses and impromptus.
In earlier years he had been tutor to the Due du Maine,
and had taught the Due de Bourgogne mathematics.

" When M. le Due du Maine married," wrote
Fontenelle, *' M. de Malezieu found a fresh career
awaiting him. A young princess, eager to learn, and
capable of learning anything, found in her household
one who could teach her everything, and she was not

254 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

slow to attach him to her, particularly by those infallible
means which princes always find at their disposal — namely,
the esteem which she made him feel for her. In order
to make her familiar with the best authors of antiquity,
whom many people prefer to admire than to read, he
translated for her on the spot, in the presence of the
whole court, Virgil, Terence, Sophocles, Euripides ; and
later, translations were no longer necessary except for
portions of these authors. We spoke also of the highest
sciences, into the regions of which she wished the same
guide to conduct her. But we do not care to reveal
the secrets of so great a princess. It is true that one
could easily divine the names of these sciences, but it was
impossible to guess how far she penetrated them, . . .
M. de Malezieu also had a very different duty to perform
for her, and in this he succeeded no less. The princess
loved to give fetes, diversions, entertainments, and
theatricals, but she desired that ideas should enter into
them, and invention, and that the pleasures should not
be without wit. M. de Malezieu used his less serious
talents In planning and organising fetes, and he was him-
self an actor. Verses were a necessary part of ingenuous
amusements. He furnished them, and they always
possessed fire, good taste, and appropriateness, although
he was not given much time. He was equally clever
at Impromptus, and he contributed largely in establishing
that language at Sceaux, In which genius combined with
gaiety to produce sudden little outbursts of enthusiasm."
Genest's talents were of a somewhat different order
from those of Malezieu, and his most striking feature was
a prominent nose, which gave rise to an anagram on his
name, anagrams and acrostics, puzzles and forfeits, being,
intellectual food greatly appreciated by the habitu6s of

Sccaux and Anet 255

Sceaux. Charles Genest was metamorphosed into " Eh !
c'est large nes." Genest was not only a poet, but a man
of letters, of the sword, and of the long robe, and his
humour was so jovial, his nature so unspoiled and happy,
that he was installed in the Sceaux circle as a permanency,
and contributed to the grandes nuits in the role both of
composer and actor. Vaubrun, who was responsible for
originating these entertainments, was described by Mme
du Deffand.

" The Abbe de Vaubrun," she wrote, " measures three
cubits on his right side and two and a half on his left,
which renders his gait rather irregular. He carries his
head high, and boldly displays a countenance which at
first surprises, but which is not so displeasing as the
oddness of his features would lead one to suppose. His
eyes may be said to be the exact contrary of his mind.
They have more depth than surface. . . . No one can
display more gallantry when making the most unmeaning
compliment."

Of this, one of her most devoted courtiers, the
Duchesse du Maine, remarked that he was the most
sublime of all frivolous beings.

Another of the Abbes was Chaulieu, whom Voltaire
called " the first of the neglected poets." He fell in
love with Mile de Launay, and wrote verses to her,
beginning

Thou, Launay, hast in high degree

The spell all hearts to subjugate,

Within thy very faults lies subtle witchery.

Chaulieu was always well received at Sceaux, though
he played a more important part at Saint-Maur, one of
the seats of the Condes, where he made verses for the
duke, as Malezieu did for his sister, the Duchesse du

2^6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Maine, who paid periodical visits there, talking many of
her friends in her train. The court was not a very-
stationary one. First one of the guests would play host
or hostess, then another. Once a year there were visits
to Chatenay, the home of Malezieu ; Mme de Croissy
gave dinners, and Mme de Polignac invited every one
to Saint-Ouen for a collation. President de Mesmes, of
whom Henault said, " I have never known a more
agreeable man nor one of better style" (they used to
drink their morning chocolate together), had a fine house
at Cramaille, where he welcomed the duchess's friends.
The Due de Nevers entertained at Passy or at Fresne,
Mme de la Ferte at Chilly, Mme d'Artagnan at Plessis-
Piquet ; and when every one was tired of country-life
and wanted to be in town, the Duchesse du Maine allowed
them to gather at the Arsenal in Paris.

A great favourite at the court was "le plus beau
parleur de son temps," the compromising Abbe de
Polignac, whose name was coupled with those of many
ladies, and with whom the Duchesse de Bourgogne flirted
more openly than was discreet. He was a great courtier,
and won Louis XIV's favour. When he was walking
with the king in the gardens at Marly it began to rain,
and the king remarked civilly that the Abbe's coat was
not much protection. " That is nothing, sire," remarked
Polignac ; " the rain of Marly wets no one."

"He was a tall man, very well made," wrote Saint-
Simon of Polignac, " with a handsome face, much clever-
ness, and above all, grace and polished manners, all kinds
of knowledge, a most agreeable way of expressing himself,
a touching voice, a gentle eloquence, insinuating, manly,
exact in terms, charming in style, a gift of speech that
was wholly his own ; all about him was original and

Sceaux and Anet 257

persuasive. No one knew more of belles-lettres ; delight-
ful in putting abstract things within common reach ;
amusing in narratives, possessed of a smattering of all
the arts, all the manufactures, all the professions. In
whatever belonged to his own, that is, learning and
the ecclesiastical calling, he was rather less versed. He
wanted to please valet and maid, as well as master and
mistress. He was always aiming to touch the heart, the
mind, and the eyes." Polignac was the author of V Anti-
Lucrece, and was exiled when the Due and Duchesse du
Maine were imprisoned. He was quite as great a favourite
in the second period at Sceaux as the first.

The most famous poets of the court were Fontenelle
and Lamotte. The former outlived his hostess, and
died a centenarian in 1757. He was as much a favourite
at Sceaux as in Mme de Tencin's salon. It was said of
him in one of the contemporary portraits that he had
the rare talent of fine and delicate raillery, and the merit,
still more rare, of not making use of it, or if at times he
desired to employ it, it was kept for the ears of his
friends. He boasted that he loved three things greatly,
about which he understood nothing. They were painting,
music — and women. He made many pretty speeches
to the latter, and when asked at Sceaux what was the
difference between his hostess and a clock, answered
aptly, " The clock keeps us aware of the passing of the
hours, our hostess makes us forget them."

Houdart de Lamotte, the dramatic author and
frequenter of the cafes, was also a guest at Sceaux. At
the age of forty Lamotte had become blind and crippled
through gout. His letters were read with delight in the
salons, but his poetry was found to have harsher notes,
displeasing to some ears. " What would you have } "

258 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

remarked the imperturbable author ; " a poet isn't a
flute."

Perhaps the Marquis de Sainte-Aulaire was the greatest
acquisition at Sceaux. Mme du Maine called him her
Berger and her Apollo, and he reciprocated by addressing
her as Bergere. De Luynes said of him, " He had much
wit, a character gentle and pleasing, a turn of gallantry
very amiable. He made pretty verses with much facility.
. . . He always seemed at the point of death, but never-
theless enjoyed good health. He ate at all hours."

The Marquis de Lassay and his wife were frequent
guests at Sceaux. Mme de Lassay before her marriage
was Julie de Bourbon, a natural sister of Mme du
Maine's. Another visitor of rank was the Marquis de
Clermont, who had been notorious in his youth on
account of a love-affair with the Princesse de Conti and
her lady-in-waiting. Mile de Choin, afterwards wife to
Monseigneur, son of Louis XIV. These and others
constituted the leading lights of Mme du Maine's gay
court.

For ever striving after something not to be enjoyed
in ordinary everyday affairs, they indulged in many of
the silly sentimentalities practised by the precieuses of
the Hotel de Rambouillet, unfortunately without the
pretensions of the latter salon to genuine culture and
a reform of manners, which was solid enough under-
neath the superficial absurdities. A new list of noms
de guerre replaced the noms de Parnasse of a century
earlier, which were catalogued by Somaize in his Diction-
naire des Precieuses. Malezieu was known as le Cure ;
his confrere, Genest, was called I'Abbe Pegase, a title
which was sometimes transformed into I'Abbe Rhinoceros,
owing to his prominent nose ; the Due du Maine was

Sccaux and Anet 259

nicknamed le Gargon (most frequently behind his back),
and his sons became les deux Gargonnets. The Due de
Nevers, a very constant guest in the earliest days of the
court, was Amphion ; his wife, who was one of the most
beautiful women at Sceaux, Diane, and their daughter,
who was well known during Louis XV's reign as the
Duchesse d'Estr^es, was dubbed Api ; Fontenelle was
no longer Fontenelle, but Pigastro ; Voltaire became
Museo ; Mile de Choiseul, Glycere ; M. d'Albemarle,
le Major ; his wife, Genevieve ; Mme d'Artagnan, who
lived just outside the chateau, was called la Voisine,
which was more reasonable than many of the names ;
Mme du Chatelet alone seems to have escaped without
a precieuse label, perhaps because she came too late and
they were all exhausted, or more likely still, because she
was intolerant of absurdities which did not originate with
herself.

The Duchesse du Maine's emblem was the Bee, and
her device " Piccola si, ma fa pur gravi le ferite " (she is
small, but she stings sharply). The Order was founded
some years after her court was established at Sceaux, and
included thirty-nine members besides its dictatrice^ who
went by the title of " La grande Ludovise." A peculiar
ceremony accompanied the election of Knights and Dames
to the Order, and the oath of the Society was, " I swear
by the bees of Mount Hymettus fidelity and obedience
to the perpetual directress of the Order, to wear all my
life the emblem of the Bee, and to carry out, as long as
I live, the statutes of the Order ; and if I am false to my
vows, may honey change to gall for me, wax to tallow,
flowers to nettles, and may wasps and hornets pierce me
with their stings."

A medal was struck, which was worn by the members

26o An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise

of the Society attached to a lemon-coloured ribbon. It
was of gold, and weighed between three and four drams.
On one side was the portrait of the foundress of the
Order, with the inscription, " Ludovise, Baronne de
Sceaux, Dictatrice Perpetuelle de I'Ordre de la Mouche-a-
Miel " ; on the other a bee flying towards a hive, and the
motto already quoted.

The aims of the Society were probably nothing more
serious than the desire for something novel, and the
intention of chasing away boredom. In the light of later
occurrences, when Mme du Maine gave rein to her
political ambitions, some of the authorities attempted to
attribute a political significance to the meetings of its
members, but it is scarcely probable that any underlying
note of the kind existed. On the other hand, it is not
easy in these matter-of-fact days to enter rightly into the
delicate spirit of romance and poesy, pseudo-philosophy,
and a dash of mysticism which animated many, both
men and women, at that time, without condemning it as
puerile and artificial. Mme du Chatelet was too direct
to harbour the spirit of sentiment which made such insti-
tutions as the Order of the Bee possible. Some saw in it
a protest against the more material aspects of love, an
endeavour to refine and ennoble the relations between
the sexes. M. de Goncourt, in U Amour au dix-huitieme
Steele, has chosen this point of view, and has succeeded
in representing the illusive spirit of the hour.

*' There sprang up in one corner of high society a
sect which advocated the banishment of desire from the
region of love altogether. By a natural reaction from
the excesses committed by sensual love, and the brutal
passions of licentiousness, a few delicate souls, of a
refined if not noble nature, were thrown back on platonic

Sceaux and Anet 261

love. A group of men and women, half hidden in the
discreet shadows of their salons, were gradually drawn
back towards a state in which the emotions of the heart
are spoken of in whispers, the region in which the spirit
sighs forth its love — almost to a state of true tender-
heartedness. This little world meditated on the idea of,
and drew up plans for forming an * Order of Perseverance '
which should have a temple with three altars — one to
Honour, another to Friendship, and the third to
Humanity. Thus at the beginning of the century, when
its earliest excesses were at their height, we find that the
court assembled round Sceaux had endeavoured to restore
the goddess Astrsa, and had lodged its protest against
the supper-parties at the Palais-Royal in the shape of a
discourse on its ideas of love, and by the institution of
the romantic Order of the Honey-Bee. * Le Sentiment '
is the name given to the new Order, and several men
and women of note attached themselves to it. Here
and there, at considerable intervals, are revealed figures
of people of lofty sentiments, who claim to possess a
peculiar delicacy in manners and principles, and in all
matters of tone and taste, and who, by the aid of traditions
of the refined and graceful manners of the great century,
are striving to keep alive, as it were, the disappearing
flower of chivalry in love."

As regards the Order of the Honey-Bee this is very
well ; Sceaux was coloured by the dominating personality
of Mme du Maine. The same spirit will be found
prevailing at the court of Luneville, but in a different
degree, during the period when Mme du Chatelet was a
frequent visitor there.

Whenever a vacancy occurred in the Bee Society
numbers of applicants competed for the honour of being

262 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

elected in place of the departed member. Mme de Staal
(to give her the name by which she is best known,
although she was at that time Mile de Launay), described
the jealousy and ill-feeling which took place on one such
occasion, a few months after she entered the service of
Mme du Maine. The three favourites in the running
were the Comtesse de Brassac, the Comtesse d'Uzes, and
President de Romanet. The latter was the fortunate
one to be chosen, and the ladies who had been passed
over in his favour lodged a complaint against the honesty
of the judges. Under cover of the hue and cry that
followed, Mme de Staal addressed an anonymous protest
to the President, setting forth the ladies' woes. No one
could guess whence the document originated. It caused
much discussion, and was attributed first to Malezieu
and then to Genest, but amongst all those mentioned as
its possible author, none for a moment dreamt of the
humble lady's maid. Seeing that they were thoroughly
mystified, Mme de Staal followed up her first effusion
by a second, as follows :

N'accusez ni Genest, ni le grand Malezieu

D'avoir part a I'ecrit qui vous met en cervelle.

L'auteur que vous cherchez n'habite point les cieux.

Quittez le telescope, allumez la chandelle,

Et fixez a vos pieds vos regards curieux ;

Alors, a la clarte d'une faible lumiere,

Vous le decouvrirez gisant dans la poussiere.*

Undoubtedly she deserved to rise from her menial
position. Her romantic story is well known, but it is

^ Accuse no more Genest, nor yet Malezieu the great,
Of having writ the document which doth excite
So much disquietude. The author keeps no state.
But rather quit your telescope, your candle light
And your inquiring glances 'neath you concentrate ;
Perchance the feeble radiance will to you disclose
The humble author lying in the dust: who knows?

Sceaux and Anct 263

so closely interwoven with that of Sceaux that it is
impossible to tell the latter without repeating the former.
Moreover, she knew Mme du Chatelet well, and had
a good deal to say about her. Born in 1684, her real
name was Cordier, although a more usual version is that
she was born in 1693, and was called de Launay. Her
father was a painter, who, having managed to get into hot
water in his native country, fled to England, leaving his
wife and daughters to conceal their identity as much as
possible. Henceforward they were known by the name
of de Launay.

Mme de Staal's sister, thrown thus early on the world,
took a post as companion to the Duchesse de la Ferte,
one of the habituees at Sceaux. This lady, Marie-
Isabel le-Gabrielle-Angelique de la Mothe-Houdancourt,
was a daughter of the marshal of that name, and younger
sister of the Duchesses d'Aumont and de Ventadour.
She married the Due de la Ferte in 1675, and played
the important part in Mme de Staal's life of introducing
her to the Duchesse du Maine. Mme de Staal was
made known to her by her sister, and was in her house-
hold for a time, though she never desired a permanent
post with her, because she had seen her sister degraded
from companion into an ordinary waiting-woman ; and
from the first Mme de Staal had ambitions. The
Duchesse de la Ferte was an eccentric. She composed
a naughty little couplet against her husband, which
became very popular in the streets of Paris. When she
stayed at her country house she laid aside the mask of
dignity, which was her usual bearing in town, and
hobnobbed not only with her servants, but with the
tradespeople, inviting the butcher, the baker, and the
candlestick-maker to seat themselves at her lansquenet

264 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

table and play cards with her. Mme de Staal, who
once looked on at this promiscuous game, was no little
astounded when the duchess turned to her and whispered
in her ear : "I cheat them, you know, but it's in revenge,
because they rob me."

At Sceaux, under the patronage of Mme de la Ferte,
Mme de Staal appealed to Malezieu, saying that she
greatly desired a post which would enable her to live
in the manner to which she had always been accustomed.
Negotiations were set on foot, and presently a transfer
was made from the Duchesse de la Ferte to the Duchesse
du Maine, not without much upbraiding and accusations
of ingratitude on the part of the former. If Mme de
Staal imagined that her troubles were over, and that she
had fallen into circumstances compatible with her tastes,
she was doomed to great disappointment. She was
regarded as nothing better than a common servant, was
lodged in an entresol of the chateau so low and dark
that she could not walk without stooping, had to grope
her way about as best she might, and could hardly
breathe for lack of air or warm herself for lack of a
fireplace. The first task imposed upon her was to make
chemises for the duchess. When her mistress desired
to wear one of the new garments she found the sleeve
turned, so that " that which should have been at the
elbow was at the armhole." The unhandy waiting-maid
gained her first advantage. Her mistress said, not un-
kindly : " You don't know how to sew ; leave such tasks
to others."

Undoubtedly Mme de Staal counted on her intel-
lectual gifts to carry her on to the desired goal. As a
lady's maid she can only be regarded as a gruesome failure,.
if her own account is to be trusted. She was short-

Sceaux and Anet 265

sighted — perhaps when It best suited her to be so.
When she was asked to fill a glass with water for the
duchess to drink, she spilt the water into the lap of her
mistress ; when she was requested to bring the powder-
box, she held it by the cover, with the result that
the powder spilled over the dressing-table and carpet.
*' When you lift anything, you should take it by the
bottom," said the patient princess.

" I remembered this lesson so well," wrote Mme de
Staal, " that a few days later, when she asked for her
purse, I took it by the bottom, and was greatly astonished
to see a hundred louis roll out upon the floor. After
this 1 knew not where to take hold of anything. I spilt
as stupidly a package of gems, which I took hold of
exactly in the middle. It may be imagined with what
contempt my deft and trained companions regarded my
clumsiness."

For a long, long time she shared the menial duties
of Mme du Maine's waiting-women, keeping her eye
ever upon the faintest chance of a rise in status. It came
at last — in the shape of the grandes nuits.

The Duchesse du Maine's love of amusement was
insatiable. All those about her were kept busy day and
night, devising new seasoning which might render the
gaiety more piquant. The days were not long enough
to enjoy the comedies, the masquerades, the lotteries,
and fantasies which followed one another in quick
succession. Mme du Maine loved to sit up all night,
and expected suitable entertainment to be arranged for
her. Her usual occupation was to play cards ; but games
of this sort palled, and the Abbe de Vaubrun, who had
many original ideas, conceived one that was quite new —
namely, that during one of the usual vigils some one

16

266 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

should appear in the image of the Goddess Night, en-
veloped in sombre draperies, and present a tribute of
gratitude to the duchess for the preference she accorded
to Night over her sister Day. The goddess was to
be followed by an attendant, who was to chant lines
explaining this sentiment. The Abbe appealed to Mme
de Staal to help him, begging her to compose and recite
the speech in question. The companion agreed to his
request. Unfortunately, however, she did not perform
her part perfectly, owing to her nervousness, and because
she was not accustomed to speaking in public. In spite
of this slight drawback the idea was very well received,
and was followed by magnificent fetes on similar lines
given at night by various guests in honour of Mme
du Maine.

" I composed bad verses for some of them," wrote
Mme de Staal in her Memoirs, " and planned others,
and was consulted concerning all of them. I acted at
them and sang at them, but my nervousness spoilt it
all ; and at last it was decided that it was better not
to employ me except for advice and suggestion, at which
I succeeded so happily that I was greatly relieved."

The entertainments were so costly that Mme du Maine,
who, where her own pleasure was concerned, was a true
spendthrift, was at length induced to see the error of
her ways, and brought them to a close. " Sceaux," wrote
Saint-Simon in 17 14, "was more than ever the theatre of
follies of Mme du Maine, of shame, of embarrassment,
of ruin of her husband by the enormity of the expenses,
and the spectacle of the Court and town plunged in
mockery. . . . There were nuits blanches in lotteries,
cards, fetes, illuminations, fireworks — in one word, feasts
and fantasies of every kind and at every moment."

Sceaux and Anet 267

Mme de Staal was entirely responsible for the last of
the midnight shows, and it was given in her name,
though not at her expense. Good Taste was represented
as having fled to Sceaux and as there presiding over
the princess's occupations. First Good Taste led forth
the Graces, who prepared her toilet, dancing and
singing the while. The second interlude represented
Play. Gaming-tables were brought and arranged for
games of chance, the songs and dances in this section
being performed by professional actors from the Opera.
The last interlude represented Laughter, who prepared
a stage on which a little comedy was acted. It referred
to the discovery by Mme du Maine of the magic square,
to which she had long devoted herself, and which she
claimed to have solved. It was all in verse, and in
default of finding a poet who cared to compose on such
a subject, Mme de Staal was under the necessity of
writing the whole of it herself.

The lady's maid had advanced in usefulness by leaps and
bounds. She had won the notice of many of the guests,
especially Fontenelle and the Due de Brancas, and she had
several little affairs of the heart with various gentlemen,
readily realising that she had no chance of being accepted
as an equal by those with whom she had daily intercourse,
unless she married a man of quality and was raised to
his rank. At last the dearest wish of her heart was
realised. A husband was found for her in the person
of M. de Staal, who was an officer in the Swiss Guard.
Her standing was at once assured. " Mme la Duchesse
du Maine," she wrote, while her fate still hung in the
balance, " fearing lest I might break the bonds that
attached me to her, considered how she might strengthen
them. . . . The position she had accorded me since I

268 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

had quitted the office and functions of waiting-woman
had no precise limits. I scarcely even knew whether I
stood within or without them. However little I might
overstep them, either without perceiving it or by her
orders, the glances and murmurs of her ladies, scrupulous
as to the distance that should be maintained between them-
selves and me, made me retire discountenanced. . . .
She told me that there was a way to remedy this by
marrying me to a man of quality who would place
me on a level with all the ladies of her court."

But that was not until after the disastrous break in
the Duchesse du Maine's social campaign.

Once married to the illegitimate son of a king, Conde's
daughter had done her utmost to procure for her husband
and children a rank equal to her own. Louis XIV was
fond of Mme de Montespan's eldest son, who was always
at Court, and, aided by Mme de Maintenon, daily gained
fresh favours. Step by step he had managed to obtain
all the privileges of a prince of the blood. But even
these heights of grandeur did not satisfy the ambitious
soul of his wife. She had vowed to become "one of
the kingdom's greatest ladies." Towards the close of
the king's life she intrigued to obtain for her husband
a position of the highest importance. She believed that
the stigma of illegitimate birth had been practically re-
moved, and was sanguine enough to urge the Due du
Maine to compete, if not for the succession, at least
for the post of Regent to the infant heir. He did,
indeed, manage to obtain from Louis XIV a testament
investing him with the power of a guardian over the
dauphin Louis. But no sooner was the king dead
than this was set aside and the Due d'Orleans was
appointed Regent to Louis XV. War was declared

Sceaux and Anet 269

between the legitimate princes and the royal bastards.
Mme du Maine and the faithful Mme de Staal pored
night and day over intricate legal documents, and
neglected no means of strengthening the duke's claims
and those of his party. For two years they worked
unceasingly, but all to no avail.

In 1 71 7 a decree was obtained by the Due d'Orleans
depriving the du Maines of all rights to royal succession
as well as to the rank of princes of the blood. The
passionate duchess, when this news was confirmed, fell
into a paroxysm of anger and dismay. She refused to
accept the rulings of a cruel fate, and redoubled her
efforts to obtain the end she had in view, joining in
the famous intrigue with Alberoni through Cellamare.
Unfortunately for her, she was indiscreet enough to
infuse into public affairs the spirit of romance she loved
in private life, and carried on her insignificant share in
the great Cellamare plot with that very element of
mystery which reveals all. She insisted on bizarre
disguises, invisible ink, meetings in unheard-of places,
and spies more noted for their zeal than their discretion.
Polignac and Malezieu were both drawn into these
dangerous games, which, while they might still be
regarded as play, enchanted the duchess with their
infinite novelty and excitement.

Suddenly a very serious aspect indeed was thrown over
the whole matter. It was too late to withdraw. The con-
spirators were discovered. Confederates and assistants were
arrested, and before the duke and duchess could make
any attempt to justify themselves or to escape they were
thrown into prison. When she found herself in this
dilemma Mme du Maine fell into such a transport of
rage that she almost choked to death, and it was a long

270 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

time before she recovered. She was imprisoned at Dijon
and removed to Chalons. The Due du Maine was
confined at Doullens. Mme de Staal, of whom Elisabeth-
Charlotte de Baviere said, " Mile de Launay is an
intriguer and one of the persons by whom the whole
affair was conducted," was sent to the Bastille. She was
not at all unhappy there.

