Madame de Grafigny's second letter from Cirey is more interesting than the first. It commences, "What am I going to say to him, and where shall I begin? I would fain paint to you all I see! my dear Parpau,* I would fain convey to you all I hear! in short, I would fain give you all the pleasure that I have; but I greatly fear that the heaviness of my large hand may break up and spoil all; I believe that it will be better to simply relate things to you, not day by day, but hour by hour. I wrote to you last night until supper; they sent to announce it, and I was conducted to an apartment which I soon recognized to be that of Voltaire. He advanced to receive me: nobody else had yet arrived, yet I had not time to look around me. We sat down to table, and I was well satisfied; but I should not have such pleasure if I did not compare the supper before me with that of the previous night. What is life! said I to myself; last night in gloom and in mud, today in a place of enchantment! I seasoned, then, that supper with all that I found within me, and around me. Of what did we not talk! Poetry, Science, Art; and of all in a tone of playfulness. I would fain render to you that charming, that enchanting discourse, but the power is not mine. The supper was not abundant, but it was well chosen, neat, and with delicacies: a great deal of plate was visible around. In front of me were five spheres, and all the instruments for physical science; for it is the gallery where he uses them that supper is served. Voltaire was by my side, as polite, as attentive, and as amiable as he is learned; the lord of the mansion was at my other side. Here is to be my place every night; by which means my left ear will be greatly charmed, while the other will be slightly ennuyée; for he says but little, and retires when supper is over. At dessert, perfumes are brought; conversation as instructive as it is agreeable ensues. Books are talked of, as you may imagine; Rousseau was named. O it was here that the man showed himself, and the hero disappeared; he is capable of never forgiving any one who praised Rousseau. To resume, poetry of every kind was talked of. For me,' said the lady, I cannot suffer odes.'

"Ah fie! observed your idol, what is an ode? It is the least of all merits in the world to write one. A jumble, a rhapsody, and all this in a style which is the most execrable in the world. I can't comprehend how honest people read such things.'

Monsieur Devaux. + The Marquis du Châtelet. Idem. Voltaire. Madame du Châtelet,

*

"Is not this the man? I don't know, apropos, of what he spoke of the Observations;' I asked him if he had them sent to him. He assured me that he had, and immediately broke out into invectives against the work and the author. He gave me a little pamphlet to read, which has for title, Preservatif contre les Observations,' and which he pretends was written by one of his friends. I asked him for it, to send to you by a merchant of Luneville who is here; therefore I will tell you nothing about it. I believe that he cannot speak of these two men without a fermentation of blood that occasions him a fever; and as it seized him, we retired, to let him go to bed. I slept, God knows; and God also knows that the mountains which I ascended and descended caused me to be nearly in the same state that Sancho was in, when he asserted that he was pounded, from having dreamt that he had rolled from the top to the bottom of a mountain; this kept me in bed until mid-day. I had a visit from the lady of the château, and am more satisfied to-day than I was last evening.

"I have read the 'Preservatif;' it was necessary to be able to say that I had read it. The person Voltaire sent, to inquire how I felt, brought me from him a beautiful volume of Newton, bound in Morocco. You must know that (par parenthèse) he sent by the Paris coach a copy to my address, and another for Saint Lambert, with a letter which he wrote him; he ordered all this at Paris, but fearing that there might be some mistake-that the parcel might be directed to Nancy instead of to Luneville-it would be necessary to demand them from M. Petit. Let us return to my bed, which I did not leave until after mid-day, and I dressed slowly, for I cannot move without crying out and suffering very much; then as we do not dine, I began to read Newton in place of writing to you-yes, my friend, in place of writing to you, although I was dying to do so; but you will feel that it was necessary to show some impatience to acknowledge the polite attention of your idol, in order that I might be able to speak of the book at night. Apropos of night, good night. It now strikes one o'clock. It is time to rest the bruised legs of the poor Abbess, who will enter her bed embracing all her dear friends; the pious Doctor, the little Saint,§ and Tanpichon. Good night, then, all my faithful and dear good friends!"

A satire against Voltaire, by the Abbé Desfontaines. + Written by Voltaire; but to which le Chevalier Morchy, to please him, lent his name.

Rousseau and the Abbé Desfontaines, § Saint Lambert.

related to me the whole affair of her law-suit, froin its origin, about eighty years ago, to this day. This little conversation lasted about an hour-and-a-half, and, what is singular is, that she did not in the least ennuyée me; but this is natural enough she talks so well, that l'ennui | has not time to enter."

