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Voltaire came and went, moving up and down Europe, often the object of virulent attacks which made flight a necessity, but for fifteen years he returned regularly to the solitary château of Cirey, where he could depend upon seclusion for the active prosecution of his studies. He was a man with a wide range of interests, dabbling in science and performing experiments for his own profit.
The other was violent and imperious, hated finesse, and preferred burying herself among the rare treasures of her library at Cirey. The influence of Mme. de Tencin was felt, not only in the social and intellectual, but in the political life of the century. The traditions of her salon lingered in those which followed, modified by the changes that time and personal taste always bring.
Her youth was passed in the brilliant society of the little court at Luneville. She was distantly related to Mme. du Chatelet, and finally took refuge from the cruelties of a violent and brutal husband in the "terrestrial paradise" at Cirey. La belle Emilie was moved to sympathy, and Voltaire wept at the tale of her sorrows. A little later she became a victim to the poet's sensitive vanity.
From the French point of view events appeared quite different. "This morning German troops have violated French territory at three different points: in the direction of Longwy by Lunéville, at Cirey and by Belfort. War has thus been declared, and the endeavours for peace as described in the President's proclamation have been in vain.
At times he was the idol of Paris, applauded by philosophes and petted by the court, or again he would be a refugee from the wrath of outraged authorities. For a great part of his life he resided at Cirey in Lorraine, with his mistress, his books, his half-finished plays, and his laboratory for Voltaire, like all philosophes, had to play at science.
He lived in a quiet château at Cirey, industrious and independent, though he looked toward the Marquise du Châtelet for that admiration which a literary man craves. It was the Marquise who shared with Frederick the Great the tribute paid by the witty man of letters, i.e. that there were but two great men in his time and one of them wore petticoats.
An old Chateau of theirs, named Cirey, stands in a pleasant enough little valley in Champagne; but so dilapidated, gaunt and vacant, nobody can live in it.
I know there are privileged souls, who can make verses everywhere in the tumult of court life, in the loneliness of Cirey, in the prisons of the Bastile, and in the stage-coach. My poor soul does not enjoy this freedom. "Ah! this is the first time I have caught the Solomon of the North in an untruth," cried Voltaire, eagerly.
Madame du Châtelet had flown at him like an angry hen. There had been words between them, and even a few dishes and a plate or two. Hence, madame was at Cirey, monsieur at Paris.
The Vandals could not have done better." "Courcy. The village, and the workmen's cottages looted and sacked. Atrocious. There is something, after all, in what they say of German barbarians." "Ottignies. The village was pillaged. The blond beast has made plain what he is. The Huns and the free-lances of the Middle Ages could not have done better." "Cirey.
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