Indeed, captivity was not made hard for any of the
plotters, and in 1720 the Due d'Orleans relented, and
the Duchesse du Maine was permitted to return to
Sceaux after an absence of some two years. She had
not learnt wisdom, and was as impulsive as ever. When
she obtained leave to go to Paris she called on her
enemy, the Regent, and, according to Elisabeth-
Charlotte's account, she suddenly jumped up from the
sofa and clung about her son's neck, " kissing him
on both cheeks in spite of himself." Of course the
Due du Maine blamed his wife for all his misfortunes,
and she no doubt heaped recriminations on his unworthy
head, so that he vowed never to speak to her again. To
this vow he did not adhere, and Madame concluded her
letter triumphantly : " The Due du Maine is entirely
reconciled to his dear moiety. I am not surprised, for
I have long been suspecting it."

Thus opened the second period at Sceaux. At first
very few people were received there, for fear the Regent
should object. Mme du Maine played biribi, which
d'Argenson called an ill-famed game, and when she was
tired of cards, made Mme de Staal read to her for hours
at a stretch. Gradually things became more lively.
President Renault described the court at this time :

" It was now very different from what it was in the
reign of the late king," he wrote. *' M. le Due du

Sceaux and Anet 271

Maine had then a great deal of credit, and the duchess
only used it for amusing herself. The entire Court was
at her feet. She acted comedies with as much intelligence
as grace. Baron, la Beauval, Roseli composed her troop.
One has heard speak of the grandes nuits, of music, of
balls, etc. Times had changed very much, I had not
the honour to be presented there until after their return
from prison. But if the court was less brilliant, it was
not less pleasant. It was composed of great people and
witty people. Mme de Charost, since become Duchesse
de Luynes, Mme la Marquise de Lambert, M. le Cardinal
de Polignac, M. le premier President de Mesmes, Mme
de Staal, M. de Staal, M. de Sainte-Aulaire, Mme Dreuillet,
Mme la Marquise du Deffand, It was she who replied
so pleasantly to the Cardinal de Polignac. He was speaking
to the Duchesse du Maine about the martyr of Saint-
Denis. ' Just think of it, madame, this saint carried his
chief in his arms for two leagues.' ' Two leagues . . . ?
Oh, monsieur,' replied Mme du DeiFand, *ce n'est que
le premier pas qui coute.' There are hundreds of repartees
of hers that are always being told. She has no other home
than that of Sceaux, where she spends nearly the whole
year."

It was at Sceaux that the liaison between Renault and
Mme du Deffand began which became the friendship of a
lifetime. " I passed nearly twenty years there," continued
the President, " and, according to my destiny, found many
ups and downs, contradictions and constraints. . . . Mme
du Maine was the oracle of this little court. It would be
impossible to have more wit, more eloquence, more badin-
age, more real politeness, but at the same time no one
could be more unjust, take more advantage, or be more
tyrannical."

272 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

A characteristic story was told of Mme du Maine and
Mme d'Estaing, who did not arrive at Sceaux at the
time she was expected. The former was in despair;
" she cried ; she was beside herself. ' Goodness gracious/
said Mme de Charost to her, ' I did not think that your
Highness cared so much for Mme d'Estaing.' * I .? Not
at all ; but I should be very happy indeed if I took no
notice of things I don't care for,' she replied. Everybody
began to laugh."

The Marquise de Charost afterwards became the
Duchesse de Luynes. She had been left a widow early
in life. She was not beautiful, but had a charming figure.
She had many friends, and, said President Henault, " no
lovers, because her soul was not impassioned." She had,
nevertheless, many good qualities, for she was noble,
generous, faithful, and discreet.

Mme du Deifand, who was Mme de Luynes' niece,
was a great favourite at Sceaux, more especially before
she opened a salon of her own. She had sobered a
little after her early indiscretions, but she retained her
quick wit and sparkling conversation. " She conquered
me with charms there was no resisting," wrote Mme
de Staal. " No one had more wit, and no one was
more natural. The dazzling fire of her intelligence
penetrated to the heart of everything, and brought out
into relief its smallest features. She possessed in a
marked degree the talent of painting character, and her
portraits, more lively than their originals, made them
better known than the most intimate acquaintance with
them."

Did Mme de Staal, one would like to ask, approve of
Mme du DefFand's picture of Emilie .? Mme dv DefFand
wrote a portrait of Mme de Staal, of which the latter did

MADAME DE STAAL

"V\"lio wrote famous letters to Mme du Deffand about Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire

273

Sceaux and Anct 275

not at all approve, so she tore it up and substituted the
following description of herself :

'* Mme de Staal is of the middling size, tolerably well
made, very thin, very withered, and very disagreeable.
Her character and her mind greatly resemble her figure :
there is nothing absolutely awry in either, nor anything to
admire. . . . She had the very good fortune to receive a
most excellent education, from whence she has derived
the little worth she has to boast, such as very rigid
principles of virtue, very elevated sentiments, and a great
regularity of conduct, which habit has rendered almost
second nature. Her greatest ambition was to be thought
reasonable. . . . Love of liberty is her ruling passion,
which is peculiarly unfortunate, as her whole life has been
spent in the service of others. She has therefore found it
difficult to conform to destiny, in spite of the flowers
which have occasionally strewed her path."

Among the women who most graced the Court of
Sceaux at this period was the Marquise de Lambert, of
salon fame ; and another who frequented both Mme de
Lambert's receptions and those at Sceaux was Mme la
Presidente Dreuillet, concerning whom the story was
told that one day, when she was dining with the Duchesse
du Maine, her hostess pressed her to sing whilst soup
was being served. Contrary to her usual habit, she
excused herself on the plea of ill-health. President
Henault, who was present (some versions of the story
give the honour to Fontenelle), interceded on her behalf.
But the duchess was angry at this interference with a
plan which promised to give her amusement, and she
answered crossly, "You are right, perhaps, president,
but do you not see that there is no time to lose ?
This woman might die before the roast is served."

276 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

The pr^sidente, who was pretty, prepossessing, and
very rich, was such an acquisition that Mme du Maine
had insisted that she should have a room both at her
hotel in Paris and at Sceaux ; and she did, in fact, die
there at a good old age in 1730. Several of the earlier
guests had passed away in the twenties. Chaulieu,
Genest, Malezieu, and President de Mesmes were no
more; Lamotte died in 1731, the Due du Maine in
1736, Sainte-Aulaire in 1742 ; the Duchesse d'Estrees
breathed her last at Anet in 1747. For the past twenty
years the gay and gallant Api had trodden in the flower-
strewn footsteps of the versifier Malezieu. She had or-
ganised several of the grandes nuits. Related to Mazarin,
she was a Mancini-Mazarini, and in 1707 had married
Louis-Armand, Due d'Estrees.

Her ending had in it an element of tragedy. Two or
three weeks before she died she had a terrible fall down-
stairs, of which at the time she took little notice. That
was at the beginning of September, when Mme du Maine
and her guests were at Anet, the famous old property of
the day of Diane de Poitiers, which had come into the
possession of the Duchesse du Maine, through her mother,
at the same time as Sorel and Dreux. By the end of the
month Mme d'Estrees was dead. She had been seized
by an attack, probably of apoplexy, on the night of the
27th and 28th. Mme du Maine was advised of her
guest's condition, and hurried from the card-table to her
room. Mme de Fervaquez and Mme de St. Maur, of
whom Mme de Staal said, " She is the only reasonable
and decent person we have here," were with the invalid
at the last. The loss of Api did little to interrupt the
amusements of the Court. Mme de Staal was shocked
at the apparent want of feeling which characterised the

Sccaux and Anet 277

proceedings at Anet. The guests went hunting as usual,
and enjoyed all the ordinary recreations and dissipations,
except comedies, which were postponed for a time.

Mme de Staal's correspondence gave the details of this
sad affair to Mme du Deffand, and the same series of
letters contained the famous account of Voltaire and
Mme du Chatelet's visit to Anet in the August of 1747.
The letters speak for themselves, and require no elucida-
tion. The first was written in July. Emilie had given
certain warnings of her approaching arrival.

*' The secret of the du Chatelet has got wind," wrote
Mme de Staal to Mme du Deffand, " but we are not to
seem as though we had discovered it. She wished to have
Le Petit Boursault (she meant Boursouffle) acted here
impromptu on the day of St. Louis, and that everything
might be in readiness, she had settled with Vanture to have
the different parts written out, and to s^nd them under
cover to him. The said Vanture, not being overburdened
with money, and naturally very prudent, reflected that
were such a packet to be sent him by post, it would be
his ruin ; he therefore, through the medium of Gaya,^
requested that some papers, of which he was in expecta-
tion, might come enclosed to Her Serene Highness.
The petition was granted, without any questions being
asked respecting the said papers. When the packet
arrived, he and his petition having long since been for-
gotten, the two envelopes were opened and everything
was disclosed. Still they did not throw a light on the
mystery ; and I was obliged to explain, which I did, as
it would have been absurd to have refused, particularly
as we are to appear as full of surprise as if we had
remained in ignorance. The second envelope was then
' Chevalier Gaya was a member of Mme du Maine's household.

278 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

sealed up, and the packet delivered to Vanture, who is
congratulating himself on having combined honesty and
utility."

At the beginning of the month Mme du Maine and
her court were at Sorel, a brick building flanked by two
pavilions which lay about a league from Anet, in a high
position, overlooking the surrounding country and the
river Eure. From Sorel Mme de Staal wrote again on
August 5, referring to Mme du Chatelet's desire to
perform Voltaire's play at Anet. " La du Chatelet had,
as I informed you, communicated her project to me. I
think she will succeed in having her opera acted once,
but we shall not choose to have it repeated."

Voltaire and Emilie were expected on the 15th, but in
their usual whirlwind fashion arrived before they were
due. Mme de Staal described the stir their coming
made. " Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire, whose arrival
was announced for to-day, and whose whereabouts nobody
knew, arrived yesterday, at midnight, like two ghosts,
with a smell of embalmed corpses, which they appeared
to have brought from their tombs. We had just left the
supper-table. Moreover, they were famished ghosts ;
they required supper, and, what is more, beds, which
were not prepared for them. The concierge, who had
already retired, got up very hastily. Gaya, who had
offered his apartment when there was pressing need of it,
was obliged to give it up in this instance, and he moved
out with as much precipitation and displeasure as an
army surprised in camp, forced to leave part of the
baggage in the hands of the enemy. Voltaire found
himself both well and quickly provided for. As for the
lady, her bed was not properly made, it appears, and it
has been necessary to change her quarters to-day. Note

Sccaux and Anct 279

that she made the bed herself, as there were no servants,
and she discovered a mathematical error in the mattress,
which, I fancy, wounded her exact mind more than it
did her not very delicate body. In the meantime, she
has a room which has been promised. She will leave it
on Friday or Saturday for that of the Marechal de
Maillebois, who takes his departure one of these days."

Mme de Staal found ample material for descriptive
writing in the doings of "the ghosts." They at once
set to work to rehearse the play. "Vanture," she added,
** is to perform the Comte de Boursouffle. I cannot think
he will look the character, any more than Mme du
Chatelet will that of Mile de la Cochonniere, who ought
to be short and stout."

*' Our ghosts do not show themselves during the day,"
she continued on the i6th. "They appeared yesterday
at ten o'clock in the evening. I doubt whether we shall
see them much sooner to-day, as the one is very busy
writing the lives of great heroes, and the other in making
comments on Newton. They do not care to play cards
or go out. They are of no value in a society of people
who feel very little interest in their learned works. And
what is still worse, they took it upon themselves last night
to declaim loudly against the liberty with which cards are
chosen at Cavagnole. They spoke, indeed, in tones to
which we are not accustomed, and they were therefore
listened to with a quite surprising politeness. I display
much less, boring you as I am doing with ghost stories.
But I have mercy on you when it comes to meta-
physics."

Mme du Chatelet was still dissatisfied with the accom-
modation afforded her at Anet. On the 19th of the
month she was moved into another room, the third since

28o An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

her arrival. " She could not endure the one she had
chosen," wrote Mme de Staal on the 20th ; " it was noisy,
there was smoke there although no fire (no bad emblem
of herself, it seems to me). It is not at night that the
noise inconveniences her, she told me, but in the day,
when she is at work. It deranges her ideas. She is
reviewing her Principles. She repeats this task every
year ; without this precaution they might escape her, and
perhaps vanish to such an extent that she would never
recover them. I think her head is more like their prison
than the place of their birth ; it is necessary to guard
them with care. She prefers this occupation to every
form of amusement, and persists in not showing herself
until nightfall. Voltaire has composed some gallant
verses, which do something to repair the bad effect of
their peculiar behaviour."

The visit of the inspired couple was not a long one ;
and Mme de Staal felt relieved at the prospect of the
household at Anet resuming before long its accustomed
calm. " You will know that cur two ghosts, drawn away
by M. de Richelieu, will disappear to-morrow," she
wrote on the 24th. " He cannot set out for Genoa
without first holding a consultation with them, and they
cannot make up their minds to disoblige him. The
comedy, which was arranged for to-morrow, is to be
played to-day, to hasten their departure. I will send
you an account of the show, and of the last circumstances
of the visit ; but I pray you do not leave my letters on
your mantelpiece."

Mme de Staal might well have spared herself this
expression of precaution, for she knew well that if she
wrote anything amusing, all Mme du DefFand's friends
would speedily hear of it. On the 27th she added,

Sccaux and Anct 281

*' I wrote you on Thursday that the du Chatelets were
to leave us the next day, and that the play was to be
acted in the evening. That is just what happened.
I cannot give you a very satisfactory account of Bour-
souffle. Mile de la Cochonniere so thoroughly under-
stood the extravagances of her part that I was really
much diverted by her acting. But Vanture only put
his own absurdity into the part of Boursouffle, which
demanded something more. He acted quite naturally in
a piece which ought to have been a broad farce. Paris ^
appeared an honest man in the character of Maraudin,
whose name expresses that he was a rogue. Motel was
very good in the part of the Baron de la Cochonniere,
d'Estissac was a knight, and Duplessis ^ a valet. Upon
the whole it was not badly acted, and one can say that
it went off very well. The author added a prologue,
which he declaimed himself, and did it very well, being
assisted by our du Four, who, without this brilliant part,
would have hardly done credit to Madame Barbe. She
was not dressed with the simplicity necessary for this
character, nor did the principal actress show more wisdom
in this respect. Preferring to suit her own style rather
than that of her part, she appeared at the theatre with
all the show and elegance suitable for a court lady. She
had several quarrels with Voltaire on this point, but she
is the sovereign and he is her slave. I am very sorry
they have left, although I was tired to death of their
caprices. Still her folly was amusing. But the pleasure
of making other people laugh besides those who you say
were diverted by my letters, would make me put up with
some more of her idiosyncrasies ; but the curtain has

• Secretary of the Duchesse d' Estrees.

' Officer of the household of the Due du Maine.

282 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

dropped, and the drama is ended. They have left some
absurdities behind them, which I may collect for you
at the first leisure moment, but I cannot say more
to-day," Mme du Deffand was invited to Anet as soon
as Voltaire and Emilie left ; and she was offered the
room vacated by the latter ; but she was unable to avail
herself of the invitation.

" An excellent apartment is reserved for you," wrote
Mme de Staal — "the one that Mme du Chatelet fixed
upon after examining all the others in the house. It will
not be quite so full of furniture as she left it, as she
brought something away with her from every room she
had occupied to garnish the latter. Six or seven addi-
tional tables had accumulated there as she required them,
of all sorts and sizes — immense ones for her papers, a solid
one to support her writing-desk, some of lighter make
for her knick-knacks and jewels. Yet all these excellent
arrangements did not preserve her from a misfortune
similar to that which happened to Philippe II, who, after
having spent the whole night writing, found a bottle of
ink had been spilt all over his despatches. The lady
did not put herself about to imitate the forbearance the
prince showed on this occasion. He had only written
about affairs of state, whereas damage had been done
to her algebraic calculations, which was a loss far more
irreparable.

*' But enough upon a subject which is pretty well
exhausted, though I cannot consign their ghostships to
oblivion without telling you that the day after their
departure I received a letter of four pages and a note
enclosed in the same packet which disclosed a great
disaster. It appeared that Voltaire had mislaid the manu-
script of his play, and had forgotten to collect the various

Sceaux and Anet ^S^

parts of it, and had moreover lost the prologue. He
enjoined me to discover the whereabouts of all these,
to send the prologue as soon as possible, but not by
post, because in that case it might be co-pied^ to keep the
separate parts, for fear of the same thing happening to
them, and to lock up the piece itself under a hundred
locks. I should have thought a latch sufficient to guard
this treasure. But I have literally and duly executed
the orders received."

Thus ended the visit of this " heroic-comic and tragic-
gallant " couple at Anet, where they arrived with the
Comte de Boursouffle and the Elements of Newton as the
two most important items of their luggage. Wherever
they went they created a sensation ; whatever they did
was bizarre or unconventional. They quarrelled and
were temporarily bitter enemies, or they were friendly
and no pair could be more devoted. They considered
nobody's comfort but their own, and annexed the furni-
ture, arranged the meals, and did everything to suit
themselves. At Sceaux, where they stayed later in the
year, they were even more at home than at Anet. It
was time for the Court to pay its annual visit to
Fontainebleau, and it was Mme du Chatelet's usual
custom to go there and pay her respects to royalty.
Her travelling experiences of the previous year were
not repeated. This time she was accompanied by
Voltaire, and they lodged at Richelieu's hotel. Long-
champ followed three days after their arrival. He was
no longer maitre d' hotel to the fair Emilie, but had now
accepted a post in the capacity of secretary to Voltaire.
There were drawbacks to the situation, as he was speedily
to find out. After snatching a few hours' rest after his
journey, he went to Voltaire's rooms, and found the poet

17

284 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

still in bed, complaining angrily that there were no
servants to be had, and that he was freezing with cold.
Longchamp set to work to make a fire. Then the poet
asked him to find his writing-case, and grew very im-
patient because Longchamp could not at first discover
what had become of this important article, which was
lying concealed in semi-obscurity on a chair in an un-
explored corner. Voltaire became more and more excited,
and raising himself in bed, cried loudly, " Can't you see
it, blockhead ? — it is there." When it was brought to
him, he begged Longchamp to copy the beginning of his
Essai sur les Mceurs et les Arts de Nations. In the
meantime he dressed himself and went to breakfast with
Mme du Chatelet. He had hurt the sensitive feelings
of his secretary.

Neither Voltaire nor Mme du Chatelet returned during
the day, and Longchamp, divining that in the evening
they would be playing cards at the queen's tables, stayed
up until half-past one in the morning to wait for them.
When they appeared at length, both wore an anxious and
troubled look. Mme du Chatelet begged Longchamp
to find one of the servants, who would inform her coach-
man that she wished to have the horses put into the
carriage, so that they could take their departure im-
mediately. Longchamp was obliged to deliver the message
himself, and when the carriage was ready, Mme du
Chatelet and Voltaire, accompanied by a single femme de
chamhre^ who had hastily collected one or two small
packages, drove off, leaving the astonished secretary to
wonder what on earth could have taken place to upset
them in this manner. He did not discover the truth
until after his return to Paris. All the trouble had arisen
from Mme du Chatelet's love of gambling. She had lost

Sceaux and Anet 285

enormous sums at the card-tables. Before leaving for
Fontainebleau she collected all the money she could
conveniently lay her hands on, knowing that high play
was in vogue at Court. Her treasurer had supplied her
with 400 louis, and this she had lost at the first sitting.
She sent an urgent messenger to town for fresh supplies,
and in the meantime borrowed 200 louis from Voltaire.
That amount soon followed the other. M. de la Croix
sent her an additional 200, which he had obtained at a
heavy interest, and 180, provided by her companion,
Mile du Thil. But Mme du Chatelet seemed destined
to have no better luck. In a very short time she had
lost 84,000 francs. Voltaire, who had been watching
the game, became convinced that these enormous losses
were not only due to chance. He bent over her and
whispered to her in English that she had not observed
that she was playing with cheats. Although he thought
his remark was inaudible, it was overheard and repeated.
The courtiers were naturally enough extremely indignant
at this impeachment of their honour, however well de-
served it may have been. The rumour of what had
taken place reached Marie Leczinska and Louis XV.
Mme du Chatelet warned Voltaire that the consequences
to him might be serious, and hence the midnight
flitting from Fontainebleau. On the drive back they
were delayed by a little accident to the carriage, and
having no money to pay for repairs, they were obliged
to wait until some friends, also driving that way, came
to extricate them from their dilemma. Longchamp, who
had been left behind to pack their trunks, followed in
due course to Paris.

Still afraid of consequences, Voltaire wrote in haste to
the Duchesse du Maine informing her of his indiscretion,

286 An Eightecnth-Ccntury Marquise

and begging her to afford him an asylum at Sceaux.
The episode was one which appealed very strongly to
her love of adventure and mystery. She sent him a
gracious message, arranged for him to arrive after dusk,
to be met by her faithful official Duplessis, and smuggled
into the castle by a secret staircase. He was given a
room in a retired corner of the building which looked
out into a secluded garden, and there he remained con-
fined night and day, behind closed shutters, writing and
working by candlelight. His only time of release came
at night, when, after the guests were in bed, he slipped
down to Mme du Maine's room, and supper was served
to him there by one servant who had been taken into
their confidence. During the hours of the night they
chatted, or Voltaire read aloud some verses or romances
he had been composing during the day. He had sent
for his secretary, and kept him busy during this period
of retirement from society, for during his captivity he
wrote Babouc^ Scarmentadoy Micromegas, and Zadig.

If he required anything from Paris, Long^-hamp was
sent there secretly by night : in this manner the mystery
of his seclusion, so dear to Mme du Maine's heart, was
fully sustained. M. d'Argental was the only one of
Voltaire's friends who was in the secret ; with d'Argental
friendship was a profession.

In the meantime Mme du Chatelet busied herself in
raising the funds to pay off her debt. Then she came to
Sceaux and ix^formed Voltaire that everything was safe and
that he could come out of hiding ; the storm had blown
over. To show his appreciation of Mme du Maine's
kindness the couple agreed to stay on at Sceaux, and a
number of plays and other entertainments were arranged
for the benefit of the guests.

Sceaux and Anct 287

It was during this visit that Voltaire, who was occupy-
ing Sainte-Aulaire's room — the gallant marquis had then
been dead some five years — paid his hostess the graceful
compliment of composing the following lines :

J'ai la chambre de Sainte-Aulaire
Sans en avoir les agrements ;
Peut-etre k quatre-vingt dix ans

J'aurai le coeur de sa bergere:
II faut tout attendre du temps

Et surtout du desir de plaire.

No one was more delighted by the changed aspect of
the situation than Longchamp, who had found his master's
enforced seclusion irksome. " This caused us great re-
joicing," he wrote of Voltaire's release, " but we were not
yet allowed to return to Paris. Mme du Maine insisted
that Mme du Chatelet and M. de Voltaire should remain
at Sceaux and add by their presence to the number and
brilliancy of the guests then assembled there. From that
time no one did anything else except to arrange fetes
at the castle for Mme la Duchesse du Maine. Every
one desired to take part in them and to contribute to
the general amusement of this illustrious patroness of the
fine arts. One can easily guess that Mme du Chatelet
and M. de Voltaire were not the last to distinguish them-
selves among the crowd. The diversions were varied day
by day. There were comedies, operas, balls, concerts.
Among other comedies they played La Prude^ which
Mme du Maine had already had represented on the
stage at Anet. Mme du Chatelet, Mme du Staal, and
M. de Voltaire had parts in it. Before the performance
the latter came on the scene and declaimed a new pro-
logue, specially appropriate for the occasion. Among
the operas there were some acts from M. Rameau ; the
pastorale D'Isse of M. de Lamotte, put to music by

288 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

M. Destouches ; an act from ZSlindor, Roi des Sylphes^
words by M. de Moncrif, music by MM. Rebel and
FranccEur. The nobles and ladies of the court of
Mme du Maine took all the principal parts. Mme
du Chatelet, who was as good a musician as actress,
acquitted herself perfectly in the role of Isse, and that
of Zirphe in Zelindor. She played still better, if that
is possible, the part of Fanchon in Les Originaux^ comedy
by M. de Voltaire, composed and played previously at
Cirey. This part might have been expressly written for
her, her vivacity, sprightliness, and gaiety being quite
natural. Her talents were ably seconded in all the pieces
by those of M. le Vicomte de Chabot, the Marquis d'As-
feld, the Comte de Croix, the Marquis de Courtanvaux,
etc. Other gentlemen played a very good part in the
orchestra, with some musicians from Paris."