66

The following letter from Madame de Grafigny gives a good notion of the exigeance, as well as of the puerility of Madame du Châtelet:- And I also went to bed, for it was half-past one o'clock in the morning. Good morning, my friend, you see that my first thought is of you. Voltaire came; the fancy came into the lady'st head to make him put on another coat; it is true that the one he wore was not very handsome; but he was well powdered, and had beautiful lace. He gave several good reasons for not changing his coat-that it would give him a chill, that the least thing gave him cold; but at last he had the complaisance to send for his valet de chambre | to bring him a coat; this person was not to be found, and Voltaire believed that he was safe from making the desired change; not at all, the persecution recommenced: Voltaire became warm, he spoke angrily to her in English, and left the room. He was sent for, a few minutes after, but he said he had a colic, and Merope was gone to the Devil.' I was furious; the lady requested me to read the Dialogues of Algarotti aloud to her. I read, and laughed § as in the morning. At last a gentleman of the neighbourhood came. I arose, saying that I would go and see Voltaire; the lady told me to endeavour to bring him back. I found him with the lady who is here, and who (par parenthèse) has the air of being his confidante; he was in very good humour, and had quite forgotten his colic. We had only conversed a moment, when the lady sent for us: he came back; and this man, who had just been laughing with us, resumed his ill humour on entering Madame du Châtelet's chamber, and under the pretext of the colic, placed himself in a corner without saying a word. Some time after, the lord of the château left the room; the pouters spoke to each other in English; and in a minute after' Merope' appeared on the scene. Here is the first sign of love that I have seen, for they conducted themselves with an admirable decency; but she renders his life somewhat hard.

This refers to the following passage in a previous letter:-" When I was reading, a message was sent me, about four o'clock, to descend to the chamber of Madame du Châtelet. I found her going to bed, because she was not quite well; and as she could not write, she said that Voltaire would read "Merope" to us.-Lettres de Madame de Grafigny, page 42.

The Marquise du Châtelet. Algarotti, an Italian, who composed a Mentor for ladies.

The translator of Algarotti has made some ludicrous mistakes, which caused the hilarity of Madame de Grafiguy.

Madame de Champbonin.

I only give you this long detail to make you understand the mode in which they live together. He read two acts of Merope: I wept at the first; the verses and sentiments are fine, but the drawn-out scenes are defective: they generally fail. I will tell you no more until I have read the whole piece. After the reading, the lady and I disputed about Merope until supper: she does not like it, and turned it into ridicule as much as she could, which did not at all please, poor Voltaire, who was there like a patient without daring to meddle at all in our dispute. I reasoned with your mind, for she persisted in saying that one could not be touched without reasoning, and I maintained that one could be by sentiment; I only repeated what I had heard you say, and what you had so well taught me to feel. The author was so much afraid of having another quarrel, that the little he ventured to say was against me, admitting, however, that it was almost impossible to make the alterations which she exacted. The supper was like those at Luneville; we tried to work ourselves up to talk, yet no one said a word. After supper, we looked at the globe, Voltaire, the fat lady,† and I; for the beautiful nymph‡ did not speak, but pretended to sleep.

"Voltaire is always charming, and always occupied for my amusement. His attention never fatigues; one sees that he is afraid I may be ennuyed, and he is very wrong. To feel ennui near Voltaire ! Ah! that would not be possible; I have not even the leisure to think that there is such a thing as ennui in the world; hence I feel as strong as the Pont-Neuf, and as brisk as a mouse; is it because I eat less, or that my mind is excited into a more lively and agreeable state? this is what I cannot define, but so it is: I sleep-I sleep like an infant. In short, I feel, by an experience which was almost unknown to me, that an agreeable occupation gives interest to life. In order to taste this better, I occasionally make comparisons of times; the lady, at first a little cold, becomes humanised soon after, and we finish by joking together. She is, in truth, admirable in her duties and in her judgment. I will wait for a longer and better knowledge of her to paint her for you; I will do the same by Voltaire; for I have learned not to judge lightly. It is, par exemple, a pleasure for me to laugh inwardly at their fanaticism for Newton, and to hear the persons who have so much wit utter follies dictated by their prejudice. I do not dispute, as you may believe, but I endeavour to profit by the knowledge of the human mind which I receive, and to enjoy without attaching or prejudicing myself for or against any sentiment, not even that of friendship. I have too firmly resolved not to love any but you others, and to use the advantages which I find elsewhere. This is my profession of faith, and which I renew every day; for the rest you may

Voltaire.

