seen them; obliged to dismount to the peril of Madame's diamonds,
there being a jam of carriages, and no getting forward for half
the day. In short, they are becoming more and more intimate, to
the extremest degree; and, scorning the world, thank Heaven that
they are mutually indispensable. Cannot we get away from this
scurvy wasp's-nest of a Paris, thought they, and live to ourselves
and our books?

"Madame was of high quality, one of the Breteuils; but was poor in
comparison, and her Husband the like. 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. Voltaire, who is by this time a man of ample moneys,
furnishes the requisite cash; Madame and he, in sweet symphony,
concert the plans: Cirey is repaired, at least parts of it are,
into a boudoir of the gods, regardless of expense; nothing ever
seen so tasteful, so magnificent; and the two withdraw thither to
study, in peace, what sciences, pure and other, they have a mind
to. They are recognized as lovers, by the Parisian public, with
little audible censure from anybody there,--with none at all from
the easy Husband; who occasionally even visits Cirey, if he be
passing that way; and is content to take matters as he finds them,
without looking below the surface. [See (whosoever is curious)
Madame de Grafigny, Vie Privee de Voltaire et de Madame
du Chatelet (Paris, 1820). A six months of actual
Letters written by poor Grafigny, while sheltering at Cirey,
Winter and Spring, 1738-1739; straitened there in various
respects,--extremely ill off for fuel, among other things.
Rugged practical Letters, shadowing out to us, unconsciously
oftenest, and like a very mirror, the splendid and the sordid, the