Longchamp's account must not be taken too literally.
Les Originaux was probably Le Comte de Boursouffle^
which appeared under a number of titles, and La Prude
was said to have been played for the first time at Sceaux,
and not at Anet, as he states ; but, apart from minor
inaccuracies, his story agrees with that of others. La
Prude was played on December 15. " Mme du Chatelet
sang Zirphe with justice, and acted with nobility and
grace," wrote Voltaire to Moncrif, and her appearance
as Iss6 gave rise to his verse :

Charmante Iss6, vous nous faites entendre,
Dans ces beaux lieux, les sons les plus flatteurs.

lis vont droit a nos cceurs :
Leibnitz n'a point de monade plus tendre,
Newton n'a point d'xx plus enchanteurs.

Another form of amusement at Sceaux was Voltaire's
reading of verse and prose in the salon when the whole

Sceaux and Anet 289

company was assembled before dinner, which was voted
a great success.

The end of the visit came in rather an odd manner —
that is to say, odd for ordinary conventional people.
Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire rarely stayed anywhere
without creating a sensation of some sort, and this visit
was no exception to the rule.

De Luynes gives an account of the matter in his
Journal for December 1747 :

" For the last three weeks they have been playing
different comedies at Sceaux. They have even performed
the opera Isse twice. Mme la Duchesse du Maine has
always liked to give fetes at her house. Mme de Mal-
ause (Mauban) was charged with the expenses of the
opera. Only Mme du Chatelet and Mme de Jaucourt
took part. There were so many people at the first
representation that Mme du Maine was persuaded to
give another. In these two representations Mme du Cha-
telet played and sang very well ; but the importunity of
the crowd was no less great at the second representation
than at the first, and Mme du Maine determined to have
nothing represented except comedies. This latter decision
did not last long. At the last comedy, five or six days
ago, the crush was so great that the duchess was dis-
gusted with such entertainments. She wished to see the
cards of invitation which had been sent out. She found
they were worded as follows :

"'New actors will represent on Friday, December 15th, at
the theatre of Sceaux, a new comedy of five acts in verse.

" * All are invited, without any ceremony. Come at
six o'clock promptly, and order your carriage for half-
past seven or eight. After six o'clock the doors will be
closed to all.' "

290 An Eightcenth^Ccntury Marquise

Voltaire and the divine Emilie had taken the law into
their own hands and invited their own guests ! D'Argen-
son put the matter in its most serious light. "The
Marquise du Chatelet and Voltaire," he wrote in his
Journal, "have been dismissed from the court at Sceaux
on account of certain invitations which they issued to
their plays. Voltaire gave five hundred notes of invita-
tion to his friends, in which he said, as an agreeable
inducement, that they would not see the Duchesse du
Maine."

The wording of the invitation, as quoted by de Luynes,
in no way justifies d'Argenson's offensive imputation ; but
Mme du Maine, feeling that the liberty which had been
taken was too great to be overlooked, if she did not
actually dismiss the misdemeanants, caused a hint to reach
them that they had overstepped the limits of her hos-
pitality. Mme du Chatelet and her poet returned to
Paris, and their latest vagary was soon forgiven them.

CHAPTER IX

THE COURT OF LUN£VILLE

" T T seems as though I remembered the pages of a
A novel rather than some of the years of my life,"
remarked the Chevalier de Boufflers, when, as an old
man, he spoke of Lun6ville. The Chevalier's name was
Stanislas ; he was the godson of King Stanislas Leczinski,
and his mother was the attractive Marquise de Boufflers,
a member of the famous Lorraine family of Beauvau-
Craon.

The Chevalier danced, painted, played the violin, made
little verses, told gay stories, and flirted with fair ladies,
day in, day out, at the court of his godfather. All
the others did the same, according to their inclinations
and their abilities. Life at Luneville was like life at
Sceaux, with a difference — a round of jollity and ease
far more like romance than reality. The court was one
of those pleasant places where there was but little business
to be done, and where every one conspired to forget
and make others forget the duties and responsibilities of
the outer world. To them Luneville was the world ;
they fashioned it after their own pattern, and a very
brightly coloured patchwork was the result.

Courts are not built in a day, and to this rule Lune-
ville was no exception. Nancy, the capital of the
province, had been the usual home of the rulers of

Lorraine, those proud princes whose brave deeds called

291

292 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

forth a responsive echo in the loyal and loving hearts
of their people. But at the beginning of the eighteenth
century, in the lifetime of Louis XIV and during the
war of the Spanish succession, Lorraine became a camping-
ground for the Imperialist and French troops.

The reigning duke was at this time Leopold, who in
1698 had married Mademoiselle, daughter of the King's
brother, Philippe d'Orleans, and his second wife Elisabeth-
Charlotte de Baviere. King Louis accused his nephew
by marriage of allowing his Imperialist feelings to get
the better of the political neutrality to which he had
pledged himself, and he sent French troops into the
capital of the province. The duke and duchess fled in
the night to Lun6ville ; and when Louis XIV refused
to withdraw his soldiers in response to Leopold's protest,
the latter answered proudly that he would never return
to Nancy whilst the soil was encumbered by French
troops.

At this date there was no castle at Luneville, and the
duke and duchess took up their quarters in an old house
in the village ; but finding that his exile was likely to
prove a lengthy one (as a matter of fact it lasted till
the Peace of Utrecht was signed in 1713), Leopold
began building a more suitable residence on the site of
an old chateau of the time of Henri II. The natural
advantages of the country were excellent. On one side
was the forest of Vitremont, on the other that of
Mondon. The Meurthe and its tributary Vezouse
watered the neighbourhood. Before long the Due and
Duchesse de Lorraine were installed in their new court,
and, gathering round them nobles, ambassadors, and
ministers, they inaugurated fetes, masquerades, banquets
and balls, with a view to increasing their popularity and

The Court of Lunevillc 293

establishing themselves more firmly than before in the
affections of their people. Hospitality and entertaining
came natural to the duke. He was young, handsome,
and knightly. He loved nothing so much as the society
of bright and cultured people, especially those belonging
to the fair sex. At the same time he was a just and
efficient ruler, intent on upholding the traditions of his
house.

His wife, Elisabeth-Charlotte, was a quiet and gentle
lady, amiable but not beautiful, who sincerely loved her
husband. On her wedding-day she scandalised the
Lorrainers by shutting herself up in her bedroom and
crying her heart out. It was said she did not wish to
go to Lorraine, but that she was pleased to leave her
somewhat tyrannical mother. The letters of the exuberant
Liselotte contain many pertinent remarks about the
young duchess, her husband, and their household. It
was a great relief to her to get her daughter married,
for she had begun to fear that Mademoiselle would
have to remain a spinster for want of an eligible match.
She thought the Due de Lorraine would probably marry
his cousin, the daughter of the Emperor.

Judging by outward appearances, the marriage was a
happy one. The duchess had many children. Her
eldest son married the Archduchess Marie-Th^rese, and
became Emperor Fran9ois I. Liselotte's daughter was
the grandmother of Marie Antoinette. The chief draw-
back to Elisabeth-Charlotte's happiness was that she did
not come first in her husband's heart. The beautiful
and fascinating Princesse de Craon was the object of his
passion, and for five-and-twenty years Leopold remained
her devoted slave. The garden of the Hotel de Craon
adjoined the park of the chateau, and a communicating

294 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

gate between the estates made it possible for. the duke
to spend much of his time in the company of the woman
he loved without attracting undue notice to his visits.
Mme de Craon's son, the Prince de Beauvau, threw
scorn upon the idea that the relationship between these
two was more than a kind of culte. He knew that the
duke went to see his mother every day, and usually
spent two hours at the Hotel de Craon. " In this
house," he said, " he enjoyed the charms of friendship ;
there he consoled himself for the difficulties he suffered
in the course of a reign as firm as it was beneficent and
wise. There he rejoiced in the good he had done, and
often prepared that which he intended to do."

The Beauvau-Craons were a very influential family,
and were connected with the House of Bourbon, The
princess, who was an exceptionally attractive woman, was
tall and well-formed. She had milk-white skin, adorable
lips and teeth, and a reputation for looking as fresh and
pretty as a girl in her teens when she was fifty years
old. Liselotte accused this siren of casting a spell upon
her son-in-law, Duke Leopold, by means of a love-philter.
In the absence of the princess, she declared, the duke
was intensely miserable, utterly ill at ease, and presently
fell a-shivering and broke into a cold perspiration. He
must surely be bewitched, she thought, for in earlier
times he had had a passion for the chase, but to-day
Silvio had become a lover. " He wishes to hide his
passion," she wrote in 1718, *'and the more he would
like it to be overlooked, the more it is remarked upon.
When one thinks he ought to be looking straight ahead,
his head turns on his shoulders and his eyes remain
fixed on Mme de Craon. It is quite amusing to warch.
I cannot understand how my daughter can love her

The Court of Luneville 295

husband as she does, and that she is not jealous. No
one could be more in love with any woman than he is
with the Craon."

That year the Due and Duchesse de Lorraine paid
a visit to Paris, and Mme de Craon was in their train,
so that Madame had an opportunity of studying the
woman who was causing all this anxiety. She had to
admit that the siren was a very charming person, and
that her beauty had not been overrated. Her carriage
was good, and she had a modest air that pleased. " She
treats the duke de haul en bas^'' she continued, "as it
she were the Duchesse de Lorraine and he were M. de
Luneville. She laughs in a charming fashion, and
behaves to my daughter with much politeness and regard.
If her conduct in other respects were as exempt from
blame as in this one, there would be nothing to say
against her." As for the duchess, her daughter, Liselotte
had to confess that she had grown appallingly ugly,
that her fine skin had been burned by the sun, which
had changed her and made her look old. She confessed,
too, that she had un vilain nez camus^ that her eyes were
sunken, and that her only good point was her figure,
which was well preserved. She still danced gracefully.
" I would rather she were virtuous and not lovely
than that she were lovely and a coquette like so many
others," sighed the upright Liselotte in a half-hearted
attempt to console herself for her daughter's defections.

A year later something like a tragedy occurred at
Luneville. On January 3 the new chateau was destroyed
by fire, and its inmates narrowly escaped with their lives,
the ducal children being rescued in night attire, and the
duchess, hardly clothed and without shoes and stockings,
being forced to walk across the gardens in snow two

296 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

inches deep. Liselotte added several imaginative details
to the story of the fire, which she attributed to in-
cendiarism. She went so far as to accuse Mme de Craon
of having instigated it. '* These mistresses are a detest-
able institution ! " she declared. " They bring all kinds
of disaster in their train, and conduct themselves like
incarnate demons. The one my daughter has to deal
with is a shameless woman, who does everything she
can to draw her husband away from her entirely. I
should not like to swear that it was not she who ordered
fire to be set to the Castle of Luneville, for her hatred
against my daughter is even stronger than her attachment
to the duke." Two days later she praised the duchess
for the wisdom or prudence with which she behaved,
and declared that she never furnished a pretext for
irritating her husband against her. " The fire was
certainly started by design," she continued, "because
they hindered help being brought or the alarm being
given. Everything that goes on in Lorraine is calculated
to occasion me much anxiety, for the Craon family directs
everything."

Meanwhile the duke lay ill, having caught a severe
cold trying to save some of his possessions on the night
of the fire. It was said that he had lavished so much
wealth on his mistress and her children that his own family
appeared in a fair way to be ruined. At his death, which
occurred in 1729, it was found that he was greatly in debt,
and that his revenues had been forestalled by some years.
It was thought that the power of the Craon family was at
an end ; but the duchess showed little inclination to avenge
herself for past annoyances, and after depriving M. de
Craon of the post of grand equerry, was content to allow
her rival to remain at Luneville. The new generation

The Court of Luncville 297

was growing up. Mme de Craon had twenty children,
of whom twelve were daughters. Four of them were
to play an important part in society at Luneville, and
one was to follow in her mother's footsteps and become
the presiding genius at Court.

Marie-Fran9oise-Catherine de Beauvau-Craon had
inherited much of her mother's charm, her dazzling
complexion and lovely hair. She had a natural gaiety
and sweetness of manner which made her many friends.
Born in December 171 1, one of all these brothers and
sisters, she was sent at an early age to the somewhat
worldly convent of Remiremont, where she remained
until she was twenty-three. Her hand was then
demanded in marriage by the son of the Marquis de
Boufflers, who was three years younger than the proposed
bride. The wedding took place in April 1735. The
Boufflers belonged to an old family of Picardy, and the
alliance was regarded as worthy of the Craon family.
At first the newly-married couple lived quietly on their
estate, and paid but few visits to Nancy or Luneville ;
but Mme de Boufflers was not destined to bloom unseen
for long. A new prince was to appear at the Court who
was quite as susceptible to beauty as his predecessor, and
who took more pains to gather round him all who could
respond to his taste for wit, learning and the arts.

King Stanislas, the new ruler of Lorraine, had been
a pawn in the political chess game of Charles XII of
Sweden. Born at Lemberg in 1677, he had paid
diplomatic visits as a young man to the Courts of Vienna,
Paris, and Rome. As Voivode of Posen, he was de-
spatched in 1704 by the Assembly of Warsaw as
ambassador to Charles XII. This king thought so
highly of Stanislas that he recommended him to the

298 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Diet as a suitable candidate for the throne of Poland,
left vacant after the deposition of Frederick Augustus,
Elector of Saxony. His accession took place on July 1 2,
1704, but his coronation and that of his queen, Catharina
Opalinska, were not celebrated before October 1705.
Four years later Frederick Augustus was restored after
the battle of Poltava, and Stanislas was compelled to
flee the country. For a period of five years he wandered
about Europe, and then settled at Zweibriicken, under
the patronage of Charles XII.

In 17 1 8 the King of Sweden died, and Stanislas
removed to Landau, and then to Weissenburg in Alsace.
There he lived with his wife and daughter, Marie
Leczinska, until 1725, when the latter, by a series of
strange intrigues, married Louis XV and became Queen
of France. Stanislas and the fair Opalinska removed to
Chambord. When Frederick Augustus died, in 1733,
the Poles requested Stanislas to return as their king.
Three years later, having fled to Dantzic, and escaped
thence in disguise to Prussian dominions, he was obliged
to abdicate, but was allowed to retain his title. The
duchies of Lorraine and Bar were granted to him, and
for a rental of one million five hundred livres Stanislas
gave to Louis XV all the rights of sovereignty over his
domains.

By this treaty, which was called the Declaration of
Meudon, and was signed on September 30, 1736, it
was stipulated that at the death of Stanislas, Lorraine
and Bar were to belong to France. The change of
government was not welcomed by the people, who re-
gretted their approaching loss of independence. When
Duke Leopold died, his son Francois had returned from
Vienna and been proclaimed Francois III of Lorraine ;

The Court of Luneville 299

but his German manners and erudition, to say nothing
of his German wig and coat, did not add to his popu-
larity with those who had loved his gallant and debonair
father.

In 1736 he returned to Vienna to marry Marie-
Therese, and his mother, who declared she was too
old to learn German, and who would gladly have stayed
at Luneville (had not this been the only possible residence
for Stanislas) was installed at the neighbouring chateau
of Commercy.

Commercy had been built by Leopold Durand, and
had formerly belonged to the Cardinal de Retz. On her
way thither, the Duchesse de Lorraine stayed at the
beautiful Chateau d'Haroue, newly built at that time
on the site of the castle in which Marshal Bassompierre
was born. The chateau belonged to the Prince and
Princess Craon, and why the Duchesse de Lorraine
accepted her rival's offer of hospitality is uncertain.
Probably it was by far the most suitable halting-place
on the route. Mme de Craon was not there to receive
the duchess, who was accompanied by the Duchesse de
Richelieu. The latter's presence was in itself enough
to prevent a meeting between the Duchesse de Lorraine
and the princess, for the Due de Richelieu had killed
the de Craon's son-in-law, the Prince de Lixin, in the
notorious duel referred to in Chapter II.

After the death of the Duchesse de Lorraine, in 1744,
Commercy fell to the lot of the fortunate Stanislas,
who, delighted with the general aspect of the buildings,
forests, rivers, and position, turned it into a palace.
The chief external features of this residence were a fine
avenue of trees, a horseshoe staircase, a terrace com-
manding a view of the park, a kiosk, pavilion, fountains,

18

300 An Eightcenth<Century Marquise

cascades, lakes, and a bridge which was lit up at night
by lights enclosed in globes of crystal.

Luneville was also brought to a state approaching
perfection by its new master. Duke Leopold had partly
restored the chateau after the destructive jfire of 17 19,
but his death had prevented its completion, and it was
left to Stanislas to put the finishing touches to this
delightful residence. One of his ideas was to erect a
grotto on which nearly three hundred moving figures,
constructed by the mechanician Francois Richart of
Nancy, were placed, which gave forth simultaneously
** a concert of different instruments, human voices, cries
of animals, the warbling of birds, the noise of thunder
and of cannon, which both surprised and charmed."
Nothing could be more descriptive of the curious kind
of enjoyment in which these pleasure-loving people
revelled.

The luxurious king, who was only king in name, had
still another string to his bow. Besides Lun6ville and
Commercy, there was Malgrange, which he had recon-
structed, near Nancy, and turned into an ideal resort
during the heat of summer. Malgrange was close to
the Church of Bon-Secours, where Stanislas never failed
to communicate on days consecrated to the Virgin Mary.
Sometimes he stayed at Jolivet, at Einville, or at
Chanteheu, farm-mansions belonging to him in the
neighbourhood. He embellished the little town of
Nancy, erected a bronze statue of his royal son-in-law
on a marble pedestal in the Place Royale, and adorned
every part of his possessions, as far as money could
achieve and skill devise, with gardens, parks, orangeries,
cascades, lakes, menageries, fountains, conservatories,
bridges, sculptures, frescoes, and all the ornate decorations

STANISLAS LECZINSKI, KING OF POLAND
Ilis Court of Luneville was famous in art, letters and gaj^ society

301

The Court of Lun^ville 303

beloved of the period. He had a number of architects,
painters, and sculptors always at work for him. Building
was his great delight, and he did for Lorraine what
Fran9ois I. did for France, only that, unlike the latter
king, he employed local workmen, and was unselfish
in allowing others to share in the enjoyment of his
possessions.

At the beginning of April 1737 Stanislas made his
entry into the dominions which were soon to become
beautiful under his transforming touch. Queen Opalinska
followed him to Luneville within a few days. At first
they stayed at the Hotel de Craon whilst the palace was
under repair. The Craon family had no objection to
continue the important part they had played under the
rule of Duke Leopold.

As soon as he was settled in his new domains Stanislas
sent M. de Craon to announce this fact to Louis XV; and
his ambassador, accompanied by Mme de Craon, then
travelled to Florence, where they continued their allegiance
to the old dynasty by allying themselves to Duke Fran9ois,
whose tutor the prince had formerly been, leaving their
children to carry on the traditions of the family in
Lorraine. Many people of rank were in a similarly
difficult position. Some followed their prince abroad,
others attached themselves to the new regime. A few
of them — the Comte de Choiseul-Stainville was one —
tried to pay a compliment to both parties by putting one
son in the French army, another in the Austrian.

Stanislas did his best to propitiate the Lorraine nobles,
and gave many of them posts in his large household,
which numbered four hundred people. Although an
autocrat as far as his personal affairs were concerned,
Stanislas had no real power, for it was vested in

304 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise

Louis XV's myrmidon, the Chancellor de la Galaiziere.
La Galaiziere was a distinguished and courteous gentle-
man, who ruled the province wisely, and never let his
nominal master feel his touch on the reins of government
more than he could help. Whenever Stanislas heard
rumours of discontent among the people, he silenced
them speedily with a word. " I shall be so good to
them that they will weep even more for me than for
their former princes," he said.

Deprived of the cares of government, yet enjoying its
privileges, Stanislas threw himself heart and soul into the
arranging of his court, from the social point of view as
well as into philosophical studies and patronage of the
arts. His personal suite included the Comte de Choiseul-
Stainville, the Marquis du Chatelet, the Comtes d'Hunol-
stein and de Brassac. The Comte de Bethune was his
grand chamberlain ; the Com.te d'Haussonville, the
master of the hunt ; the Marquis de Custine his grand
equerry. Behind the four " grands chevaux " de Lorraine,
already mentioned, pressed the crowd of the *' petits
chevaux " de Lorraine, the minor nobility. A German
element was added by the de Raigecourt and the Gournay.
Some appointments were given by Stanislas to those old
friends who had shared his dangers and adventures during
exile. Among these were the Due Ossolinski, husband of
his favourite; the Chevalier de Wiltz, lover of the Princesse
de Talmont ; and the Chevalier de Solignac, his secretary,
who was a pupil of Fontenelle and contributed not a
little to the vivacity of the Court. He was called the
King's teinturier ordinaire^ and he loved literature and
the arts.

Stanislas required great tact to weld these different
national elements into one harmonious household and to

The Court of Lun^villc 305

silence the grievances of the Lorraine nobles. He suc-
ceeded because he had a delightful manner, a generous
heart, and a broad mind — unlike his queen, who was cold
and kept every one at a distance.

Catherina Opalinska had married Stanislas in 1695,
when she was a girl of fifteen. She loathed and detested
Lorraine, and grumbled at everything that happened at
Luneville. On the whole she had little to complain of.
The household was almost as important as that of the
queen, her daughter, or the Dauphine of France. She
had a chevalier d'honneur^ a lady of honour, dames du
■palais^ maitres d'hotel^ almoners, and so forth in as large
numbers as the royal ladies at Versailles. As at the
French Court, her women were chosen from among those
beauties who charmed the eye of the reigning lord, and
in this case many of them were members of the noblest
of the Lorraine families. Mme de Linanges was her
lady of honour, and it was rumoured that the king
looked at her with ill-concealed admiration ; the Com-
tesses de Choiseul-Stainville and de Raigecourt, the
Marquise de Boufflers and presently two of her sisters were
among the dames du palais. The Beauvau-Craon family
received many favours at the hands of Stanislas. Mme
de Boufflers* husband was made Captain of the Guard
in the place of Lambertye. In 1738 Mme de la Baume
Montreval, her sister, was appointed dame du palais, and
the widowed and dowager Princesse de Lixin was
married under the auspices of Stanislas to the Marquis
de Mirepoix and also received an appointment at Court.
The Prince de Beauvau, their brother, was made Colonel
of the Regiment of Guards.

Mme de Craon, it was said, never returned to Luneville,
because she was jealous of her own daughter, who had

3o6 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

usurped her position at Court under the new regime.
Certainly her daughter was upholding the family traditions.
But the princess had never had a rival in the heart of
Leopold, whereas the marquise had had for an im-
mediate predecessor the fascinating Duchesse Ossolinska.
This woman was the King of Poland's cousin, and had
married his former treasurer in 1733. She was her
husband's second wife, and he was thirty years older
than she was. Her sister was the Comtesse Jablonowska,
who fell in love with the Chevalier de Wiltz, and for this
reason was refused as a match by the Due de Bourbon.
The Prince de Chatelherault-Talmont showed more con-
fidence in her, and married her, on the strict under-
standing that she should forget his rival in her affections.
She promised to do her best, but no sooner became the
Princesse de Talmont than she broke her word. The
husband and the lover fought a duel ; Stanislas inter-
vened, and the Prince de Talmont left Lorraine, vowing
never to see his faithless wife again. In 1738 Wiltz
died, and a reconciliation was brought about between
the prince and princess. Mme du DefFand described
this strange woman with her usual felicity, and Walpole,
who was " carried by force to see her," made the most
of her peculiarities, and thanked the stars that she could
not find a syllable to say to him, and begged nothing
worse of him than a lap-dog.

*' She fancies herself an absolutely perfect being," wrote
Mme du DefFand of the Princesse de Talmont. " She
makes no scruple of telling you that she does, and she
requires you to believe her. Upon no other terms can
you enjoy even the appearance of her friendship — I say
the appearance, as she cannot bestow any real regard upon
others, she is so very fond of her own dear self. Yet she

The Court of Lun^ville 307

would wish to be beloved, but merely out of vanity. Her
heart is absolutely devoid of feeling. . . . Neither her
manners nor her looks are easy or natural. She carries
her chin too high and her elbows too far behind her.
Her looks are always studied. She wishes by turns to
appear tender, disdainful, proud, and absent ; her counten-
\ ance never wears the expression of her feelings, but she
affects to be more touching, more imposing, etc., than she
really is."

The duel fought on account of the Princesse de Talmont
was not the only scandal at the court of Luneville.
Several were unfortunately connected with the convent
of Remiremont ; and when one of the chanoinesses shot
herself under distressing circumstances, Stanislas deter-
mined that appearances at least should be respected, even
though he did little to improve morals. For this reason
perhaps he was careful that there should never be
mattresses declarees at the court of Lun6ville as at Ver-
sailles, although in many other respects the court of
Lorraine was modelled on that of France. Voltaire said
that going from one to the other was hardly like a change
of habitation. Perhaps at Luneville letters were held in
higher honour, and etiquette was less severe, whilst in
licence there was little to choose between them.

