Ãmilie in a deep intimacy and knew her inside out; only once or twice did he ever speak of her in disrespectful terms. These lapses have of course been seized upon and magnified. But nearly every day for sixteen years he wrote about her, in his letters, poems, epistles, and dedications with loving praise. If he overdid it, giving rise to unkind remarks (âsome wags may say they didnât realize they had slept with such a great philosopherâ, wrote a friend of Cidevilleâs), there is no doubt that his feelings were genuine. It is a judgement that must be accepted. Mme du Deffand saw that it would be, and she pretended that Ãmilie was attached to Voltaire only because he brought her into the limelight and would give her immortality. At that time Mme du Deffand knew nothing about love and its many strange manifestations. Her own poor old sawdust heart had not yet begun to beat and break.
One of the first people to drop in at Cirey was a certain M. de Villefort, gentleman-in-waiting to the Comte de Clermont. His account of the visit lost nothing in the telling. He said that though he arrived in broad daylight he found the house shuttered and in darkness. The Marquise was informed of his presence and consented to receive him, upon which he was led by a servant with a lantern through several large deserted rooms. At last they came to the enchanted regions; a door opened upon a drawing-room lit by twenty candles. The Divinity sat at a writing table covered with pieces of paper on which she had scribbled x x; books and scientific instruments lay all round her. She glittered with diamonds like an operatic Venus. After a little conversationshe suggested that they should go and see Voltaire who was in his own part of the house. They went up a secret staircase and knocked at his door. In vain, the Magician was weaving spells and the hour had not yet come for him to appear. However, the rules were broken in favour of M. de Villefort and he came and joined them. Presently a bell rang and they all went to the dining-room which had two hatches, one for the food and the other for the dirty plates. No servant appeared; they helped themselves. (In France it is considered faintly improper for rich people to help themselves at meals. Louis XV used to do so when alone with his mistress or a few intimates and the table, which came up through the floor with all the food on it, is still shown at the Petit Trianon with more than a suspicion of a wink.) The food and wine were exquisite and the supper very long. When it was over, another bell rang to announce moral and philosophical readings. The guest was asked his permission and the readings took place. An hour later a bell rang for bedtime; the party broke up. At four in the morning there was another bell. A servant came to ask M. de Villefort if he would care to join a poetry reading which he did out of curiosity. Next day they had a picnic. Venus and Adonis in a chariot, the Stranger on horseback, proceeded to a little wood where they ate cutlets. They were followed by a second carriage full of books. The husband never appeared at all.
When this report came back, as it duly did, to Mme du Châtelet, she was annoyed. She said it was a fairy tale without rhyme or reason. Nevertheless certain elements of it are borne out by other visitors: the incessant work, Ãmilieâs diamonds which she always wore, the curious hours kept at Cirey, and the excellence of the fare. The lantern-lit walk through empty rooms was quite likely to have been true as they never did up the whole house but built a little wing for themselves. Their own rooms were luxurious and magnificently furnished.
Voltaire was now very rich. His fortune came neither from his books, which were too often pirated, nor from his plays, whose royalties he always gave to the actors, but from astute business dealings. He would exert himself to any extent, he would rise from a sick bed and travel across France, if he
One of the first people to drop in at Cirey was a certain M. de Villefort, gentleman-in-waiting to the Comte de Clermont. His account of the visit lost nothing in the telling. He said that though he arrived in broad daylight he found the house shuttered and in darkness. The Marquise was informed of his presence and consented to receive him, upon which he was led by a servant with a lantern through several large deserted rooms. At last they came to the enchanted regions; a door opened upon a drawing-room lit by twenty candles. The Divinity sat at a writing table covered with pieces of paper on which she had scribbled x x; books and scientific instruments lay all round her. She glittered with diamonds like an operatic Venus. After a little conversationshe suggested that they should go and see Voltaire who was in his own part of the house. They went up a secret staircase and knocked at his door. In vain, the Magician was weaving spells and the hour had not yet come for him to appear. However, the rules were broken in favour of M. de Villefort and he came and joined them. Presently a bell rang and they all went to the dining-room which had two hatches, one for the food and the other for the dirty plates. No servant appeared; they helped themselves. (In France it is considered faintly improper for rich people to help themselves at meals. Louis XV used to do so when alone with his mistress or a few intimates and the table, which came up through the floor with all the food on it, is still shown at the Petit Trianon with more than a suspicion of a wink.) The food and wine were exquisite and the supper very long. When it was over, another bell rang to announce moral and philosophical readings. The guest was asked his permission and the readings took place. An hour later a bell rang for bedtime; the party broke up. At four in the morning there was another bell. A servant came to ask M. de Villefort if he would care to join a poetry reading which he did out of curiosity. Next day they had a picnic. Venus and Adonis in a chariot, the Stranger on horseback, proceeded to a little wood where they ate cutlets. They were followed by a second carriage full of books. The husband never appeared at all.
When this report came back, as it duly did, to Mme du Châtelet, she was annoyed. She said it was a fairy tale without rhyme or reason. Nevertheless certain elements of it are borne out by other visitors: the incessant work, Ãmilieâs diamonds which she always wore, the curious hours kept at Cirey, and the excellence of the fare. The lantern-lit walk through empty rooms was quite likely to have been true as they never did up the whole house but built a little wing for themselves. Their own rooms were luxurious and magnificently furnished.
Voltaire was now very rich. His fortune came neither from his books, which were too often pirated, nor from his plays, whose royalties he always gave to the actors, but from astute business dealings. He would exert himself to any extent, he would rise from a sick bed and travel across France, if he
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