+ Madame de Champbonin. The Marquise du Châtelet.

write to me perfectly at your ease, one does not pay postage here. Is not this being galant? I wish that they were also post-paid, mais Good night, my dear friends, until to-night." Madame de Grafigny recounts an amusing anecdote told by Voltaire. He said, that from the constant habit of copying his works, his valet de chambre had acquired some notion of verse, or at least fancied that he had. Voltaire surprised him one day writing to a young girl for whom he had a tender passion; and in his letter he thus parodied a line of his master's—

"Je me croirai haï, d'être amié fortement." In copying, he wrote one of the lines of Vol

taire

"Rangé en bataillon ils mesurent leur repas."* On being requested one day to recite some verses of Voltaire's, he repeated, as follows, the por

trait of "Jeanne" from the Pucelle"Trente deux dents brillent à fleur de tête; Deux grands yeux noirs d'une égale blancheur, Font l'ornement d'une bouche vermeille Qui va prenant de l'une à l'autre oreille." Having observed one day that his master had omitted a word in the verse

"Ah! croyez-moi, mon fils, voyez ces cheveux

blanc.

La triste expérience est le fruit des vieux (ans)" Was the word left out; and finding the rhyme imperfect, he corrected the verse thus -"Ah! croyez-moi, mon fils, voyez ces cheveux bleus,

La triste expérience est le fruit des vieux."

The mistakes of his valet de chambre afforded great amusement to Voltaire, who liked repeating them to his friends.

The treatment of Voltaire towards Madame de Grafigny continued to be most kind and cordial; nor did his amiability diminish until, influenced by Madame du Châtelet, he was led to believe that the former had betrayed his confidence by surreptitiously making, and sending to her friend, copies of passages from his poem "Jeanne," on which he was then engaged, and portions of which he had, under the seal of secrecy, read aloud to many others as well as to her. What must have been the state of society, when a man could read to woman a production so unfit for female ears! But it was not to the feminine visitors at Cirey alone that he made known this poem, for he confided it to a princess. Imprudent and indiscreet as Madame de Grafigny had been in writing to M. Devaux all that occurred at Cirey, she was guiltless of the offence with which she was subsequently charged by her hosts; and the effect produced on her by the charge, is so vividly painted in a letter to M. Devaux, written at the moment, that it will

best prove her sufferings. "Until now, my dear friend," wrote the poor woman, I have

Lettres de Madame de Grafigny, page 70. † Idem. + Idem.

not dared to reveal the frightful adventure that has occurred to me, I have been so ill that I feared I should die, and leave in writing a charge that I would fain hide from myself, and yet which I feel I can never forget while I live. I am better at present. Desmarets is expected to arrive, and I will give him my letter to put in the post at Paris, or I will confide it to the steward, who, like me, is aware of the bad faith of the people here, and who has secret means of getting his letters. Ah! that wretched woman, what a shock she has given me! The 29th of December, the post having arrived, I was told there were no letters for me. Supper passed as usual, without much conversation, and without my perceiving anything to indicate the storm that was preparing for me. I retired quietly to my room to seal a letter which I had written to you may guess whom.* I was extremely suryou. Half an hour afterwards I saw enterprised, for he never came there; but I was much more so when he said, 'That he was lost; that his life was in my hands.' 'Good Heavens! how is that?' I replied. How? It is,' said he, that there are a hundred copies in circulation of one of the cantos of Jeanne. I am starting this instant; I shall fly to Holland-to the end of the world-I know not where. M. du Châtelet is going to Lunéville. You must write at once to Parpau,† to tell him to assist in withdrawing all these copies; is he honest enough to do it?'

"I assured him with the best faith in the world that you would render him all the service in your power. 'Well, then, write in the fulness of your heart,' said he.

this opportunity of proving all my zeal for you.' "I will do it at once; I am delighted to seize

"I told him, however, how much I was grieved that such a thing should happen during my stay. He rose in a fury, and exclaimed, No prevarication, Madame: it is you who sent it to him.'

clouds. I assured him that I had never read or written a verse of it. He said I had. He maintained that it was you who had made them known, and that you said it was I who had sent them to you. My head seemed to turn round, and I saw that my evil stars had decided that whom he had shown this poem, had rememsome one of the hundred thousand persons to bered a canto, and sent it forth while I was here, self. Alas! I was in despair at this most unwithout my having the power of justifying myfortunate circumstance: I declared, with an it was not I who had done it. He in turn peraccent of truth, and the utmost animation, that sisted that you had read it to Desmarets, at the house of a lady-that you gave copies of it

"At these words I seemed to fall from the

to everybody, and that Madame du Châtelet had the proof in her pocket.'

"What could I say? O, my friend, I was overwhelmed! You may well suppose that I

• Voltaire.

+ Sobriquet given to Mr. Devaux.