Declared or not, there is little doubt that the charming
Mme de Boufflers was none the less mistress because she did
not bear the title. Nor was she only mistress to Stanislas.
There were rumours of other liaisons quite as discredit-
able. There was Panpan Devaux, concerning whom
Mme de Graffigny ran risks because she played mother
to so handsome an adopted son. There was the little
saint, Saint-Lambert, who was a la mode with all the
ladies, and who bristled angrily because Voltaire said the

3o8 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

fair marquise was the king's mistress when he regarded
her as his own. With both Devaux and Saint-Lambert
she was friendly for years and years. There was besides
the chancellor Chaumont de la Galaiziere, of whom it
might have been said, as it was in fact said about Fouquet,
"Jamais surintendant ne trouva des cruelles." Was there
nothing in the famous story, told as well by Horace
Walpole as by anybody else, and quotable only because it
is his ? Colle had one version of it in his Journal. Cham-
fort made it apply to Mme de Bassompierre, Mme de
Boufflers' sister ; and M. de Sainte-Aulaire fathered it upon
her niece, Mme de Cambis. Walpole wrote it to Sir
Horace Mann many years later, in 1764, from Strawberry
Hill:

" I love to tell you an anecdote of any of our old
acquaintance, and I have now a delightful one, relating,
yet indirectly, to one of them. You know, to be sure,
that Mme de Craon's daughter, Mme de Boufflers, has
the greatest power with King Stanislas. Our old friend
the princess goes seldom to Luneville for this reason, not
enduring to see her daughter on that throne which she so
long filled with absolute empire. But Mme de Boufflers,
who, from his Majesty's age, cannot occupy all the places
in the palace that her mother filled, indemnifies herself with
his Majesty's Chancellor. One day that she discovered
half-way up her leg, the lively old monarch said, 'Regardez,
quel joli petit pied, et la belle jambe ! Mon Chancelier
vous dira le reste ! ' You know this is the form when
a king says a few words to his Parliament and then refers
them to his chancellor."

It was Walpole, too, who remarked, " 'Tis surely very
wholesome to be a sovereign's mistress," because when
Mme de Boufflers' mother was ninety she had travelled

The Court of Luneville 309

to Frankfort and Prague to be present at the coronation
of the Archduke Joseph, grandson of her former lover.

Mme de Boufflers retained her youth and her freshness
until she grew old ; and if she was too gay, and earned
for herself the title of " dame de Volupte " because of her
gracious ways and pleasure-loving soul, at least she was
honest about it, and that may be told in her favour when
comparing her with many of her contemporaries. She
chose a characteristic epitaph :

Ci-git, dans une paix profonde,
Cette dame de Volupte
Qui, pour plus grande surety,
Fit son paradls dans ce monde.

She admitted that she was Wanting in religious faith,
even as she was wanting in faithfulness, but she neither
tried to excuse nor did she parade her faults. They
were part of her — and she was part of the contemporary
social system. That explained everything. When she
tried to cure her deficiencies she failed. At the age of
fifty she desired to be converted, but she found it not at
all easy to believe. Disappointed, she explained to her son,
the Chevalier, that she had done everything she possibly
could, but had not grown devout. " Je ne con^ois pas
meme comment on peut aimer Dieu, aimer un etre que Ton
ne connait pas : non, je n'aimerai jamais Dieu," she said
earnestly and regretfully. " Ne repondez de rien," re-
plied the Chevalier to comfort her ; " si Dieu se faisait
homme une seconde fois vous I'aimeriez surement." ^

He was fond and proud of his mother, this graceless
Chevalier, who judged others as leniently as he desired to
be judged himself. He wrote a deHghtful picture of a

* CoUe's Journal, vol ii.

3IO An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

woman who, in spite of all her faults, had many good
gifts.

" Her face, even in the flower of her age, had never
been, properly speaking, either beautiful or pretty, but
she was to the prettiest what the prettiest are sometimes
to the beautiful : she was more attractive. The sparkling
whiteness of her complexion, the peculiar beauty of her
hair, the perfection of her figure, the lightness of her
carriage, the nobility of her bearing, and, above all, the
expression, the vivacity, the singularity of her counten-
ance, were sufficient to distinguish her from all the other
women of her day."

Nor was she wanting in intellectual gifts : " she spoke
little, read much — not for instruction, nor to form her
taste gradually, but she read as she played — to forgo the
need of speaking. Her reading was limited to a few
books, which she frequently read again. She did not
retain all she read, but the result was, nevertheless, a
source of knowledge which in the long run was the
more precious, because it was coloured by her own ideas.
That which transpired from it resembled in a manner a
book, perhaps slightly incoherent, but above all amusing,
and from which was wanting nothing but useless pages."
This portrait is attributed to the Comte de Tressan.
Putting the two descriptions together, we get a fascinating
woman with a charming figure and baby face, burdened
by no grave intellectual tendencies, but with sufficient
culture to keep abreast of the literary and artistic pre-
tensions of the Court ; intent on the enjoyment of life,
pleasing others by the sheer force of being always pleased
herself, and flitting lazily, like a bee for honey, from
flower to flower.

It is easy to understand that she and Mme du Chatelet

THE MARQUISE DE BOUFFLERS
Star of the Court of I,ur.6ville

3"

The Court of Lun^ville 313

were good friends from force of contrast. Mme de
Boufflers was too easy-going, her position too assured, her
mind too uncritical, for great rivalry or discord to arise
between them. That some unpleasantness did occur was
inevitable under the circumstances, but in spite of it
Mme de Boufflers remained the closest woman friend
of Mme du Chatelet's last years.

Meanwhile she was Queen of the Court of Stanislas,
and as much the Idole de Luneville as her namesake was the
Idole du Temple. Confusion arose among the biographers
because there were so many ladies of the name of
Boufflers. The Idole du 'Temple was a countess, friend
to Walpole and mistress of the Prince de Conti. The
Duchesse de Boufflers changed her name to Luxembourg,
and was the heroine of a story told by Longchamp, in
which she communicated to all the courtiers a discourse
composed by Voltaire for Richelieu, which she had read
in Mme du Chatelet's boudoir. When the unfortunate
duke entered the presence of Louis XV, he heard every
one near him murmuring fragments of the speech he
had prepared. There was also Am61ie de Boufflers, who
was granddaughter of the old duchess, and the dowager
Marquise de Boufflers, mother-in-law to the heroine of
Luneville.

When the young marquise was taken on a first visit
to Paris to stay with her husband's mother, she was
terribly disappointed to find that lady still mourning the
husband she had lost many years before. Her house in
the Faubourg Saint-Germain was hung with black, the
windows were all darkened, and the prospects of a de-
lightful holiday being all shattered at a blow, the visitor
burst into tears and refused to be comforted. After a
time, however, she learnt to love her mother-in-law, who

314 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

was kind and gentle. One day she spoke disparagingly
of the marquis, her husband. "You forget he is my
son," remarked the elder lady, drawing herself up rather
haughtily. *' So I did, maman," replied his wife. " Just
for the moment I fancied he was your son-in-law." The
gloomy abode being unendurable to the pleasure-loving
marquise, she soon went to stay with the Duchesse de
Boufflers, who introduced her to the gay society life of
Paris. She was presented at Versailles, entered Into
many brilliant circles, and met several of the clever men
whom she was to see later at Lun^ville. Among them
were Voltaire and Montesquieu. She did not pay frequent
visits to Paris, but when she was in the capital she
sometimes stayed at the town house of her brother, the
Prince de Beauvau, sometimes at that of her sister, the
Duchesse de Mirepoix. On the whole she preferred
Lorraine, and said of it, " It is there that I wish to live
and to die ! "

She was entirely happy at Lun^ville, and felt for
old King Stanislas an affection which his affability and
generosity compelled. She ruled at the court because
she ruled its master by force of her gaiety, originality,
and variety. She gathered her own little circle round
her. Perhaps the chief figure in it was Mme de
Mirepoix, her sister. Mme du Deffand said of this
lady when she neared the age of sixty, that although
her face and figure aged according to the usual process,
her mind had grown younger, and was barely fifteen.

" She never speaks of herself," she wrote, " never takes
upon herself to decide upon anything, very seldom dis-
putes with anybody — it is sufficient to see her to think
her amiable and interesting, but one must have lived with
her to be able to appreciate her worth. . . . She is very

The Court of Lunevillc 315

timid, but never seems embarrassed — never loses her
presence of mind, nor what we style I'apropos. Her
countenance is charming, her complexion dazzling ; her
features, without being absolutely regular, are so well
suited to each other, that no one has a greater air of
youth or can be prettier. Her desire to please bears a
much greater resemblance to politeness than to coquetry ;
therefore the women are not jealous of her, and the men
dare not fall in love with her. . . . The love which she
feels for her husband satisfies her heart."

Her great friend was Montesquieu, who wrote her
portrait in verse ; and Walpole said of her that she even
concealed the blood of Lorraine without ever forgetting
it. She " is the agreeable woman of the world when she
pleases," he wrote — " but there must not be a card in the
room." Mme de Mirepoix was something of a gambler.
Her brother, the Prince de Beauvau, also thought her
one of the most amiable women of the century, wise and
refined, and, above all, with a mind just as a woman's
mind should be. The Prince and Princesse de Beauvau
were themselves in Mme de Boufflers' train. These
two were such a happy couple that a story is told to
illustrate an exceptional state of conjugal felicity. Their
daughter, who was married at the age of seventeen to
the Prince de Poix, was forbidden to read sentimental
romances, which might have given her wrong views on
the subject of conventional marriages. " But," she cried
to her advisers, " if you don't want me to know anything
about such things you will have to forbid my seeing
papa and mamma ! "

This niece of Mme de Boufflers was too young to be
much at Luneville during the lifetime of Stanislas, but
two other nieces were there, the daughters of Mme de

3i6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Chimai : Mme de Caraman, who Walpole said was a
very good kind of woman, but had not a quarter of her
sister's parts ; and Mme de Cambis, who had an elegant
figure, grace and coquetry. *' This Cambis pleases me,"
wrote Mme du DefFand ; " truly her character is cold
and dry, but she has tact, discernment, truth, and pride.
I am animated by a certain wish to please her. She
could never be a friend, but I find her piquante." Mme
de Cambis liked the Comtesse de Boufflers more than she
liked her aunt the Marquise. Her sisters, with their
husbands, also helped to swell the numbers of Mme de
Boufflers' court. Mme de Bassompierre, one of them,
was so beautiful, and at the same time so disagreeable,
that Tressan said of her : '* Fie 1 how lovely she is ! "
One of Mme de Boufflers' most intimate friends was
Mme Durival, wife of the Secretary of the Council. She
painted, she played the violin, she broke hearts, she
ignored the existence of her husband, all in the most
approved fashion of the day.

It was Mme de Boufflers who obtained for Panpan the
post of Reader to the King. Stanislas was surprised at
her request, and would not accede to it at once. " What
shall I do with a reader } " he asked. " Ah, well, he will
be as useful as my son-in-law's confessor," and Panpan
was appointed at a salary of two thousand crowns. He
was an amusing youth, this Panpan, and in his society
the favourite never knew a moment's ennui. He was
useful, too, to fetch and carry, to give her little presents,
accompanied by pretty verses, to make plans for her
enjoyment, and keep pleasant surprises up his sleeve.
He wrote his own portrait in verse, describing his
countenance as open, his hair as well placed, two little
eyes without fire, but without malice, which closed up

The Court of Lun^ville 317

whenever he laughed, his laugh spreading to his vermilion
lips and showing teeth "mal en bataille," and so on,
taking his physical charms and dissecting them one by
one. It was quite in the spirit of Panpan and of
Luneville.

Mme de Boufflers kept her two sons and her daughter
with her at Luneville, which showed that she was a good
mother, though perhaps not altogether a wise one. The
eldest son was destined to go into the army, and was
presently sent to Versailles to be brought up with the
dauphin. The younger, the Chevalier, who passed under
the nickname of " Pataud," was educated by a tutor,
the Abbe de Porquet, who became an acquisition to the
court. Mme de Boufflers, seeing how amiable, enter-
taining, and witty he was, made a friend of him, and
forgot to treat him as though he were merely a preceptor
for her son. She had to find him a court appointment
before she could enjoy much of his society. She
bethought her of the position of almoner. No sooner
said than done. Stanislas, amiable as he was when
favours were to be bestowed, did not care to have new
retainers who did nothing for a living, so he used to set
them a task. The one he chose for the Abb6 was a very
natural one to choose, but at the same time rather an
awkward one as it turned out. He asked him to say the
'Benedicite at the royal table. The Abbe stuttered and
stammered, could not remember the prayer, and subsided
into silence. Mme de Boufflers, pleading on his account,
prevented his dismissal.

But the Abbe could be so amusing that much was
forgiven him. When one day he read the Bible to
Stanislas he fell into a doze, and, waking with a start,
read, " God appeared to Jacob en singed " What ! "

31 8 An Eighteenth^Centttry Marquise

cried Stanislas ; " you mean en songe^ " Ah, Sire,"
replied Porquet quickly, " is not everything possible to
God ? " He was so free in thought for an Abbe that
when he complained to Stanislas that he was not promoted
quickly enough, the king replied, " But, my dear Abbe,
you yourself are to blame for that. You are far too free
in your speech. They say you don't believe in God.
You must moderate your manner. Just try and believe.
I will give you a year to do it in."

No wonder that his pupil, the gay Chevalier, was a
flippant youth. Saint-Lambert called him Voisenon le
Grand, because he had Voisenon's frivolity and was far
more lovable. The Prince de Ligne said of him in after-
years, that he was abbe, soldier, writer, administrator,
deputy, and philosopher by turns, and that the only one
of these roles which did not suit him was the first. He
forgot to say that he was a great traveller too. Tressan,
who met him one day en route^ greeted him cheerily :
" Hullo, Chevalier, how delightful it is to find you
at home ! "

Another Chevalier, who was also a favourite at
Luneville, but somewhat different in character, was the
Chevalier de Listenay, afterwards Prince Beauffremont,
who was called the Incomparable Prince. He was good,
gentle, facile, and easy-going. It was said of him that
when he opened his mouth his listeners thought he was
going to yawn and make them yawn, but were surprised
to find that what he said was not at all dull.

One of the most beautiful women at court was the
Comtesse de Lutzelbourg, who took part in the play-
acting with Mme du Chatelet. A foil to her was
Mme de Boisgelin, of whom Lauzun said she was " a
monster of ugliness, but amiable enough, and as coquettish

The Court of Luneville 319

as though she had been pretty." Like most of the other
women at Luneville, she had a goodly share of wit and
vivacity. Besides these were Mme de Lenoncourt, and
Mme AUiot, wife of the Intendant of the palace and
Grand Master of the Ceremonies of Lorraine, who did
wonders with the king's modest revenue, and kept
Voltaire on such short commons when he was ill that
he had to write a letter of complaint denouncing him
to Stanislas as having refused him bread, wine, and a
candle, under the pretext that he was a demon of the
kind it is necessary to exorcise through hunger.

When Queen Catherina Opalinska died the king no

longer feared a stern and intimate critic of his tastes,

and a number of beautiful women and literary men were

added from time to time to the court, or paid flying

visits there. " His house was that of a wealthy private

person," said Condorcet of Stanislas, " but no private

person could have won the fame near, far and abroad,

that was won by the Court of Stanislas. An intimate

picture of the Luneville interior was drawn in the

Memoirs of the Prince de Beauvau. "He [Stanislas]

loved the letters and conversation of enlightened men.

He honoured serious merit, but he wished to live with

amusing merit. In the family of M. de Beauvau, and

in the friends of this family, he found society which

pleased his tastes and his character. This good company

gathered every day at Mme de Boufflers'. Then the

king went there and spent several hours. Sometimes

there was music, more often readings, which were not

discontinued until gay and interesting conversation

rendered them useless.

Mme de Boufflers had a penetrating mind, and, as
Montaigne says, impulsive. She was intelligent, as

19

320 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise

one must be to appreciate belles-lettres, the arts, and
society.

Another picture of the court is from the pen of
Mme de Ferte-Imbault, daughter of Mme de GeofFrin,
who passed through Luneville on her way to Plombieres
in 1748 with Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon, aunt of the
Prince de Conti. They believed themselves " to be in
fairyland," and though they had meant to stay only
three days, three weeks had passed before they realised
that it was time to go. The king, who was nearly
seventy, made love to his charming guests as though he
were only of their own age, which they thought delightful.
He called Mme de Geoffrin's daughter" son Imbault," or
" sa chere folle," and seriously contemplated the idea of
marrying Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon. Mme de Boufflers
knew better than to be jealous. She was good friends
with Mme de Ferte-Imbault, who described her as " tres
dr61esse, fort spirituelle, aimant I'argent, le jeu et les
galants."

Another visitor at the same time was Montesquieu.
'* I was loaded with kindnesses and honours at the court
of Lorraine," he wrote to the Abbe de Guasco. He
afterwards became a member of the Academy instituted
for Stanislas by Tressan. Helvetius also paid a visit to
the court, and there won his wife. Mile de Ligniville,
who was " a poor heiress " of one of the best Lorraine
families. At that time it was an astonishing thing for a
man of finance to marry into an old family, but through
the influence of Stanislas, and under the wing of Mme
de Graffigny the deed was done ; and it was thought
very tactful on the part of the husband that he avoided
wearing mourning when the death occurred of the illus-
trious Prince de Craon, who was connected with his wife.

The Court of Luneville 321

President Renault was another visitor, and described
his host as *' a model for all princes." Poncet de la
Riviere belonged to the King's Academy, and Voltaire
said, with more rashness than accuracy, that he was
packed off because he fell in love with Mme de Boufflers.
Mesdames, the king's daughters, who were still young,
and not yet uninteresting, sometimes went to see their
maternal grandfather ; and a very important individual
at the court of Stanislas was the dwarf Bebe, aged five
years, and fifteen inches in height, who amused himself
by breaking the king's china ornaments, and got com-
pletely lost one day in a crop of lucerne.

Into this gay and busy throng came Voltaire, smiling
and urbane, le philosophe-roi chez le roi-philosophe. He
told the story in his Memoirs of his first visit with
Mme du Chatelet, which took place in 1748. His
account has been much disputed, and Saint-Lambert
made several comments which are significant enough to
be quoted in full.

" My connection with Mme du Chatelet was never
interrupted ; our friendship and our love of literature
were unalterable. We lived together both in town and
out of town. Cirey is situated upon the borders of
Lorraine, and King Stanislas at that time kept his little
agreeable court at Luneville. Old and fanatic as he
was, he still had a friendship with a lady who was neither.
His affections were divided between Mme la Marquise
de Boufflers and a Jesuit, whose name was Menou — a
priest the most daring, the most intriguing I have ever
known.

" This man had drawn from King Stanislas, by means
of his queen, whom he had governed, about a million of
livres, nearly 42,000 pounds, part of which was employed

322 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

in building a magnificent house for himself and some
Jesuits of Nancy. This house was endowed with twenty-
four thousand livres, or a thousand pounds a year, half of
which supplied his table, and the other half to give away
to whom he pleased. The King's mistress ^ was not by
any means so well treated ; she scarcely could get from
his Polish majesty the wherewithal to buy her petticoats ;
and yet the Jesuit envied what she had, and was violently
jealous of her power. They were at open war,^ and the
poor king had enough to do every day when he came
from Mass to reconcile his mistress and his confessor.
Our Jesuit at last, having heard of Mme du Chatelet,
who was exceedingly well-formed and still tolerably
handsome, conceived the project of substituting her for
Mme de Boufflers.

*' Stanislas amused himself sometimes in writing little
works, which were bad enough ; and Menou imagined
an authoress would succeed with him as a mistress better
than any other. With this fine trick in his head he came
to Cirey, cajoled Mme du Chatelet, and told us how
delighted King Stanislas would be to have our company.
He then returned to the king and informed him how
ardently we desired to come and pay our court to his
majesty. Stanislas asked Mme de Boufflers to bring us ;

1 " Omit the word mistress, it is false, and insert friend. The Marquise
de Boufflers was a most disinterested friend and seldom used her interest
but in the service of her friends ; and the expression wherewith to buy her
petticoats is not at all applicable," — Saint-Lambert.

^ " Mme de Boufflers never was at variance with father Menou, who, all-
intriguing as he was, never thought of giving Stanislas Mme du Chatelet for
a mistress. That lady and M. de Voltaire never were at Luneville, except
when invited by M. de B * * *, whom they often visited and found very
amiable. They never went as guests to the King of Poland. If Menou
really proposed the journey to Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet, it was
when he was informed they were coming, and to make a merit of it with
the king." — Saint-Lambert.

The Court of Luneville 323

and we went to pass the whole year at Luneville. But
the projects of the holy Jesuit did not succeed ; the
very reverse took place : we were devoted to Mme de
Boufflers, and he had two women to combat instead
of one.

" The life led at the Court of Lorraine was tolerably
agreeable, though there, as in other courts, there was
plenty of intrigues and artifice."

The suggestion that Menou desired to supplant the
** dame de Volupte " by the imperious and erudite Emilie
has been much disputed by the authorities. Certainly
there was no love lost between the king's confessor and
the king's mistress, but the priest who had been friendly
in earlier days with Mme du Chatelet's father must have
known Milady Newton too well to have laid any such
schemes. He may have let fall a word of invitation
when he visited Cirey at the beginning of 1748, leading
Voltaire and Emilie to believe that the King of Poland
was desirous of their company at his court, and on his
return to Luneville have told Stanislas that the poet
and his marquise were dying to come and pay him their
respects ; but there seems no foundation for the statement
that after a consultation with the king, Mme du Boufflers
set out for Cirey to fetch the illustrious couple to
Luneville.

De Luynes made a note in his Journal of February 24,
1748, that he had just been informed that Mme du
Chatelet, who had already played Isse at Sceaux, had
repeated the opera at Luneville with Mme de Lutzel-
bourg, and stated that Emilie left Versailles at the
beginning of the year to go to Cirey with the Marquise
de Boufflers and Voltaire, and that from thence they went
to the court of Stanislas. But this account does not

324 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise

agree with that of Longchamp, who described the night
journey in January from Paris to Cirey on snowy roads
and through hail and sleet, when the hind-spring of the
carriage gave way, precipitating the divine Emilie, her
maid, and a mountain of bandboxes and parcels on top
of the unfortunate poet, who lay almost smothered until
extricated from the debris by the servants.

The accident was to be deplored, but it was responsible
for a glimpse of Emilie, full of revelation of character,
which is worth much.

" M. de Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet were seated
side by side on the cushions of the carriage, which had
been placed on the snow," continued Longchamp.
'' There, almost transfixed with cold in spite of their
furs, they were admiring the beauties of the heavens.
The sky was perfectly calm and serene, the stars shone
brilliantly, neither house nor tree was within sight to
break the line of the horizon. Astronomy had always
been a favourite study of our two philosophers. Over-
come by the magnificent spectacle spread out around
and above them, they discussed, whilst shivering, the
nature and courses of the stars, and the destination of
the vast worlds hanging in space. Only telescopes were
wanting to their perfect happiness. Their minds soaring
in the profound depths of the sky, they saw nothing of
their sad position on earth, amidst snow and icicles."
At that moment she was truly great. Passionless and
calm, her intellect was in the ascendant. So she should
have lived and — so died.

No Mme de Boufflers was present then, nor after-
wards. On the contrary, they were so much alone that
they grew tired of arranging the library and the
laboratory, and of playing tric-trac ; and Emilie wrote to

The Court of Luneville 325

Mme de Champbonin, inviting her as a last resource from
too much solitude. The lady arrived with a schoolgirl
niece, and for their benefit Mme du Chatelet composed
farces, proverbs, and riddles, and enlisted her servants
to act in the little theatre, because there was no one
else to take part in her plays. Still no word of Mme de
Boufflers ; though Longchamp is inaccurate in another
respect, because he says that four months passed thus in
pleasant amusement, when it was decided to accept the
invitation of Stanislas to Luneville, whereas in reality
they went there in February. He also says they went
to Commercy first.

None of the letters elucidate these points, but it is
quite clear that neither Mme du Chatelet nor Voltaire
required much persuasion to pay the visit in question
at this juncture of affairs. The former was longing to
find a lucrative post for her husband ; the latter had
offended Marie Leczinska, and a visit to her father
seemed to him to have about it all the charm of defiance.
The queen's anger had been aroused in two ways — first
by his laudatory verses to Mme de Pompadour, secondly
by an apparently trifling misdemeanour, which to those
at court appeared more serious ; indeed, it struck a blow
at one of their treasured institutions. Hearing Marie
Leczinska was angry, Voltaire asked what was his latest
offence, and was informed that he had written a letter
to the dauphine in which he had made the statement
that cavagnole was a boresome game. Was this a mere
excuse to veil her real annoyance .'' " I quite under-
stand," he wrote on this point to President Henault from
Luneville, in February 1748, " that if I had committed
such a crime, I should merit the most severe chastise-
ment ; but, in truth, 1 have not the honour of being in

3^^ An Eighteenth-Century Marquise

communication with Mme la Dauphine. But he had
made verses much in the same spirit :

On croirait que le jeu console,
Mais I'Ennui vient a pas comptes,
S'asseoir entre des Majestes,
A la table d'un cavagnole.^

Voltaire should have expressed himself on the point
some thirty years later. Marie-Josephe de Saxe, what-
ever she felt in private, was too exemplary a princess to
express her opinions on cavagnole openly. The dauphine
who succeeded her, Marie-Antoinette, loathed the game,
and would have sympathised with the author to the
utmost. As a matter of fact, Voltaire, in a letter to
dArgental, indignantly denied having addressed the
dauphine on the subject. He had sent the verse to
" quite a different princess,^ whose court was four
hundred leagues away," and was quite indifferent as to
whether he had been guilty of lese-majerie or lese-
cavagnole.

The visitors arrived at Luneville on February 13, late
in the evening, and were received with great enthusiasm
at court. Mme du Chatelet was given a suite of rooms
on the ground floor of the chateau which had belonged
to the queen, and Voltaire was on the first floor. Voltaire
celebrated his arrival by falling seriously ill — too ill to
express his usual conviction that he was on the point of
death. Stanislas sent his own doctors, and paid a visit
to the philosopher's bedside. Never had he been better
attended. As soon as he was restored to health, a

* One would imagine that card-games were a solace,
But Boredom, stalking grim,

Seats herself between their Majesties
At the cavagnole table.

* This was the Princess Ulrica, i§ister to Frederick.

The Court of Lunevillc 327

series of festivities was arranged to amuse him and
Emilie. Plays were acted in which Mme du Chatelet,
Mme de Boufflers, and Mme de Chabot took part.
Emilie arranged concerts at which she sang herself,
and her husband, the marquis, who passed through
Luneville on his way to rejoin the army, was enchanted
at his wife's popularity.

*' My divine Angels," wrote Voltaire to d'Argental and
his wife on February 14, "I am here at Luneville,
and why ? King Stanislas is a charming man, but when
one adds King Augustus to him, stout as they are, in
one scale and my angels in the other, my angels weigh
heaviest.

" I have been ill — but Mme du Chatelet is wonderfully
well. She sends you the most tender regards. I do not
know if she will remain here throughout February. As
for me, who am only a small satellite, I shall follow in
her orbit cahin-caha. . . .

" It is true I have been ill, but it is a pleasure to be
so at the King of Poland's. There is certainly nobody
who has more care of his invalids than he. It is im-
possible to be a better king or a better man."

This letter he followed up with another, to the
Comtesse d'Argental, on February 25 :

" My supposed exile would be delightful if I were
not so far from my angels. Truly the visit here is
delicious ; it is an enchanted castle of which the master
does the honours. Mme du Chatelet has discovered the
secret of playing Isse three times in a very fine theatre —
and Isse has been a great success. The king's troupe
played Mero-pe. Believe me, Madame, they cried here
as much as at Paris. And I, who address you, I forgot
myself sufficiently to cry like any of the others.

328 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

" We go every day into a kiosk, or from a palace into a
cottage, and everywhere are feasting and liberty. I think
Mme du Chatelet would gladly pass the remainder of her
days here, but I personally prefer the charms of friend-
ship to all fetes."

In spite of his remarks to the contrary, Voltaire liked
to be well entertained, and Emilie was in the seventh
heaven. " We have had a very charming carnival at
Shrove-tide," she wrote to d'Argenson on March 2.
" The King of Poland has loaded me with kindness, and
it is difficult to leave him." Voltaire summed up the
court of Luneville in a phrase — " Lansquenet and love."
The last word was to bear a terrible significance. An
atmosphere of love is infectious, and Mme du Chatelet
was not immune. Already, at that hour, busybodies were
coupling her name with that of Saint-Lambert, but no
whisper reached Voltaire's ears as yet.

CHAPTER X

LOVE AND SAINT-LAMBERT

THE gaiety, the festivities, the successes and triumphs
of Mme du Chatelet's life were almost over.
Tragedy was to follow, all the more pathetic because it
was fraught with flashes of sardonic humour — a tragedy
that inspires awe and silences criticism. It is difficult to
condemn the ill-considered actions of the dying ; when
the death is the direct result of such actions it is almost
impossible. Mme du Chatelet's fate was so peculiarly
the outcome of uncontrolled passion that pity for the
manner of it is uppermost, and judgment is temporarily
suspended.

What kind of man was he for whom she staked her all
without restriction, without reserve, to whom she offered
heart, mind, and body, to whom she sacrificed her position,
her future, her children, her husband, even her friend
of long standing : Words do not make Saint-Lambert
live again. They seem as unable to give him charm or
worth as those beautifully arranged by himself in his
poem of Les Saisons were to secure for it a place in the
hearts of his readers. Grimm said of this poem that if
the author desired his name to be known to posterity he
must destroy the whole of his work except one or two
short passages. A man of artistic taste coming across
these fragments in after-years would point out their
beauty to a whole nation, and, judging by what he had

329

330 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise

found, expatiate upon the terrible loss that had been
sustained. " He would reason justly, but be completely
deceived," concluded Grimm.

So it seems with Saint-Lambert himself. Were nothing
known of him but the passionate love for him of
Mme de Boufflers, of Mme du Chatelet, more than all of
the sweet-natured and tender-hearted Mme d'Houdetot,
it would be easy to endow him with all the noble and
attractive qualities, with all the warmth of feeling and
generous, if too lavish, affections that might appeal to
women who greatly differed in character and tastes. But
to do so is likewise to be wholly deceived. The romantic
side of Saint-Lambert's career is qualified by the prosaic
exactness of his other characteristics. From his poems,
from his letters, from his long and detailed will, in which
he turns neat phrases about many of his friends, it is
obvious that the graces, elegances, and charms he possessed
were of superficial value only ; no impulsive heart beat
beneath that calm exterior, no nobility or depth of
purpose inspired him, no unselfish motives led him into
indiscretion. What he did was done in an ordered
manner, because he chose to do it, or saw in it some
chance of benefit, some hope of being thought a wonder-
ful man and a fine man.

" Saint-Lambert, with a delicate politeness, though a
little cold, had in conversation the same elegant turn, the
same acuteness of mind that you remark in his writings,"
said Marmontel. "Without being naturally gay, he
became animated by the gaiety of others ; and, on
philosophical or literary subjects, no one conversed with
sounder reason or a more exquisite taste. This taste was
that of the little court of Luneville, where he had lived,
and the tone of which he had preserved."

THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT
Author of '1,65 Saisons "

331

Love and Saint'Lambcrt 333

But no man is good because his taste is exquisite.
Madame Suard said, " One might esteem him, but one
could not love him." She may have seen below the
surface, which some did not, for many women falsified
her words. At any rate, he was well liked, as such men
always are, by those who do not seek for deeper qualities
or genius in reserve. He was good to look at, tall and
well set-up, with markedly handsome features, and had
eyes that seemed to utter all that his soul failed to speak.
His bearing was the military bearing of a good guardsman,
his intellect the cultured mind of a drawing-room poet.
He had a seductive manner, and women were impressed
by such advantages, and did not wait to analyse the other
qualities before bestowing approbation.

With a man like Saint-Lambert, once approve and
the rest is fatally easy. Where there is so much glitter
it is difficult to believe that real gold does not exist.
After all, Saint-Lambert, allowing for his limitations,
was a very impressive person indeed.

And Mme du Chatelet was duly impressed. She met
him for the first time during the visit to Luneville in the
early spring of 1748, and he was never out of her thoughts
again in this world. Infatuation, obsession, call it what
you will, was allowed to master her, to carry her away,
and she bowed low to the god of the period and the
place — which was passion — and imagined she was wor-
shipping at a holy shrine.

And Voltaire saw nothing then. He liked Saint-
Lambert well enough. He thought him a promising
writer. When he saw the first verses of Les Saisons he
believed they were good, rather in the style of Boileau,
but distinctly good. He called him his " terrible pupil,"
and hoped posterity would be grateful. Mme du Chatelet

334 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

sent some lines by Saint-Lambert to d'Argental from
Commercy : " I cannot help sending you some verses
written by a young man of our company here, whom
you already know from VEpitre a ChloL I feel sure
they will please you." And then she proceeded to tell
him that Saint-Lambert was anxious to make his acquaint-
ance, and was entirely worthy to do so ; that she was
bringing the young writer to Cirey, and hoped they
might meet there ; that Voltaire liked him, and wished
to befriend him. She begged d'Argental's protection
also for this young man of good birth, a man of Lorraine
who had no means worth speaking of.

There seems some doubt as to the exact place of the
soldier-poet's birth. One authority says at Affracourt,
another at Vezelis in 1717.^ He was eleven years younger
than Emilie. By his own account in the preface to L,es
Saisons he was brought up in the country among agri-
culturists. He had studied nature, and thought he under-
stood and loved her. His temperament was poetic, and
he desired to sing of the things he loved, to tell of the
beauty of the world around him. Mme du Deffand
made by far the best comment on the manner in which
he fulfilled this ambition. " Sans les oiseaux, les ruisseaux,
les hameaux, les ormeaux et leur rameaux il aurait bien
peu de choses a dire." Nor was she satisfied with this,
for she declared the author "un esprit froid, fade et faux."
Walpole agreed with her. The poem was somnolent,
" four fans spun out into a Georgic," and the poet, he
declared, was a great jackanapes and a very tiny genius.
Perhaps the best criticism of Les Saisons was that it was
equally impossible to find fault with it in parts or endure
it as a whole.

' Puymaigre, Comte de, Poetes et Romanciers de la Lorraine.

Love and Saint'Lambert 335

For more than fifteen years the poet worked on this,
his chef d'oeuvre. It was published twenty years after
Mme du Chatelet's death, and was dedicated to Mme
d'Houdetot, under the name of Doris. Rousseau's Sophie
was the exact opposite of Mme du Chatelet. She possessed
no pretensions, no coquetry ; nothing could ruffle her
temper, nothing could chill her childlike trust. The
liaison between them lasted half a century. In his will
he left her a clock, which she was to place in her room,
and when she heard it strike she was to recall to mind the
fact that for fifty years he had consecrated to her with
pleasure a large proportion of the hours of his life.

Saint-Lambert was in the fashion. Was he not the
successful rival in love of a Voltaire and a Rousseau }

Even as she went to him with both hands full of love,
Emilie realised that she must not expect complete sur-
render in return. Her bitterness was in learning that
it was not in his power to love her as she loved him. At
first she had hoped for everything. Ever since the first
meeting at Luneville she threw herself with a will into
the affair ; she treasured every glance, every word of his
that promised her affection. They played at being young
and sentimental lovers, these two, who were man and
woman of the world, and who abandoned all restraint
because they saw no necessity for exerting any. They
wrote little notes every few hours to one another, and
chose romantic hiding-places in those great rooms of the
chateau which were convenient to conceal a post-box.
Hers were warm, passionate, and full of tenderness, the
letters of a woman infatuated by a man much younger
than herself, who knew she was throwing the last die
in the game of love, and who was convinced that the
game was the one most worth playing in life. " Yes,

33^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

I love you. Everything tells you that ; everything will
always tell you. ... I adore you, and it seems to me
that when one loves one can do no wrong," she wrote
in the little notes that were hidden in a harp ; and the
glances they exchanged were cautious glances ; neither
Mme de Boufflers nor Voltaire were to pierce the masks
they wore, to realise that they loved with a delight that
was none the less attractive because of the need of mystery
and concealment.

What a contrast was this love to that she had lavished
on Voltaire ! She had had so much that was intellectual
from him that she rejoiced in an affection of the heart.
It was simpler, less exacting, even more compelling. She
reasoned that she had been faithful to a man who had
long ceased to love her as a lover should, that she had
found it impossible to live without something warmer and
more personal than companionship and Intellectual Interest.
She wrote her apologia to d'Argental :

" God gave me one of those tender and constant natures
which can neither moderate nor disguise their passions,
which know neither weakening nor distaste, and of which
the tenacity resists everything, even the certainty of not
being loved. For ten years I have been made happy
through the love of him who has subjugated my affec-
tions, and I have passed these ten years entirely in his
company, without a moment of disgust or languor, when
age, sickness, perhaps even satiety, lessened his affection
for me. I was a long time without perceiving it. I
loved enough for both of us. I passed my life wholly
with him ; and my heart, free from suspicion, rejoiced in
the delights of loving and of believing myself beloved. It
is true that I have lost this happy condition of mind, and
that I have only lost it at the cost of many tears,

Love and Saint ^Lambert 337

" There have to be terrible blows struck before chains
long-fettered fall away, and the wound in my heart has
bled for a long while. I might have complained ; instead
I pardoned all. I felt that perhaps mine was the only
heart in the world that was so constant, the only one
that could defy the power of time ; that if age and illness
had not destroyed his passion it would still have been
mine ; that love would have restored him to me ; that his
heart, incapable of anything warmer, held for me the most
tender friendship. The certainty that it was impossible
his inclination and passion should return — for 1 know such
a thing is not natural — brought my heart by degrees to feel
only a calm sentiment of friendship, and this sentiment,
joined to a passion for study, rendered me happy enough.

*' But can a heart so tender be quite filled by so calm
and feeble a sentiment as friendship . . . ? "

When she wrote that letter she was still reasoning,
still trying to justify herself. Before long reason was
silenced, feelings alone spoke. She ceased to struggle.
She gave herself up to the charm of this novel emotion
as though she had never experienced anything like it in
her life before.

The harp seemed but a poor and slow repository for
secret vows. Hers were penned on lace-edged paper tied
with a ribbon of pink or blue. The lovers must needs
take into their confidence before long his valet and
her maid. They were both kept busy carrying letters,
running errands, even bearing verbal messages. Saint-
Lambert fell ill. The marquise did not attempt to hide
her anxiety. She advised this remedy and that ; she sent
him tea, soup (to be taken an hour after his medicine),
a wing of partridge, a morsel of chicken — any delicacy
her mind could devise which might help him to regain

20

33 8 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

strength. He must open the windows and ventilate his
room, she said. She sent him sweet-smelling pastilles to
make the air pleasant. She played the nurse to him
better than she had ever played it to Voltaire ; she
would kill her patient with kindness if she could. But
at all costs she must see him, or she would die. Dis-
guised in a large cloak she went to his room, where she
stayed the greater part of the night nursing him.

All this devotion touched him. His affection grew
a little warmer. " You have never been more tender,
more lovable, more adored," he wrote ; and he composed
a little verse for her, which she thought delightful. Her
letters, on the other hand, were full of passion. Each
one breathed the same adoration, each ended in the
same refrain : "I love you ; with all my soul I love
you." As Saint-Lambert improved in health he became
less demonstrative, he recovered his dignity a little. He
was his natural self, " froid et galant " ; she preferred him
to be " colere et tendre." She expected him in vain in
her rooms. His soup awaited him there, and was grow-
ing cold — far colder than she, who was waiting too.
"The greatest sign of indifference one can give is not
to be with those one loves when it can be done without
fear of discovery." When he arrived she reproached
him with his absence, and then reproached herself for
giving way to anger. " Forgive me," she wrote. " Be-
lieve that I only desire to be amiable, gentle, estimable,
and to be loved and esteemed by you. ... I know my
faults, but I wish you to ignore them. . . . You wrote
me five letters yesterday. What a day ! I did wrong
to spoil the end of it."

All too soon the parting came — an unavoidable although
only temporary separation, delayed to the last possible

Love and Saint 'Lambert 339

moment. At the beginning of March the Lun6vilie visit
was broken by a few days at Malgrange. Then Stanislas
left for Versailles to see his daughter, Mme de Boufflers,
and Voltaire accompanied him to Paris, and Mme de Cha-
telet returned to Cirey to look after the farmers there.
This was the arrangement she preferred. Saint-Lambert
had left for Nancy to rejoin his regiment. With a lover's
ingenuity she managed to have business to do in Nancy,
and spent some days there with her lover. Before they
parted she begged him to come to Cirey. He promised
to do so, but his promise did not ring with enough sin-
cerity to please her. She felt a little chilled as she left
the spot where they had been together, and as she
travelled away from the object of her adoration she felt
it necessary to pour out to him all that was in her soul.
She wrote to him from Bar-le-Duc, after they had
parted at Nancy : " All my mistrust of your character,
all my resolution against loving you, cannot save me
from that love with which you have inspired me " — she
was not quite blinded then. " I no longer attempt to
combat it — I feel the futihty of that. The time I spent
with you at Nancy has increased it to a point which
astonishes myself. Still, far from reproaching myself, I
feel an extreme pleasure in loving you, and it is the
only one which can lessen the pain of your absence."
And then she told him that only when she was with
him could she be completely contented, because she knew
that though his inclination was strong he did not yet
know how to love. " I feel sure that to-day you will be
more gay and more spirituel than ever at Luneville, and
this idea is afflicting apart from all other anxiety. \i
you cannot love me otherwise than feebly — if your heart
be incapable of giving without reserve, of being occupied

34° An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

wholly with me, of loving me without limit or measure —
what good will my heart be to you ? I am tormented
by these reflections, but they occupy me ceaselessly."
And then in a spirit of contradiction she suddenly burst
out with the truth : " I am afraid I am doing wrong in
loving you too much." Her reflections, her struggles,
all that she felt, proved this to her. As she gave more,
he might vouchsafe her less. " Come to Cirey and show
me that I am wrong. ... I shall expect you there, do
not doubt it." Saint-Lambert spoke of going to Italy,
but she begged him to sacrifice the journey and stay
with her. " Without such a sacrifice I should not have
believed in your love for me." And yet she was afraid
that even whilst they spoke the same language they could
not fail to misunderstand one another. That would be
the penalty of marked difl^erences in their respective
natures ; they could not give the same rendering to the
word " love." Yet her passion for him efi^aced every
other consideration. Agitated as she was, she saw the
man she had to deal with clearly, and judged him with
perspicacity.

By chance her passionate letters were delayed in reach-
ing Nancy, and her silence awoke in Saint-Lambert a
renewal of his devotion to her. " Why," she replied,
" should I owe the most tender letter which I have ever
received from you to the grief you felt in not hearing
from me ? It is necessary not to write to you, then, in
order to be loved ^ But if that be so, you will soon not
love me any more, for I must tell you of the pleasure
your letter gave me. . . . See how much power you
have over me, and how easily you' can appease the rage
which at times is aroused in my soul."

Thinking himself temporarily forgotten, Saint-Lambert

Love and Saint'Lambert 341

had reproached her for inconstancy, for having mistaken
an attraction for a great love ; such attachments, he
thought, she must often have felt. In reply she assured
him that for fifteen years her heart had turned only
in one direction, and that he alone had shown her she
was still capable of loving in another. *' If you love me
as I wish to be loved, as I merit it, and as it is necessary
to love in order to be happy, I shall only have thanks to
render to love. . . ."

As he travelled back to Luneville, he wrote to her en
route :

*' I only left Nancy after the post, because I had written
to the postman to send your letters there to me. I
awaited, then, this morning the treasures which I ought
to have received on Wednesday.

"I received them. I enjoyed them on the journey.
Alas 1 they could not prevent my feeling that I had
put five leagues more distance between us. Here I am
then, mon cher amour , in a spot where I have lost that
precious liberty which each day becomes more precious.

*• The king received me with his usual kindness. He
is certainly the one 1 like the best of all his court. I am
more than ever determined to give my time only to him,
and not to take more distraction during my journey than
that which my health absolutely demands. I return to
your letter. I must have been very much in despair to
have only written you four words on the day I left you.
I had to tell you all that I usually say to you, all that
I make you understand, and then all my regrets. Be
sure of it, mon cher amours they have never been more
keen, as true, and less susceptible of being weakened
or scattered. The journey tired me without making me
forget you."

34^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

He told her that the melancholy he felt was natural
to him, and that it grew more overwhelming in her
absence. Existence was painful to him, and he only
valued it when he remembered that she loved him.
Man cher cceur^ he called her, mon cher amour ; and begged
her to tell him everything she did and what her husband
did, and to take the greatest care of her health. Never
had he felt a more impassioned interest nor a more
tender one in all that she was, that she felt, that she
did, or that she might become. . . . *' If you only knew
what a treasure I possess in you, you would look after
yourself well. Feel assured that all the keen and
delicious impressions which I have received from you
are preserved in my heart, are even increased, will always
be preserved. It is impossible that anything but you
can encompass my happiness. I shall always be filled
to the brim with my tenderness for you and content to
experience it."

This letter is a characteristic one. It defines Saint-
Lambert's limitations admirably. His personal charm did
not lie in his mental equipment, and therefore eludes the
biographer, who can only fail in trying to give life to
physical perfection.

To all her expressed wishes that he should come to
Cirey he gave undecided answers. He hinted that so far
Voltaire lived in the perfect ignorance that was bliss. It
would be a pity to risk undeceiving him. Besides, he
spoke again of the contemplated journey to Tuscany with
the Prince de Beauvau. Mme du Chatelet gave vent to
a storm of indignation. She assured him that there
were no fears to be entertained on the score of Voltaire,
who was too busy to take notice of what went on — so, at
one time,..she had assured Voltaire that the Marquis du

Love and Saint-Lambert 343

Chatelet would have nothing to say against his presence —
and that on no account must he think of leaving Nancy
for England or Tuscany. " I demand this sacrifice of
you," she repeated. Nor could she bear the thought
that Mme de Boufflers was privileged to see more of her
lover than she herself. She knew something of the
affection there had been once between these two, and
she feared lest in her absence it might be renewed.

It was the oft-told tale : the woman whose love is her
whole life, the man to whom it is an episode. Although
played by two very different characters and in quite other
circumstances, the same note of tragedy is in Mme du
Chatelet's prayers as in those of Mile de Lespinasse.
They both gave their all ; they both received a shadow
in return. Saint-Lambert was not playing the double
game of the Comte de Guibert, nor was Mme du
Chatelet's remorse on Voltaire's account half as poignant
as that of Mile de Lespinasse for Mora. Mme du
Chatelet was better balanced, more masculine, less fettered
by convention or scruples than the highly-strung neurotic
adopted sister of d'Alembert. Yet both of them were in
the grip of the uncontrollable passion which was to carry
them remorselessly to the tomb.

Saint-Lambert gave of his best. He turned his
happiest phrases and bared his tenderest thoughts for
her ; but no woman of her temperament could fail to see
the want of spontaneity, of life in his protestations.

When at last he paid the promised visit to Cirey, it
was to spend but twenty-four hours there ; but at least
in that brief spell of happiness all their differences were
temporarily forgotten.

In after-years the author of Les Saisons put his own
words into the mouth of his friend the Prince de Beauvau,

344 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

and gave an impersonal description of the woman who for
a time had held him in the thrall of reflected passion.
With the help of the Princesse de Beauvau he wrote her
husband's life. Mme du Chatelet and the brother of
Mme de Boufflers were naturally enough good friends ;
but the following portrait is probably largely the work
of the man who had known its subject far more inti-
mately than the Prince. It is chiefly interesting on that
account.

*' Much in the society of the Duchesses de Luxembourg,
de Boufflers, and de la Valliere, the Prince de Beauvau
met Mme du Chatelet at their houses. He appreciated
the merit of her intelligence, which delighted equally in
the truth of science and the beauties of art. The studies,
in truth, which occupied her the most were not those in
which M. de Beauvau sought to instruct himself; but
Mme du Chatelet brought into society the desire to
know men, and that keenness of observation which be-
comes the habit of philosophy. This philosophy she hid
with care in the frivolous circles by which she was sur-
rounded. She never appeared to have more knowledge
than the others. It was necessary to have a great deal,
before she cared to show hers. Nevertheless some of it
was perceived, and enough to rouse vanity and envy.
That which M. de Beauvau particularly liked in Mme du
Chatelet was her simplicity, her candour, a facility for
pardoning all those who gave her cause for complaint,
and finally the heart which had never known hatred
except for the enemies of her friends, the heart which
made her think well of all individuals, although she
believed much evil of the race." Saint-Lambert's powers
of cold analysis are very apparent in this description.

In May Voltaire and Emilie spent a short time at

Love and Saint^Lambert 345

Cirey, and went on to Paris, where they stayed through-
out June.

Mme du Chatelet was more in love than ever. This
time Panpan was taken into her confidence and charged
with her voluminous letters, which he saw safely to their
destination. Mme de Boufflers was staying in Paris,
and this was a relief; but the stay was a short one, and no
sooner had she returned to Luneville than Saint-Lambert
left Nancy for the Court, and all Mme du Chatelet's
jealous fears were renewed. His letters were never so
long from there as from Nancy, nor so tender. It
seemed to her an odd coincidence. " Why do you not
love me as much when you are at Luneville as you do
at Nancy ? " she asked, and the answer did not altogether
dispel her misgivings.

And so the sad story went on. She was dissatified,
doubting, unhappy ; he careless, lax in writing, and
indifferent. " You love to torment my soul," she cried ;
" you are unpardonably capricious." When he addressed
her as " my dear mistress," this tenderness filled her
momentarily with joy.

At last he informed her that he had given up all
thoughts of going to England or to Tuscany. " You
are not going to Tuscany, and you are not going on
my account ? " she repeated over and over to him. " If
you knew how that rejoices my heart. I adore you,
I adore you ! "

She sent him a portrait concealed in a watch. He
liked it none the less because Voltaire possessed a similar
one. All he had asked was that in the portrait she
should be dressed the same as when she acted in Isse.
Another present was far less romantic ; it consisted of a
bottle of special hair-oil, which she assured him would

34^ An Eightecnth^Ccntury Marquise

have marvellous results. If he thought she ought not
to have sent it, he might return the compliment if he
liked by sending her a bottle of lamp-oil, which was
exactly the same price !

Knowing that Saint-Lambert was writing a poem on
the Seasons, she was troubled because the Abbe de
Bernis had chosen the same subject. She therefore
invited the latter to supper, and listened to all his
verses. When she found that Saint-Lambert knew of
them already, she was disappointed that her sacrifice had
been in vain.

To her distress Saint-Lambert informed her that he
had had a quarrel with Mme de Boufflers. She was
afraid of being drawn into it, and she would have been
grieved if a shadow should come between herself and
Mme de Boufflers, whom she sincerely loved. Saint-
Lambert, however, was not well pleased that they should
be intimate, and something of this she read in his letters.
" I will not dislike Mme de Boufflers, whatever you may
say to me. Her letters always contradict yours. I am
much more content with her friendship than with your
love. . . . Mme de Boufflers cares for me more than
you do."

She was anxious at this time to obtain a post for
M. du Chatelet at the court of Stanislas, and expected
both the marquise and Saint-Lambert (whose influence
was very little) to help in securing the appointment,
which meant much to her, because it would facilitate her
being at Luneville with her lover more frequently. Her
anxiety made her restless and quite ill, and her lamenta-
tions bored Saint-Lambert, who failed to write regularly.
This rendered her case still worse, and her complaints
increased.

Love and Saint^Lambert 347

The marquis had a serious rival in the Comte de
Bercheny, whose father had been of service to the King
of Poland. On June 5 Emilie wrote to Saint-Lambert
that if Bercheny should receive the appointment it would
be impossible for M. du Chatelet or herself to set foot
in Lorraine again, since nothing could make it support-
able for them to endure the sight of a Hungarian and a
junior commanding in his place. " My friendship for
Voltaire alone renders this thought unendurable ; judge,
then, how it affects me, when I dream that I might have
spent my life with you there, and that we should have
had other voyages to Cirey together."

Voltaire wrote to d'Argental on the same subject
on June 20. " Mme du Chatelet has met with a
thousand terrible disappointments with regard to the
appointment in Lorraine. It has been necessary to fight
for it, and I joined in the campaign. She won the battle,
but the war still continues. It is necessary that she
should go to Commercy, and I shall go as well."

The desired appointment was confirmed in November
of that year. De Luynes mentions it in his Journal of
the 24th of the month : *' About a week ago the King
of Poland created the post of Grand-Marshal of the
Household with a salary of two thousand crowns for
M. le Marquis du Chatelet-Lomont, a man of good rank
but not rich."

Bercheny was made Grand Equerry to Stanislas and
Governor of Commercy.

Emilie's visit to this chateau was fixed for the begin-
ning of July. She left Paris with Voltaire on June 29.
She had spent a sleepless night, being overcome with joy
at the prospect of meeting her lover. She was ill and
agitated, but her love had increased beyond all bounds.

34^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

At five o'clock that morning she was writing to him.
" I do not know if your heart is worthy of so much
impatience . . . but I am dying of impatience to tell
you how much I love you."

When the travellers arrived at Chalons, Mme du
Ch^telet, who was feeling fatigued with the journey,
stopped at the Bell Inn to order a cup of soup. The
landlady, discovering the identity of the illustrious
travellers, brought the refreshment to the carriage herself,
armed with a serviette, a china plate, and silver cover. She
demanded a louis in payment of the modest repast ; an
argument ensued, a crowd collected, and the disputants
grew more and more heated. Voltaire paid the gold to
close a disagreeable scene, but woe to him who thereafter
mentioned the bouillon of Chalons in his presence !

When the travellers at length arrived at Commercy,
to Mme du Chatelet's intense disappointment her lover
was nowhere to be found in the chateau or in the village.
She sat down and wrote an angry letter, abusing him for
his coldness. *' I suppose I have come too soon. I did
not expect to pass the night in scolding you, but I scold
myself far more for having shown you my extreme
eagerness. I shall know how to moderate my transports
in future, and to take your coldness as a model. Fare-
well. I was much happier yesterday evening, for I was
expecting to find you loving."

When Saint-Lambert arrived on the scene next day he
was speedily forgiven.

There was far less restraint at Commercy than at
Luneville. At the latter chateau the court was so
crowded that the lovers had to take the utmost precau-
tions to prevent their secret becoming known to every
one. At Commercy, however, the restraint of prying

Love and Saint'-Lambert 349

eyes was removed. Mme du Chatelet had rooms on
the ground floor. Voltaire was on the first floor. Mme
de Boufflers, who was frequently with the king, was
lodged close to the orangery. Intimate gatherings took
place every evening in her private apartments. Some-
times Voltaire read his works, sometimes there was music.
Stanislas never supped, and retired to his own rooms
early. After he had disappeared the others grew more
lively. Saint-Lambert had not been invited to Commercy
because the king was jealous of his friendship for Mme
de Boufllers, and therefore did not like him. But he
was staying incognito at the house of the cure^ which
was not far from the orangery. It was possible to see
the windows of Mme de Boufflers' rooms from those he
occupied. A light placed in one of them informed the
young guardsman when the King of Poland had gone
to his room and the coast was clear.

Saint-Lambert, who had the key of the orangery and
a dark lantern, needed no other invitation than this signal
to join the merry company. Supper was served without
the knowledge of the royal host by some of Mme de
Boufflers' trusted servants, and the festivities were often
prolonged well into the night. Occasionally, unknown
to Mme de Boufflers and Voltaire, Saint-Lambert did not
wait for the beacon of light to welcome him before making
his way to Mme du Chatelet's apartments before the
hour of the evening meal. The lovers made many oppor-
tunities of seeing each other. The grounds were large
and secluded. They picnicked in the forest ; they rowed
on the grand canal ; together they fed the swans. Some-
times they stayed out until late at night. Once, as she
was crossing the gardens in the dark, Emilie fell into a
ditch and bruised herself.

35° An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

But Voltaire saw nothing of what was going on. He
was occupied with his ill-health and his work.

Love-making was not Emilie's only occupation at
Commercy. She threw herself with wonderful energy
into the usual fetes and spectacles she always enjoyed. She
played in Dufresny's comedy, Le Double Veuvage^ in the
Sylphe^ a comedy by Saint-Foix, and in opera. It was
suggested that the d'Argentals, who had spent June at
Plombieres, should stay at Cirey, but their hosts could
not arrange to return there in time, and Voltaire invited
them to Commercy instead, an invitation they refused.
By the middle of the month Stanislas left for Versailles
to see the queen, and Mme de Boufflers and Mme du
Chatelet went to Plombieres. It was the king's wish that
Emilie should go there. Personally she would rather
have stayed at Lun6ville with Saint-Lambert. The
Vicomte d'Adhemar, a friend of Mme de Boufflers,
accompanied them. Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon was there
taking the waters. Marie Leczinska had been known
to say that Plombieres was the most horrid place in the
world. Emilie endorsed this opinion.

" Think of our contrary destiny," she wrote to
d'Argental. " Here am I at Plombieres, and you are
here no longer." Mme de Boufflers fell ill, and the stay
lasted far longer than she had expected. She was restless
and unhappy, hardly able to endure what she called ^* cet
infernal s6jour." To smother her discontent she worked
ten hours a day, and wrote humorously to Saint-Lambert
that they were lodged like dogs, and she regretted that
there was no room for him in the house in which they
were staying, because there were already fifty people there,
and also it was dear enough to ruin him. The sleeping
accommodation was so bad that rooms were divided off

Love and Saint'-Lambert 351

by hanging tapestry, and the next compartment to hers
was occupied by a farmer-general. Every word could
be overheard, and there was no privacy at all. " When
any one comes to see you every one is aware of it," she
wrote ; " they can look into the room." Life seemed
very monotonous at Plombieres. Coffee was served at
two o'clock, and she took it in the company of Mile de
la Roche-sur-Yon ; then she saw her again at supper,
which was at eight o'clock. At eleven every one went
to bed. Mme de Boufflers was happy enough. She was
better in health, and had M. d'Adhemar to amuse her.

From Saint-Lambert there were grumbling letters.
Why had not she stayed with him .? Or if she could
not do that, why could he not have gone with her ?
But though they both grumbled they were as much in
love as ever. " Do you love me with this ardour, this
warmth, this transport which is the charm of my life ? "
she asked him. " It is a long time till Monday — but on
Monday I shall be happy. . . . Every day I bless the
love with which I love you and you love me. It seems
to me that a love so tender, so true, can bear anything —
even absence." As she continued to write, her letters grew
more animated, more extravagant. Never were written
words more impassioned. The separation was nearly
over : four more days, two more days, thirty-six hours —
and then a disappointment. Mme de Boufflers, finding
Plombieres very agreeable, refused to leave. Emilie
communicated this distressing news to her lover. " You
would pity me if you could see my extreme discomfort
and boredom. . . . Imagine me left alone in a pigsty
day after day." Even her work had failed her. She
could settle down to nothing. " Mon Dieu, how un-
happy, sad, cross, and odious I am to myself and every

35^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

one else ! It is awful ! I might be with you, and I am
still here."

Nor did the letters she received from Saint-Lambert
tend to put her in a better frame of mind. She read
them and re-read them, but to no avail. She could not
put passion into words that had been written without it.
" The third page is ridiculous, offensive," she wrote of
one. She could see no tenderness in it. " I do not
know whether it would not be better not to be loved at
all, than to be loved by some one who reproaches himself
for his love." Moreover, her lover was careless enough
to mention the names of several other women in whose
society he endeavoured to make time pass more pleasantly.
He was having a flirtation with a Mme de Thianges, with
a Mme de Bouthillier. It was outrageous, insupportable.
Why was not he fully occupied with thoughts of her ?
If he had the slightest idea how unhappy she was, he
could not have possibly enjoyed the least distraction or
coquetry. In the hope of bringing back his whole heart
into her keeping, she poured out more amorous phrases,
more protestations of eternal affection.

Then a little incident happened which caused un-
pleasantness between her and Mme de Boufflers. The
latter received a letter addressed in Saint-Lambert's hand-
writing. Emilie saw so much. When the recipient had
read it, she tore it into fragments. The next day he wrote
again to Mme de Boufflers, but sent the letter unsealed
under cover of one to Mme du Chatelet. In the letter
he had used the words that he loved her madly, and that
he would never cease to adore her. Mme du Chatelet
was thunderstruck. She could not well have been other-
wise. "What do you mean by it.''" she asked him.
" Is such a thing tolerable ? You have deceived me.

Love and Saint^Lambert 353

But I cannot believe that you love her. If I believed it,
I should believe you a monster of deception and duplicity.
Still, one does not adore one's friend^ nor love her madly ! "

Everything seemed clear to her at that moment. Her
suspicions were poisoning her life. She suffered terribly,
more especially because she had confided in Mme de
Boufflers, had spoken constantly to her of Saint-Lambert.
If only she could leave Plombieres ! But when she ap-
pealed to Mme de Boufflers on this matter, she learnt that
the latter was still in no hurry to move. In a temper
she decided to leave without her. There was a scene
between the two, and not till September 6 did the stay
at Plombieres come to an end.

In the meantime Voltaire was once more setting out
from Paris (where he had been superintending the pro-
duction of Semiramis), for Luneville. At Chalons — the
unlucky stopping-place — he was taken so ill that he
could proceed no farther. As usual, he imagined he was
dying. This time Longchamp believed him, and sent
word to Mme Denis and Mme du Chatelet. The latter,
who was back at Luneville, despatched a courier post-
haste for news, but did not go herself After a few
days' illness, Voltaire insisted on finishing his journey,
and joined Emilie at the Court of Stanislas about
September 14.

Mme du Chatelet had many causes for anxiety. Not
only was she deceiving Voltaire, but Saint-Lambert was
not as devoted as she could have wished, and Mme de
Boufflers was showing unmistakable signs of jealousy,
and was no longer friendly. " I love your injustice,"
she wrote to Saint-Lambert, on October 8, from Com-
mercy, "but not hers. ... I fear her because it is in
her power to separate us."

21

354 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

This second visit to Commercy disclosed to Voltaire
the nature of Mme du Chatelet's infidelity. Longchamp
told the story of his surprise and resentment. Leaving
his room before he had been told supper was ready,
Voltaire entered Emilie's apartments without being
announced, as he found no servant in the antechamber.
He crossed the room without seeing anybody, and in
the little boudoir at the end he found Mme du Ch^telet
and M. de Saint-Lambert on a sofa, " talking of things
that were neither poetry nor philosophy." Overcome
with astonishment and indignation, he was unable to
control his temper. He burst into violent reproaches.
M. de Saint-Lambert, still calm and unmoved, asked him
how he dared to question his conduct. Any one who
did so, he said, had only to leave the room and the
castle too, and he would follow to justify his actions
in a more suitable place. Voltaire withdrew. He was
beside himself. He went straight up to his room, ordered
Longchamp to get a carriage immediately at all costs, as
he had decided to return to Paris at once.

Not being able to understand the cause of this sudden
decision, Longchamp appealed to Mme du Chatelet,
hoping she would be able to throw some light on the
matter. She told him that Voltaire had been annoyed
at finding Saint-Lambert in her boudoir, and that every-
thing possible must be done to hinder his departure and
prevent gossip. She asked him not to carry out the
instructions given him by his master in a moment of
anger, and assured him she knew how to manage and
appease Voltaire. First of all, he must be allowed to
get over his worst anger. It was only necessary to keep
him at Commercy until the following day. At two o'clock
in the morning Longchamp informed Voltaire that it was

Love and Saint'Lambcrt 355

impossible to get a carriage in the village for love or
money. He ordered him to obtain one from Nancy at
the earliest possible hour in the morning. This decision
Longchamp communicated to Mme du Chatelet, who
was still sitting up writing. She asked whether Voltaire
had quietened down, and said she would go to see him
herself.

Longchamp admitted her into Voltaire's room, lit
candles, and discreetly withdrew. Mme du Chatelet
seated herself at the foot of Voltaire's bed, and spoke
for a long time to him in English, calling him by a
pet name she had often used. She explained that she
was fond of him still, but that she felt the need of a
warmer sympathy than he could give her, and that she
had found it in the heart of one of his friends. She
appealed to his reason ; she begged him not to come
between her and her chance of happiness ; she made him
admit at last that there was much to be said on her side.
" But since things are as they are," he added, not without
bitterness, " at least do not flaunt your infidelity before
my very eyes."

Voltaire found it necessary to summon all his philo-
sophy to his aid. In addition to jealousy roused by the
knowledge that a friend had robbed him of the affections
of his mistress, he was conscious of many sacrifices for her
sake — amongst them the refusal of favours offered by the
King of Prussia. All this counted for nothing, then, in
her eyes. The wound she had dealt him was a sore one.

What would Emilie have done if Voltaire had aban-
doned her for a younger and better-looking woman ? It
would be painful to call up to the imagination her cries,
her pleadings, and her recriminations. One thing is
certain, however. She could never have taken a defection

35^ An Eightecnth^Ccntury Marquise

on his part in so generous a manner as he took the
blow she had dealt him. It was decided at that strange
interview that the intellectual intimacy which meant much
to both of them should be continued as though nothing
at all had happened to disturb it.

The reconciliation between the former lovers being
sealed by an embrace, and the new relationship between
them having been clearly defined, Emilie had still a difficult
and disagreeable task to perform. She had to console
Saint-Lambert, who felt aggrieved at the manner in which
Voltaire had treated him. She persuaded him to take
the first steps towards a reconciliation with Voltaire ; and
the next day the young guardsman went to the philo-
sopher's room and apologised for the angry words which
had escaped him in a moment of agitation. Perhaps at
no moment does Voltaire appear more generous than
when he shook hands with Saint- Lambert and said, " My
dear fellow, I have forgotten all that. 1 was in the wrong.
At your age you should still love and be loved. The
years of youth pass all too quickly. An old invalid like
myself has done with such things."

That evening all three actors in this strange drama
supped with Mme de Boufflers.

Voltaire was soon calm enough to make verses on
what had taken place. They are reckoned among his
finest :

Saint-Lambert, ce n'est que pour toi
Que ces belles fleurs sont ecloses :
Cast ta main qui cueille les roses,
Et les epines sont pour moi.*

Even though it may have been partly true, as has
often been suggested, that Voltaire had of late found the

* Only for thee, Saint-Lambert, lovely flowers bloom ; thy hand gathers .
the roses, the thorns remain for me.

Love and Saint^Lambcrt 357

bond between himself and Mme du Chatelet irksome,
that he was wearied by her exactions, her tantrums, her
jealous claims upon his time, that there had been many
painful scenes between them, many fresh beginnings,
many hours of regret, perhaps even of remorse, it can-
not be doubted that in the main they were well mated.
They had loved each other with a wild, unreasoning
delight in each other's intellectual gifts — a delight born
of highly strung, imaginative temperaments — but none
the less sincefely because not always harmoniously. The
problem Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire endeavoured to
solve was a problem involving strife between claims of
intellect and claims of sex — -things quite as incompatible
in their way, and as hard to mingle satisfactorily as true
love and pecuniary considerations. In their case it was
the woman who allowed the claims of sex to master her,
and spoil the calm relationship of many years' standing.

In spite of the upheaval in his life, Voltaire was busy
with his history of the campaigns of 1741 ; he was
fighting against the appearance of a parody on SemiramiSy
and repudiating, somewhat uselessly, his authorship of
Zadig. *' You speak as though I had a share in it," he
wrote to d'Argental ; " but why I ? Why do they name
me .'' I do not wish to have anything to do with novels."
On the other hand, Mme du Chatelet wrote that she
wished all this " Zadig business " might end. She was
giving herself up more and more to the delight of the
Indian Summer of her life. At times the thought crossed
her mind that she was not doing all she had been
accustomed to do in Voltaire's best interests. D'Argental
had said he ought to be in Paris. " He has given you his
reasons for staying here," she replied. They were that he
was rather ill, and very necessary to Mme du Chatelet' s

35 8 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

affairs. *' I swear to you I have no part in them, and
that I would gladly immolate myself for his sake ; " and
then she makes the rather lame excuse that, as it was
impossible to hinder the parody of Semiramis being
played, at least it would never do for them to arrive in
Paris on the evening of the representation. Having thus
salved her conscience, she threw herself with renewed
gusto into all that life had to oifer — opera, comedy, comet,
and — love.

By the close of October there was talk of a return to
Paris. " Mme du Chatelet," wrote Voltaire, " promises
more than she can perform in speaking of an early
journey." In November he penned an English letter
to Falkener, to tell him that he was at Lundville " with
the same lady," and sent a verse to H6nault to a similar
effect :

Je coule ici mes heureux jours
Dans la plus tranquille des cours,
Sans intrigue, sans jalousie,
Aupres d'un roi sans courtisans,
Pr6s de Boufflers et d'Emilie ;
Je les vois et je les entends,
II faut bien que je fasse envie.

On November lo he said : "The arrangements of
Mme du Chatelet do not allow us to depart before
December." It was true that Emilie was prolonging
the visit to the last possible moment. But she was no
longer so happy. She thought Mme de Boufflers was
trying to separate her from Saint-Lambert, and influence
Stanislas against her. Several quarrels occurred between
the lovers. She accused Saint-Lambert of being cold, of
neglecting, even of forgetting her. She asked him to
come and see her at one o'clock ; he did not come till
four. They were about to part, and she would perhaps

Love and Saint^Lambert 359

never see him again. " I do not know what will happen
to-morrow ; but I can bear anything, except the unworthy-
manner in which you treat me." He was cold, and took
no notice of her. He did not make chances of seeing
her. She thought it would be better to be alone in Paris
than near to him while he was so unkind. But before
they parted they spent a few happy moments together.
She allowed herself to be dragged away only in time to
reach Cirey on Christmas Eve.

As usual there was an adventure at Chalons. Emilie
refused to go to the Bell Inn of bouillon fame, and to
this decision Voltaire was willing enough to agree.
Instead they went to the bishop's house, at which they
arrived at eight o'clock in the morning, after travelling
all night, as their custom was. An excellent breakfast
was served. Then Emilie had a few minutes' business
to transact with a farmer in the neighbourhood, and the
horses were ordered for half-past nine. In the meantime
she suggested a game of cards. The carriage was ready,
but the game went on ; the postilions grew impatient,
and the horses were led back to the stable. They were
ordered out again after dinner. The game was continued.
It rained. Back went the horses. Mme du Chatelet
was losing, and demanded her revenge. It was eight at
night before they left Chalons. No wonder Voltaire
made remarks about her love of comet !

Emilie was unable to justify herself in the sight of the
" angels," although she did her best. To their repeated
demands that Voltaire should come to Paris she could
only reply that if she thought for a moment that his
presence in the capital was necessary, she would leave
everything to accompany him thither. Then she
enumerated the affairs which kept her at Cirey. There

360 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

were forges in the neighbourhood of the chateau, and
one manager was leaving ; she had to see a new one
installed. She had to visit every part of the estate, and
settle disputes among the farmers. These labours could
not be dismissed before the end of the month. But she
said nothing of the more important work of writing a
preface to the translation of Newton — a chef-d" cewvre^
Voltaire called it — and love-letters to Saint-Lambert.

Nor did she say a word of a fear that haunted her, that
became insistent when it was time to depart for Paris.
She had to confide in some one. It was natural to turn
to Voltaire, and she told him that she was expecting to
become a mother. That which should have been a joy
to her was only an embarrassment. They talked the
matter over, and decided that a consultation should be
held between herself, himself, and Saint-Lambert. It
was difficult to know what course to take. Appearances
must be respected ; that was one of the laws of society
in eighteenth-century France. At first it was hoped that
the whole thing might be kept from the knowledge of
the Marquis du Chatelet. Voltaire joked. There are
some men who must joke if only to save themselves from
tears. Since the child was to claim no father, he said it
should be classed among Emilie's miscellaneous works.
On second thoughts, however, it was found wiser not to
leave M. du Chatelet out of the affair, but to draw him
into it as well as they could without disclosing the truth.
The barefaced plan they arranged was to make him
believe himself the father of the unborn child. He was
invited home. Amidst feasts and caresses he thought
himself beloved, regarded himself as the chosen one,
and was told news which made him inexpressibly happy.

That such a plan could ever be conceived and carried

Love and Saint'Lambert 361

through as Longchamp described it is astounding enough,
but that it could deceive a society which prided itself on
knowing all that underlay appearances, and often knew
far more than there was to be known, was hardly to
be expected. The truth was whispered abroad, the
daring of the scheme thrilled those who heard of it,
the actors in the little comedy that was a tragedy leapt
into fashion. It was France and the eighteenth century !

Midst laughter and tears the plot went on ; the laughter
was on the lips, the tears in the hearts of Voltaire and
Emilie. The latter tried to make the best of what
appeared to her but a poor business. She wrote to
Mme de Boufflers from Paris asking her to befriend her
in her coming trial. She feared for her health, even
for her life ; she thought it would appear ridiculous to
give birth to a child at her age, and seventeen years
had passed since the little son that died had come into
the world. As for her other son, she was afraid lest
his interests should be prejudiced, and decided to keep
the news secret from him awhile. And then she hinted
that she would wish her child to be born at Luneville,
in the smaller apartment formerly occupied by the queen,
since the large one was too noisy, too smoky, and too
far from Voltaire and Mme de Boufflers. She hoped
King Stanislas would agree to her plan.

Saint-Lambert, it would appear, took the news which
concerned him closely with his usual, or perhaps, with
assumed, imperturbabihty. Judging from Mme de
Chatelet's letters, he was not nearly as considerate as
he should have been. A day passed without a line from
him ; it was abominable, barbaric.

Stanislas arrived at Versailles, and she went to see him,
and wrote angrily to Saint-Lambert from the Trianon,

362 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise

because he had spoken of leaving Lorraine to take up
active service in Flanders, and she thought she might
never see him again. Although he talked of " treating
her in this cavalier fashion," he nevertheless chose to
interfere in her affairs, and rashly suggested what she
should and should not do, going so far as to be angry
because she had taken clothes for the summer to
Versailles, when he thought she ought to be in Lorraine,
Much as she loved him, it was not likely that she would
suffer dictation from a Saint-Lambert, when she had
never permitted it from a Voltaire.

At length the matter was settled. Saint-Lambert
agreed to stay, agreed to the sacrifice she asked of him,
and did the only thing that could give her calm and
save her from tormenting herself and him. King
Stanislas, too, had taken her request in the very kindliest
spirit, and made every possible arrangement for her
comfort during the approaching visit to Luneville. He
offered her the little house at Jolivet, where she could
take the air when the weather was favourable. Her
mind relieved on these points, she became once more
the sweet and loving mistress, unable to express all
the adoration she felt for her lover, extremely impatient
to rejoin him, and hoping never to leave him for long
again.

In May, Voltaire and Emilie were still in the Rue
Traversi^re, where they had been living since the middle
of February. Whilst Emilie was writing urgent letters
to Saint-Lambert, Voltaire was receiving equally urgent
ones from Frederick the Great. Since the November of
the previous year the King of Prussia had been pressing
him to come to Potsdam. He was jealous because
his philosopher-poet preferred *' la tabagie du roi

Love and Saint-Lambert 363

Stanislas " to his own far superior Court. Voltaire
had at first replied to these importunities by saying
that he wanted to be within reach of Plombi^res for
the sake of his health — an obviously weak excuse, as
he had not visited the watering-place since 1730. As
time passed he had another reason to give. He con-
fessed that under the circumstances he desired to stay
with Emilie. Frederick saw no reason for this decision.
"You are not a sage-femme^' he replied irritably.
Voltaire agreed that he had neither paternal feelings nor
medical knowledge, but that he could not leave a friend
and a woman who might die in September. In October
he promised to come. With this Frederick had to be
content. " You are like a bad Christian, my dear
Voltaire. You put off your conversion from one day
to the other. After giving me hopes for the summer,
you postpone them till the autumn. Apparently Apollo,
as god of medicine, orders you to preside at Mme du
Chatelet's bedside. The sacred name of friendship
imposes silence on me. I must be content with your
promise."

Emilie would have been happy enough had not her
thoughts been embittered by the suspicions and anxieties
she entertained concerning Saint-Lambert. She thought
he ought to love her all the better for the new bond
between them ; she feared he would love her less. She
was jealous of Mme de Mirepoix, of Mme de Bouthillier,
and of Mme de Thianges. Instead of remaining with
his regiment at Nancy, he was always at Luneville.
Was it Mme de Boufflers who kept him there, she
wondered. She taxed him with it : "I spend my days
weeping over your infidelity. As a recompense, you
make me die of grief, I who ought to be most dear

364 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise

to you. You can end all this with a word ; it is that
you love me. But if you do not love me, never say
that you do . . ."

She wrote to him several times a day, her letters
being full of reproaches, incoherence, tenderness, and
menace.

" I wrote twenty-three letters and received only eleven.
It would be a different proportion if we counted by
pages," she said. *' I would rather die than love alone ;
it is too great a punishment."

She asked for her portrait back, but if he sent it she
told him that he would be dealing, her a mortal blow.

No wonder that Saint-Lambert, wearied, nonplussed,
confused, unable to see what to do for the best, wished
himself well out of the entanglement. But he had little
generosity and consideration for her. When she wrote
tenderly he ignored her letters ; if she failed to do so
he upbraided her. He accused her of being too much
interested in the Chevalier de Beauvau or the Comte
de Croix. Everybody was so inconstant in those days
that no one could believe in another's constancy. His
doubts roused her to make a pathetic reply. " How
could I forget you .? How could I neglect you ^ You
are the beginning, the end, the aim, and the only object
of all my actions and all my thoughts. All my feelings
are unchangeable. Do you think that the impression
which your suspicions have made upon me, your harsh-
ness, the thought you had of leaving me, as you wrote
me, which affected my health, perhaps my life, without
real foundation or cause ... do you think all these
things can be effaced ? "

Meanwhile, besides voluminous letter-writing, both
were deep in work. Voltaire was writing a tragedy.

Love and Saint^Lambcrt 365

Mme du Chatelet was burying herself in mathematics.
Study alone eased her fears and forebodings. She was
working on Newton. " Do not reproach me with it,"
she cried to Saint-Lambert. *' I am punished enough
without that. I have never made a greater sacrifice to
reason. I must finish it, though I need a constitution of
iron. ... I cannot really love anything which I do not
share with you, for I do not love Newton — it is a point
of honour with me to finish it." She had gone far,
indeed, since the old days, when her interests were
Voltaire's interests and his hers.

All through May she was studying with the help of
her old friend Clairaut. She rose at nine, sometimes at
eight. She worked until three, when she took coffee.
She started work again at four and did not stop till
ten o'clock, when she had a light supper, while Voltaire
chatted to her. Their talk continued until midnight,
when she began work again until five in the morning.
She gave up all society life, and saw none of her friends.
At this time Mme du DefFand was numbered amongst
the^ closest of them. In spite of everything, she was
strong and well, and only living to see her lover again.

In June they paid a rush visit to Cirey, which lasted
only a fortnight. Then they went on to Commercy.
It was sad, said Voltaire, to leave delightful apartments,
books, and liberty to go and play at comet at the court
of kings. There was no help for it. He must follow
to the last in the train of Emilie, who was as gay as
ever. Stanislas employed his mornings with his plans for
building ; in the afternoon there were cards, concerts,
comedy, and opera. Nanine and La Femme qui a Raison
were played. In the evening there were surreptitious
supper-parties as before.

366 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise

Work was not neglected. Voltaire wrote his tragedy ;
Emilie did her mathematics. At times she was distrait
and troubled, and she sent for her companion, Mile du
Thil. Voltaire wrote many letters to his friends, treating
the event to come lightly, as a joke, refusing to see risk
or danger. He was concerned at this time about Diderot,
who had been imprisoned at Vincennes for writing Philo-
sophical Thoughts J and a Letter on the Blind for the Use of
Those that See. On July 30 he wrote to Abbe Raynal,
to tell him that Mme du Chatelet had interceded for
Socrates-Diderot with the governor of the prison, who
was a relative of hers and brother-in-law to Richelieu.
The petition was successful, and his prison life was
considerably ameliorated.

Mme du Chatelet had nearly done with letter-writing
altogether. It was one of her last efforts that effected a
deed of mercy. Only two more of her letters are on
record after that date, both written in August, both to
Saint-Lambert, both upbraiding him. He had treated
her cruelly ; she had been in his presence, but he had
never once glanced in her direction. She knew she
should thank him for it. She realised that his action
had been prompted by discretion, by an attempt to keep
up appearances. But it was, nevertheless, more than she
could bear. " 1 am accustomed to read in your charming
eyes, every moment of my life, that you are thinking of
me, that you love me," she wrote. " I seek them every-
where, and assuredly I find nothing that resembles them ;
there is nothing else for mine to look at. , . . One day
spent with you is worth an eternity without you," and
so on. Passion and turbulence were poured wholesale
upon the head of the calm Saint-Lambert, who could no
more appreciate the torrent than he could fly. He did

Love and Saint^Lambert 367

not mean to be cruel — he only prayed that the flood
might be stemmed ; he asked himself what had he done
to arouse in any woman so fierce and so inconvenient a
turmoil.

He was accustomed to the sweet and delicate loves
of those eighteenth-century women who could play with
their emotions, and thought it vulgar to bare them in
all their primitive savagery. He was a man of taste.
" Do not judge me by what I have been — I will not show
you such excessive love," she added, perhaps a little
contritely ; " if you do not love me less, if my wrongs
have not weakened this charming love, without which I
cannot live, I am sure that there is none in the world
so happy as I."

What, then, were her fears, her trembling forebodings
of the future, her premonitions of death ? They had
nothing to do with shame, with regret for her abandon-
ment, or dread lest the child that was coming should be
unloved and have no place in the world. It was none of
these things that cut her to the heart and made all effort
appear futile, but the knowledge that none of it was
worth while — that he did not share with her, could never
share, that wonder of loving which sweeps every con-
sideration but itself into nothingness. Who could under-
stand that better than she .'' And now her sacrifice —
mistaken in the eyes of some, unpardonable in the eyes
of others, unwise in the sight of most — was at an end.
She felt, she knew it was at an end. She had written her
last letter ; it was not as pleasant as the one that pre-
ceded it. " Not that I love you less," was her last
sigh, " but that I have less strength to tell you so. I
conclude because I can write no more."

It was left to Voltaire to tell the rest. At the

368 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

beginning of September a daughter was born to Mme
du Chatelet, baptised in the parish church, and then
put out to nurse. Voltaire hastened to send the news
to all his friends — to d'Argental, to the Abbe Voisenon,
to d'Argenson. One feature of these letters is that as
he repeats his news he gives more and more careful
details, and the story grows in the making. He was so
proud of his inventiveness that in the end it mastered
him. It appeared that when the little girl was born its
mother was at her writing-desk, scribbling some New-
tonian theories. The child was laid temporarily on a
quarto volume of geometry. The mother was taken
straight to bed. After all, she has only given birth to
an infant incapable of uttering a word, whilst he in pro-
ducing a tragedy had to make live a Cicero, a Caesar.
So he wrote on in hopeful, exaggerated strain ; so he
repented of writing only a few days later.

Within the week Mme du Chatelet was dead. Seeing
her in extremities, a servant was sent to warn Mme
de Boufflers. The latter, the marquis, Voltaire, all,
rushed from table to her room. At the last Voltaire
and Saint-Lambert remained alone by her bedside. Vol-
taire, overcome by grief and stupefied, stumbled out into
the passage when all was over, and with difficulty reached
the castle door without knowing what he had done.
Outside was a stairway, down which he fell, knocking
his head upon the flags at the bottom. Saint-Lambert
had followed him, and hastened to help a lackey, who
was already on the spot, to pick him up. His eyes
swimming in tears, Voltaire, recognising in Saint-Lambert
the original cause of his grief, said, " My friend, my
death, too, lies at your door." And then, gathering
reproach and despair in his tone, he cursed him for what

Love and Saint-Lambert 369

he had done. The bitter words fell upon a silence which
gave force to the reproach. And so, for a time, they
parted.

" Mme du Chatelet," wrote Voltaire in his Memoirs,
" died in the palace of Stanislas after two days' illness ;
and we were so affected that not one of us ever remem-
bered to send for priest, Jesuit, or any of the seven
sacraments. It was we, and not Mme du Chdtelet, who
felt the horrors of death. The good King Stanislas came
to my chamber, and mingled his tears with mine : few of
his brethren would have done so much on a like occasion.
He wished me to stay at Luneville ; but I could no longer
support the place, and returned to Paris."

He wrote the sad news to the same friends with whom
he had shared his rejoicing but a few days earlier — to
d'Argental, to Voisenon, to d'Argenson, and to Mme
du Deffand. He was utterly broken. " Alas, madame,"
he wrote sadly to the last-named, " we made jokes about
this event, and in this unfortunate tone I wrote of it to
her friends. If anything could increase the horrible con-
dition in which I am, it would be the having taken with
gaiety an adventure of which the conclusion will render
the remainder of my life miserable. I did not write to
you about the confinement, and I announce her death.
It is to the sensibility of your heart that I have recourse
in my despair. They are taking me to Cirey with
M. du Chatelet. From there I shall return to Paris
without knowing what will become of me, and hoping
soon to rejoin her."

He took no interest at all in the infant to which
Mme du Chatelet had given birth, and which soon
followed its mother to the grave. To d'Argental he
said : " I have not lost merely a mistress, I have lost

22

37° An Eighteenth-'Century Marquise

the half of myself — a soul for which mine was made,
a friend of twenty years' standing whom I saw born.
The most tender father does not love his only daughter
more truly."

The few days he spent at Cirey were little less than
torture. M, du Chatelet found him clearing out his
furniture. Then a move was made to Paris, and he
took up his abode in the h6tel, Rue de Traversi^re,
where they had lived together. " She was a great man
whose only fault was in being a woman," he wrote to
Frederick the Great, who, now that he was rid of his
rival, wished to entrap his poet. " A woman who trans-
lated and explained Newton, and who made a translation
of Virgil, without letting it appear in conversation that she
had done these wonders ; a woman who never spoke evil
of any one, and who never told a lie ; a friend attentive
and courageous in friendship, — in one word, a very great
man whom ordinary women only knew by her diamonds
and cavagnole, — that is the one whom you cannot hinder
me from mourning all my life."

''The most severe vexation for the moment was the
death of the Marquise du Chatelet," wrote Marmontel,
describing Voltaire's state of mind. "To be sincere,
I recognised on this occasion, as I often had done, the
nobility of his soul. When I went to express to him
the part I took in his affliction, ' Come,' said he, on
seeing me ; * come and share my sorrow. I have lost
my illustrious friend. I am in despair ; I am incon-
solable.' I, to whom he had often said that she was
like a fury that haunted his steps, and who knew that
in their disputes they had more than once been at
daggers-drawn, let him weep, and seemed to sympathise
with him. Solely to make him perceive some motive

Love and Saint^Lambert 371

of consolation in the very cause of her death, 1
asked him what she died of. * Of what ! Don't you
know? Ah, my dear friend, he has killed her. He
was the father of her child.' It was Saint-Lambert,
his rival, of whom he spoke ; and thus he continued to
exhaust language in praise of that incomparable woman,
redoubling his tears and sobs." At that moment Chau-
velin walked in, told a ridiculous story, and made Voltaire
burst out laughing. Marmontel laughed too, to see the
great man pass with the facility of a child from one
extreme of emotion to another.

Her obsequies were worthy of Mme du Chdtelet's
rank. King Stanislas sent his principal officials, and all
the distinguished people of Lun^ville were present.

The record of her death, in which there is a curious
error of age, is given in the civil registers in the following
terms :

MORTE

Gabrielle-Emilie de Breteuil, etc.

Tr^s haute et tr^s puissante Dame, Madame
Gabrielle Emihe de Breteuil, Spouse de tr^s haut
et tr^s puissant seigneur messire florens Claude,
marquis du Ch^telet Lomont, baron de Cyrey, et
autres lieux, lieutenant general des armees du Roy,
Commandeur de L'Ordre Royal et militaire de Saint-
Louis, gouverneur de Semur et Grand Bailly du
pays D'Aunois et de Sarlouis ; Grand Marechal
de Logis de sa Majesty le Roy de pologne. Due de
Lorraine et de Bar, etc., ag^e de cinquante-deux
ans aux environs, morte le dix a une heure du
matin, enterr6 le onze dans le cavau {sic) de
Messieurs les chanoines.

37 2 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise

Two sad offices remained to be performed. One
concerned a ring Emilie had been wearing. Mme de
Boufflers asked Longchamp for it. In the presence of
Saint-Lambert he saw her remove the guardsman's
portrait from the bezel. Then she returned the ring to
Longchamp and asked him to give it to M. du Chatelet.
A day or two later Voltaire inquired about the ring,
which had once contained his portrait. Longchamp
told him what he had seen. " Ciel ! " cried Voltaire,
" women are all the same. I supplanted Richelieu,
Saint-Lambert ousted me" — and then he added Bran-
tome's old remark about the mistresses of Fran9ois I,
**ainsi qu'un clou chasse I'autre."

Before her death Mme du Chatelet had put all her
papers in order, made them up into different parcels, and
instructed Longchamp to deliver them as addressed.
There was one for M. du Chatelet, consisting of a casket
and a packet of papers. A note accompanied them,
asking her husband to burn them all without looking at
them.

When Longchamp delivered these things to the
marquis, his brother was with him. At first M. du
Chatelet wished to look at the papers, but his brother
dissuaded him, saying he ought to respect his late wife's
wishes. Among the papers were many of Voltaire's
writings, which were thrown into the grate and burnt.
Longchamp managed to save the Trait e de Metaphysique
from the flames.

As for Voltaire's letters to his mistress, their exact fate
has never been determined. They were referred to by
Voisenon.

*' Mme la Marquise du Chatelet had eight volumes,
in 4°, manuscripts and well bound, of letters which he

Love and Saint-'Lambert 373

wrote her. One could not imagine that in love-letters,
one could concern oneself with any other divinity than
the one which fills the heart, and that one could make
more epigrams against religion than madrigals for one's
mistress. But that was what happened to Voltaire.

" Mme du Chatelet hid nothing from me. I often
remained tete a tete with her until five o'clock in the
morning, and there was never anything but the truest
friendship between us, which gave a charm to our vigils.
She told me sometimes that she was quite detached from
Voltaire. I made no answer. I drew out one of the
eight volumes, and I read some letters. I noticed her
eyes grew moist with unshed tears. I closed the book
promptly and said, ' You are not cured yet.' The last
year of her life, I attempted the same proof She
criticised them. I was convinced that she was cured.
She confided to me that Saint-Lambert had been her
doctor. She left for Lorraine, where she died. Voltaire,
anxious because he could not find the letters, believed
they had been deposited with me, and wrote to me about
them. I never had them. I was assured they were
burnt."

Mme du Chatelet's death was the signal for an outburst
of epigrams and bon mots. CoUe wrote in his Journal,
" It is to be hoped that this is the last of her airs.
To die in childbed at her age is to wish to be singular,
and to have pretensions to do nothing like other people."

A typical example of the kind of verse which was
thought clever is the epitaph written by Frederick the
Great :

Ici-git qui perdit la vie
Dans le double accouchement
D'un traite de philosophie
Et d'un malheureux enfant.

374 An Eightcenth-'Ccntufy Marquise

On ne salt pr6cisement
Lequel des deux nous I'a ravie.
Sur ce funeste evenement,
Quelle opinion doit-on suivre ?
Saint-Lambert s'en prendre au livre,
Voltaire dit que c'est I'enfant.

A new and distinct epoch opened in the life of Voltaire
after the death of Mme du Chatelet. He was then fifty-
five, and though no longer a young man, had still thirty
years to live. He was to succeed, he was to be feted
far and wide, he was to be " stifled with roses " ; but he
was never again, perhaps, to have hours more poignant
than those he had spent with the woman he had sincerely
loved, nor to write verses that awoke more echoes in his
memory than his last tribute to her, which, as far as her
place in his world was concerned, should have been
written many months before :

L'Univers a perdu la sublime Emilie ;

EUe aima les plaisirs, les arts, la verite ;

Les dieux, en lui donnant leur S.me et leur genie,

N'avaient garde pour eux que I'immortalite.

INDEX

Adh^mar, Vicomte d', 350, 351

Agnesi, Maria, 69, 81

Aigueberre, Dumas d', 42

Aiguillon, Duchesse d', 56, 73, 115,
125, 128, 210

Aisse, Mile, 46

Alberoni, 269

Alembert, J. L. d', 71, 113, 118, 343

Algarotti, Francesco, 58, 118, 136,
137, 138, 141, 142, 143. 144, 146,
147, 178, 210, 216, 223; portrait,
139; visits Cirey, 141, 144

Alliot, M., 319

Alliot, Mme, 319

Amelot, 230, 231, 234

Anet, 128, 185, 245, 276, 277, 278,
279, 280, 282. 283, 287, 288

Anville, Marechale d', 107

Aremberg, Due d', 208

Argenson, Comte d', 29, 30, 107,
232, 235, 270, 290, 328, 368, 369

Argental, Comte d', 29, 54, 112, 136,
137. 138, 146, 147. 148, 149. 150.
151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 164, 166,
201, 203, 205, 206, 215, 224, 225,
229, 232, 233, 234, 235, 286, 326,
327, 334, 336, 350, 357, 368, 369

Argental, Comtesse d', 147, 327

Artagnan, Mme d', 256, 259

Astruc, 113, 114. 116, 117

Autreau, 116

Balzac, H., 48

Bassompierre, Mme de, 308, 316
Baviere, Elisabeth-Charlotte de.
See Orleans.

Beauffremont, Prince, 318
Beauvau, Prince de, 125, 294, 305,

3H. 315- 319. 342,343,344
Beauvau, Princesse de, 125, 344
Bebe, 321

Bellinzani, Anne, 13, 14
Bercheny, Comte de, 347
Bernieres, President de, 197, 200,

202
Bernieres, Pr^sidente de, 38, 204,

205
Bernis, Abbe de, 115, 346
BernouUi, Jean, fils, 58, 71, 74, 82,

193, 211
Bethune, Comte de, 304
Blot, Mme de, 107
Boerhaave, 154
Boindin, 95, 96, 99
Boisgelin, Mme de, 318, 319
Boisrobert, 91
Bolingbroke, 115
Bossut, 81, 82
BoufHers, Am6lie de, 313
Boufflers, Chevalier de, 125, 291,

309, 310, 317, 318
Boufflers, Comtesse de, 107, 125,

313. 316
Boufflers, Dowager Marquise de,

313. 3H
Boufflers, Duchesse de. See Luxem-
bourg, Duchesse de
Boufflers, Marquis de, 297, 305, 314
Boufflers, Marquise de (nee Marie-
Fran9oise Catherine de Beauvau-
Craon), 125, 291, 297, 305, 306,
307, 308, 309. 310. 313. 314. 315.
316, 317, 319. 320, 321, 322, 323,

375

376

Index

324, 327, 330, 336, 339. 343, 345.
346, 349, 350. 351. 352, 353, 356,

358, 361, 363, 372; birth, 297;

appearance, 310; character, 310;

portrait, 311 ; her epitaph, 309
Bouhier, President, 144, 146, 214

note
Bourbon, Duchesse de, 246
Bourgogne, Due de. See Louis
Bourgogne, Duchesse de. See

Marie-Adelaide de Savoie
Bouthillier, Mme de, 352, 363
Boze^ de, 113, 114
Brancas, Due de, 267
Brancas, Duchesse de, 129, 130
Brassac, Comte de, 304
Brassac, Comtesse de, 262
Breteuil, Baronne de, 20
Breteuil, Charles Auguste de, 14
Breteuil, Ehsabeth-Theodore de

(afterwards Vicaire de Sens), 14,

182, 186
Breteuil, Louis le Tonnelier de,

12, 19
Breteuil, Louis-Nicolas le Tonnelier,

Baron de, 12, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19!

22, 42, 43. 44. 99; birth, 13;

love affairs, 13 ; marriage, 14 ;

reader to the king, 14; intro-
ducer of ambassadors, 15; his

titles, 19, 20
Breteuil, Rene-Alexandre de, 14
Buffon, Z'], 91

Cambis, Mme de, 308, 316

Camus, 74

Caraman, Mme de, 316

Carlyle, T., 220

Catharina Opalinska, 298, 303, 305,

319
Caumartin, 17, 18, 106
Caumartin, Marie Anne le Fevre

de, 14
Cellemare, 269
Chabot, Mme de, 327

Chamfort, 308

Chamillard, 44

Champbonin, M. de, 163, 164, 186

Champbonin, Mme de (" Gros
Chat"), 64, 65, 66, 67, 151, 173,
180, 192, 205, 210, 325

Charles VI, Emperor of Austria,
224

Charles VII, Emperor of Austria,
237

Charles XII, King of Sweden, 297,
298

Charolais, Mile de, 130

Chartres, Due de, 236

Chateaubriand, 48

Chateauroux, Duchesse de, 230,
234

Chatelet, Emilie-Gabrielle, Marquise
du; birth, 12, 14; her family, 12,
13. 15 ; appearance in childhood,
20; upbringing, 21, 22, 23; mar-
riage, 25 ; character drawn by
Abbd Raynal, 28; love for Mar-
quis de Guebriant, 28, 29 • letters
to Richeheu, 34-36, 60-63 J meet-
ing with Voltaire, 42 ; verses to,
42 ; Epttre sur la Calomnie, 42,
43. 45 ; pays a visit to Voltaire,
45; friendship with Duchesse
de Saint-Pierre, 46, 47 ; character
compared with that of Voltaire,
48-9 ; her love of the world, 50,
51; as Voltaire's Urania, 51; at
Richelieu's wedding. 53; anxiety
on Voltaire's account, 54, 55, 56;
plans that Voltaire should go to
Cirey, 56; learns English, 58;
studies Leibnitz, 58; translates
Newton, 59 ; appeals to Richelieu
about Voltaire, 60-3 ; at Cirey,
64, 65-8 ; taste for mathematics^
69 ; her learning, 70-1 ; her scien-
tific friends, 71 ; on portrait of'
Maupertuis, ^^ ; lessons from
Clairaut, 78, 79 ; her masters, 82 ;
|etter£j^o Maugertiiig,_82-^ and

Index

377

the salons, 105, 106 ; and Mme
de Tencin, no, iii; and Mme
du Deffand, 119-20; Mme du
Deffand's portrait of, 123-4; ar-
ranges a supper party, 126-7 !
and the actresses, 1 28 ; her ac-
tivity, 128-g; and Mme de Brancas,
129-30; and Linant, 133-6; style
of her letters, 137 ; letters to
Algarotti, 138, 141, 144; to d'Ar-
gental, 150, 151, 152, 153; her
misery at Voltaire's absence, 155 ;
as hostess, 159; writes her Essay
on Fire 161 ; essay compared
with Voltaire's, 16 1 ; letter from
Frederick on, 162-3 ; description
of by Mme de Graffigny, 169-70 ;
her portrait by Marianne Loir,
171 ; her apartments, 175-6; her
relations with Voltaire, 179-80;
her versatility, 181; her sym-
pathy, 182 ; her pleasure in thea-
tricals, 182, 185 ; her work, 186 ;
translates the Fable of the Bees,
187; accuses Mme de Graffigny
of copying La Pucelle, 190-2 ; her
apology, 192-3 ; and Desmarets,
195 ; and Desfontaines, 199 ;
reply to La Voltairomanie, 199-
201 ; her indignation against
Thieriot, 201-2 ; first journey to
Brussels, 206 ; leads a " wander-
ing life,'' 207 ; and Koenig, 208-9 ;
the law-suit, 209 ; at marriage
of Louis XV's daughter, 210;
dispute with Koenig, 212-14 > with
Mairan, 215 ; quarrels with Mau-
pertuis, 216 ; correspondence with
Frederick the Great, 218; her
desire to visit Frederick, 218-19 ;
disappointment when she fails,
219; at Fontainebleau, 224, 238-
41, 283 ; her anxiety at Voltaire's
absence, 224 ; at the Hotel Lam-
bert, 226-7 ; at Lille, 226 ; at
Brussels, 228; marriage of her

daughter, 229 ; and Mme de
Tencin, 231-3 ; and President
Renault, 235, 236 ; her son ill
with small-pox, 237 ; her portrait,
239 ; engages Longchamp, 241 ;
her right to a tabouret, 243 ; at
Anet, 277-83 ; her secret, 277 ;
acts in B our souffle^ 281 ; her love
of gambhng, 285 ; at Sceaux, 286-
90 ; as Isse, 288, 327 ; and Mme
de Boufflers, 313 ; at Luneville,
321, 326; and Menou, 322, 323;
in carriage accident, 324 ; and
Saint-Lambert, 328, 330, 333 ; her
love for Saint-Lambert, 335, 336 ;
her letters to Saint-Lambert, 337,
338 ; nurses him, 337 ; their part-
ing, 338; at Nancy, 339; her
indignation, 342 ; her character,
344 ; her doubts, 345 ; obtains a
post for her husband, 346, 347 ;
at Commercy, 348-50 ; falls into
a ditch, 349; at Plombieres,
350-3 ; at Luneville, 353 ; her
infidelity to Voltaire, 354; her
explanation, 355 ; quarrels with
Saint-Lambert, 358 ; at Chalons,
359 ; her love of comet, 359 ;
writes a preface to Newton, 360 ;
her jealousy, 363 ; at Cirey, 365 ;
at Commercy, 365 ; intercedes for
Diderot, 366 ; last letter to Saint-
Lambert, 366-7 ; birth of her
daughter, 368; her death, 368,
371 ; Voltaire's letters to, 372-3 ;
her epitaph, by Frederick the
Great, 373 ; Voltaire's tribute to,

374

Chatelet, Erard du, 64

Chatelet, Florent-Claude, Marquis
du, 25, 59, 60, 62, 63, 79, 134,
144, 151, 152, 154, 156, 161, 170,
192, 205, 304, 343, 346, 347, 360,

369. 370, 371, 372
Chatelet, Florent-Louis-Marie du,
25, 133. 134. 211,237,361

378

Index

Chatelet, Gabrielle-Pauline du, 25,

64, 182, 185, 229
Chatelet, Victor-Esprit du, 25
Chaulieu, Abb6, 106, 255, 276
Chauvelin, 144 note, 154, 371
Chesterfield, 115
Chimai, Mme de, 316
Choin, Mile de, 258
Choiseul-Beaupre, Comtessede, 125
Choiseul-Stainville, Comte de, 303,

304
Choiseul-Stainville, Comtesse de,

305

Christina, Queen of Sweden, 133

Cideville, 42, 47, 48, 50, 52, 54, 55,
133, 134, 212, 237

Cirey, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63,
64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 78, 82, 105, 128,
131, 132, 133-8, 141-6, 149, 151,
154-6, 158-60, 164-9, 173. 178,
182, 185, 186, 188, 193, 195, 201,
204, 206, 207, 211, 226, 234, 235,
236, 321-4, 339, 340, 342, 343,
345. 347, 365. 370; account of,
by Chevalier de Villefort, 144-6 ;
by Mme Denis, 164-5 ! of Hfe at,
by Mme de Graffigny, 167-96 ;
theatricals at, 185 ; described by
Henault, 235

Clairaut, Alexis Claude, 59, 71, 74,
77 , 78, 79- 80, 81, 82, 112, 138,

143, 365
Clermont, Marquis de, 258
C0II6, 72, 89, 308, 309 note, 373
Commercy, 299, 325, 334, 347, 348,

349. 350. 353. 354
Condamine, 143
Conde, Mile de, 246
Cond6, Prince de, 246
Condorcet, 71, 319
Conti, Prince de, 107, 313, 320
Conti, Princesse de, 73, 258
Corneille, 85

Craon, Prince de, 296, 299, 303, 320
Craon, Princesse de, 293, 294, 295,

296, 297, 299, 303, 305, 306, 308

Crebillon, 95, loi, 102
Crequy, Mme de, 18, 19
Croissy, Mme de, 256
Croix, M. de la, 285
Custine, Marquis de, 304

Dacier, M., 95

Dacier, Mme, 22, 92, 95 ; dispute
with Lamotte, 92 ; portrait, 93

Danchet, 95, 116

Dangeau, 21

Deffand, Mme du, 56, 119, 120,
123, 124, 125, 127, 227, 228,
245, 255, 271, 272, 277, 280, 282,

306, 314, 316, 334, 365. 369 ; her
pen portrait of Mme du Chate-
let, 120, 123-4; portrait, 121;
her salon, 125 ; and President
H6nault, 271 ; and Mme de Staal,
272 ; letters from Mme de Staal,
277-83

Demoulin, 47

Denis, M., 164, 165

Denis, Mme {nee Mignot, Louise),
163, 164, 226, 353; visits Cirey,
164-5

Desfontaines, Abbe, loi, 143, 144,
191, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201,
204, 205, 206, 228 ; attacks
Voltaire, 198 ; writes La Voltair-
omanie, 198 ; retracts his libel,
206

Desmarets, 167, 169, 178, 190, 195

Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin, 91

Destouches, 288

Devaux ("Panpan"), 74, 167, 169,
176, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 194,

307, 308, 316, 317; Mme de
Graffigny's letters to, 167-96

Diderot, 71, loi, 118, 216, 366

Dreuillet, Mme, 271, 275, 276

Dubois, 177

Dubois, Cardinal, 90

Dubos, Abb6, 91

Duclos, 89, 91, 112, 113, 114,

Index

379

Dumesnil, Mile, 103
Dumolard, 102, 224
Dupin, 226
Duplessis, 281, 286
Durival, Mme de, 316

Enghien, Mile d', 246

Epitre en vers sur la Calomnie,

42, 43, 45. 49. 50
Estaing, Mme d', 272
Estrees, Duchesse d', 259, 276, 281

note
Estr6es, Due d', 276
Euler, 162, 216

Falkener, 226, 358

Fenelon, 92

Ferriol, Mme de, 112, 147

Fert6, Duchesse de la, 256, 263,

264
Ferte-Imbault, Mme de, 320
Flamarens, Mme de, 106, 125
Flavacourt, Mme de, 238
Fleury, Cardinal de, 74, 228
Fleury, Marquise de, 107
Fontainebleau, 224, 233, 238, 243,

245, 283, 285
Fontenelle, 21, 85, 87, 91, 96, loi,

106, 107, 108, 109, no, 113, 116,

117, 128, 142, 253, 257, 259, 267,

275. 304
Forcalquier, 46
Formont, 54
Franchini, Abbe, 142
Francois I., 303
Fran9ois I., Emperor of Austria,

293. 298, 303

Frederick Augustus, Elector of
Saxony, 298

Frederick the Great, li, 82, 112,

I20, 123, 149, 150, 151, 154, 156,

157. 158- 159. 160, 162, 163, 175,

205, 207, 208, 211, 212, 216, 217,

218, 219, 223, 224, 225, 227, 228,
229, 230, 233, 355, 363, 373
Fr6ron, 95, loi

Ga^on, 92

Galaizifere, Chancellor de la, 304,

308
Gaussin, Mile, 128
Gaya, 277, 278

Genest, 253, 254, 255, 258, 262, 276
Genonville, de, 37
Geoffrin, Mme de, 109, no, n7,

118, 320
Germain, Sophie, 69
Goethe, 48

Goncourt, de, 26, 27, 30, 260
Gontaut, Mme de, 107
Gouvernet, Marquis de, 37
Gradot, Caf6, 84, 87, 88, 89, 91,

92. 95

Graffigny, Mme de, 74, 161, 166,
167, 168, 169, 170, 173, 174, 176,
177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 185, 186,
187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193,
194, 195, 126, 307, 320; her
account of life at Cirey, 167-96 ;
portrait, 183

Graffigny, M. de, 167, 181

Gresset, 95

Grimm, 102, 329, 330

Guasco, Abb6 de, 320

Guebriant, Marquis de, 28, 29

Guibert, Comte de, 343

Guise, Mile de. See Richelieu,
Mme de

Guise, Prince de, 41

Guisnee, 83

Haussonville, Comte d*, 304
Hautefort, Chevalier, 130
Helvetius, 116, 117, 213, 320
H6nault, President, 47, 107, 108,
125, 227, 228, 234, 235, 236, 256,
270, 271, 272, 275, 321, 325

38o

Index

Henri II., 292

Houdetot, Mme d', 330, 335
Hunolstein, Comte d', 304
Hypatia, 69

Institutions de Physique, 58, 70,
211, 212, 213, 215, 216

Jacquier, Franfois, 235
Jaucourt, Mme de, 289
Jordan, 223, 225
Jore, 53, 54, 55

Keyserlingk, Baron de, 158, 159,

160, 223
Koenig, Samuel, 57, 71, 82, 208,

209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216

La Bruyere, 16, 17

La Faye, 89, 95, 96

La Fontaine, 91

Lafresnay, 113

La Harpe, 85, 148

La Mare, Abbe de, 102, 165, 166

Lambert, 102

Lambert, Hotel, 226, 227

Lambert, Mme de, 91, 108, 109,

113,271,275
Lamotte, Houdart de, 89, 90, 91, 92,

95. 96. 99. 108, 109, 113, 128, 257,

258, 276, 287 ; dispute with Mme

Dacier, 92 ; portrait, 97
Lassay, Marquis de, 258
Lassay, Marquise de, 258
Lauraguais, Due de, 129
Laurent, Caf6, 87, 88, 89, 95, 96
Lauzun, 318
Law, John, 115

Lecouvreur, Adrienne, 38, 147, 148
Leibnitz, 58, 82, 212, 213
Lekain, 103
Le Maure, Mile, 128

Le Monnier, 74

Lenoncourt, Mme de, 319

Lespinasse, Mile de, 118, 343

Levau, 226

Ligne, Prince de, 318

Ligniville, Mile de, 320

Linanges, Mme de, 305

Linant, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 163

Linant, Mile de, 136

Liselotte, See Orl6ans, Elisabeth-
Charlotte d'

Livri, Mile de, 37

Lixin, Prince de, 56, 299

Locke, 141, 142

Longchamp, 79, 80, 102, 103, 104,
126, 127, 241, 242, 243, 244, 283,
284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 313, 324,

325. 353. 354- 355. 372
Lorraine, Elisabeth-Charlotte de

(Mademoiselle), 151, 292, 293,

294, 295, 296, 299
Lorraine, Leopold de, 132, 292, 293,

294, 295, 296, 298, 300, 303, 306
Louis XIII, 64

Louis XIV, 85, 86, 246, 256, 268
Louis XV, 74, 237, 244, 268, 285,

298, 300, 303, 313
Louis, Due de Bourgogne, 15, 253
Louis, son of Louis XIV (" Mon-

seigneur"), 258
Louis, son of Louis XV, 235
Lourdet, 44
LuUi, 128
Lun6ville, 128, 132, 167, 1 68, 261,

291, 292, 295, 296, 297, 299, 300,

303. 305, 307, 313. 314. 315. 317.
318, 319, 321, 322, 323, 325, 327,

328, 330. 333, 335, 339. 34i. 345.

346, 348, 350, 353, 369, 371
Lutzelbourg, Comtesse de, 318, 323
Luxembourg, Duchesse de, 107, 125,

126, 129, 238, 313, 344
Luynes, Due de, 238, 247, 248, 258,

289, 290, 323, 347
Luynes, Duchesse de, 238, 241, 271,

272

Index

381

Mailly, Marquise de, 126, 209, 227,

228
Maine, Due du, 246, 247, 251, 252,
253, 257, 258, 268, 270, 272, 276

Maine, Duchesse du, 106, 108, 109,
129, 185, 244, 245, 247, 248, 251,
252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258,
259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265,
266, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 275,
276, 277 note, 278, 285, 286, 287,
288, 289, 290 ; marriage, 247 ;
portrait, 249 ; the Order of the
Bee, 259-62 ; her love of amuse-
ment, 265 ; plots, 269 ; im-
prisoned, 270

Maintenon, Mme de, 15, 246, 247,
268

Mairan, 109, 113, 114, 116, 117,
118, 215

Malafer, 99

Malezieu, 253, 254, 255, 256, 258,
262, 264, 269, 276

Marie-Adelaide de Savoie, 72, 256

Marie- Antoinette, 293, 326

Marie-Josephe de Saxe, 129, 326

Marie-Leczinska, 1 11, 238, 241,
285, 298, 305, 325, 339, 350

Marie- Th6rese d'Espagne
(Dauphine), 129, 235, 237

Marie-Th6r6se, Empress of Austria,
293, 299

Marivaux, 91, loi, 113, 114, 115,
116, 117, 173

Marmontel, no, 116, 148, 330, 370,

371

Mary Stuart, 64

Maupertuis, Pierre Louis Moreau
de, 42, 54, 57, 58, 71, 72, 73. 74,
T], 78, 81, 82, 83, 84, 89, 90, 91,
95. 133, 137, 138, 143- 157. 162,
185, 193, 195, 208, 210, 214, 216,
217, 219, 223; his portrait, 75;
his marriage, 216

Maurepas, 29, 74, 231, 233

Mazarin, 276

Melon, 90

Menou, 321, 322, 323

Mesdames (daughters of Louis XV),

321
Mesmes, President de, 256, 271,

276
Mignot, Louise. See Denis
Mignot, M., 163
Mirabaud, 113, 114
Mirabeau, 48
Mirepoix, Bishop of, 230
Mirepoix, Duchesse de, 125, 305,

314, 315,363
Moncrif, 54, 205, 288
Mongault, 109
Montauban, Mme de, 238
Montenegro-Caraffa, Due de, 229
Montespan, Mme de, 246, 268
Montesquieu, 71, 73, 91, 115, 116,

117, 130, 314, 315, 320
Montreval, Mme de la Baume, 305
Mont-Val6rien, 'j']
Mora, 343
Morellet, 118

Morliere, Rochette de la, loi, 102
Mouhy, Chevalier de, 102, 198
Moussinot, 135, 157, 166, 206

Neuville, Comtesse de la, 65, 66,

67, 135
Nevers, Due de, 256, 259
Nevers, Duchesse de, 259
Newton, 58, 59, 69, 73, 79, 141,

142, 157, 213, 235, 279, 365, 370
Noyer, Mme Olympe de (" Pim-

pette "), 37. 38

O, Mile Felicite d', 129
Olivet, Abb6 d', 54, 193, 194
Orleans, Elisabeth-Charlotte d', 151,

246, 247, 270, 292, 293, 294, 295,

296
Orleans, Gaston d', 64
Orleans, Philippe d' (the Regent),

36, 107, 108, 268, 269, 270, 292

382 Index

Ossolinska, Duchesse, 306
Ossolinski, Due, 304
Outhier, 74

Parabere, Mme de, 36
Paris, 281
P6cour, 96

Pellegrin, Abbe, icx), loi
Perigny, Mile de, 13
Perrault, Charles, 91
Piron, lor, 102, 116, 228
Poitiers, Diane de, 276
Poix, Prince de, 315
Poix, Princesse de, 315
Polignac, Abbe de, 256, 257, 269, 271
Polignac, Marquise de, 107, 256
Pompadour, Mme de, 244, 325
Pons, Abb6 de, 90, 91, 92
Pontchartrain, M., 17
Pontchartrain, Mme, 17, 18, 73
Pont de Veyle, 112, 125
Popliniere, M. de la, 116, 117
Poplinidre, Mme de la, 127
Porquet, Abbe de, 317, 318
Prie, Mme de, 36, T97
Procope, Caf6, 86, 87, 88, 89, 99,
100, lOI

Racine, 85

Raigecourt, Comtesse de, 305

Rambouillet, Hotel de, 258

Rameau, loi

Raynal, Abb6, 28, 366

R6aumur, 82

Richelieu, Due de, 29, 30, 33, 34,
36, 38. 41, 43. 52, 53. 54. 60, 87,
115, 129, 130, 133, 137, 230, 231,
232, 241, 280, 283, 299, 313. 366,
372; portrait, 31; marriage, 53;
duel with Prince de Lixin, 56

Richelieu, Duchesse de, 52, 53, 55,
132, 176, 195, 233, 299

Roche-sur-Yon, Mile de, 320, 350,

351
Rohan, Chevalier de, 107, 198

Romanet, President de, 262
Rousseau, J. B., 43, 44. 45- 89, 95,

96, 99. 154. 197. 199
Rousseau, J. J., 335
Rupelmonde, Mme de, 38, 51

Sade, Abbe, 50

Sainte-Aulaire, 109 note, 115, 258,
276, 271, 287, 308

Sainte-Hyacinthe, Th6miseul de, 91

Saint-Foix, 99, 100

Saint-Lambert, Marquis de, 118,
167, 168, 169, 194, 307. 308, 318,
322 note, 328, 338, 339. 340. 343»
344. 345. 347. 348, 349. 35°. 35 L
362, 364, 368, 373 ; his character,
329-33; portrait, 331; his poem
" Les Saisons," 334-5 i his illness,
337 ; letters to Mme du Chatelet,
341-2, 352 ; quarrels with Mme
de Boufflers, 346 ; letters to Mme
de Boufflers, 352; his coldness,
353. 358 ; quarrels with Voltaire,
354 ; and reconciliation, 356 ;
Mme du Chatelet's letters to, 362,

364, 366

Saint-Pierre, Abbe de, 118

Saint-Pierre, Duchesse de, 44, 45.
46, 47, 128

Saint-Simon, 16, 17, 21, 46, 112,
129, 252, 256, 266

Saurin, 89, 95, 96, 99, 113

Saxe, Mar6chal de, 87

Sceaux, 42, 128, 245, 251, 254, 255,
257, 261, 263, 266, 270, 271, 272,
275, 283, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290

Sechelles, M. de, 207

Sevigne, Mme de, 85, 108, 137, 247 ;
her bon mot about coffee, 85

Solignac, Chevalier de, 304

Staal, M. de, 267, 271

Staal, Mme de, 46, 95, 108, 248,
25s, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267,
269, 270, 271, 272, 277, 278, 279
280, 282, 287; describes Mme

Index

383

du Maine, 248-g; Chaulieu's
verses to, 255 ; her poetry, 262 ;
her birth, 263 ; her marriage, 267 ;
in the Bastille, 270 ; Mme du
Deffand's description of, 272 ;
portrait, 273 ; describes herself,
275 ; letters to Mme du Deffand,
277-83

Stanislas Leczinski, King of Poland,
291, 297, 298, 299, 300, 303, 304,
305, 306, 307, 308, 314, 315, 316,
317, 318, 319.320, 321, 322, 323,
325, 326, 327, 328, 339, 347, 349.
350, 361, 363, 369, 371 ; portrait,
301

Suard, Mme, 333

Sully, Due de, 107

Sully, Duchesse de, 37

Tallard, 44

Talleyrand, Baronne de, 107

Talmont, Prince de, 306

Talmont, Princesse de, 125, 304,

306, 307
Tencin, Cardinal de, 113
Tencin, Mme de, 109, no, 11 1, 112,

113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 231,

232, 257
Thianges, Mme de, 352, 363
Thieriot, 50, 78, 102, 132, 136, 141,

143, 159, 164, 165, 197, 198, 199,

200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205
Thil, Mile du, 285
Thomas, 118, 123
Thorigny, M. Lambert de, 226
Torcy, Marquis de, 46
Tressan, Comte de, 125, 310, 316,

320
Trichateau, Marquis de, 170, 206,

207
Turgot, 71

Ulrica, Princess, 326 wo/^
Uzes, Comtesse d', 262

Valincourt, 92, 95

Valliere, Duchesse de la, 125, 344

Vanloo, Carle, loi

Vanture, 277, 281

Vassy, 64

Vaubrun, Abb6 de, 255, 265, 266

Villars, Mme de, 38, 106

Villefort, Chevalier de, 144-6

Vintimille, Mme de, 120

Voisenon, 99, 118, 318, 368, 372

Voltaire, Richelieu's friendship with,
36, 38, 41 ; portrait, 39 ; charac-
ter compared with that of Mme
du Chatelet, 48-9 ; verses to
Emilie, 51, 52 ; to Mile de Guise,
53 ; Lettres sur les Anglais, 53 ;
anxiety regarding, 54 ; memoirs
quoted, 57 ; at Cirey, 64 ; letters
to Mme de Champbonin, 65, 67 ;
his Eloge historique on Emilie's
" Newton," 70 ; and Mme de
Sevigne, 85 ; at the Caf6 Pro-
cope, 103-4 ; his verse to Mme
Flamarens' muff, 106 ; at Lun6-
ville, 132; at Cirey, 133; and
Linant, 135 ; on Mme du Chatelet's
style, 137 ; and Algarotti, 141,
143 ; in danger of arrest, 149 ;
in Brussels, 150, 153 ; at Amster-
dam, 155 ; corresponds with
Frederick, 1 57 ; his essay on Fire,
161, 162, 188 ; arranges his niece's
marriage, 163 ; his rooms at
Cirey, 173-4 ; quarrels with
Emilie, 179, 180 ; his sympathy
with Mme de Graffigny, 181 ;
a slave to his pen, 186; accuses
Mme de Graffigny, 189 ; writes
Le Presetvatif, 198 ; letters to
Thieriot, 204 ; his Memoire sur
la Satire, 205 ; describes Paris
life, 210; letters to Maupertuis,
216, 217 ; supervises printing of
Atiti-Machiavelli, 217; Portrait
after Alix 221 ; visits Frederick
the Great, 223, 224, 229 ; his

3^4

Index

indiscreet letter to the King of
Prussia, 227 ; special mission
to Berlin, 230-4 ; Princesse de
Navarre, 235, 236 ; appointed
Historiographer, 237 ; appoints
Longchamp his secretary, 244 ;
at Anet, 278, 279 ; composes
verses for Duchesse de Maine,
280; declaims prologue of
Bou?-soiiffle, 281 ; at Fontaine-
bleau, 283 ; indiscreet remark at
Court, 285 ; hides at Sceaux,
286; ill-health at Luneville, 319,
327 ; his Memoirs quoted, 321-3 ;
in a carriage accident, 324 ; out
of favour with Marie Leczinska,
325 ; verses on cavagnole, 326 ;

and Saint-Lambert, 333 ; at Cirey,
345 ; at Commercy, 349 ; his
illness at Chalons, 353 ; re-
proaches Saint Lambert, 354; re-
pudiates the authorship of Zadig,
357 ; and Frederick the Great,
362-3 ; writes letters on the death
of Mme du Chatelet, 368, 369 ;
his anguish, 370 ; his letters to
Mme du Chatelet, 372 ; his last
tribute to her, 374

Walpole, Horace, 117, 124, 306,

308, 315, 316, 334
Wiltz, Chevalier de, 304, 306
Wolff, 82, 216

Printed by Hasell, Watson tSf Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

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