of the time. It was a pro forma arrangement, and in the habit of the time, her husband accepted her having affairs while he was away. There were a number of lovers, one of the closest being a onetime guards officer, Pierre-Louis Maupertuis, who had resigned his post, and was in the process of becoming a top physicist. Their courtship had begun in studying calculus and more advanced work together, but he was leaving on a polar expedition, and in 1730s France, no twenty-something young woman—however bright, however athletic—would be allowed to go along.
Now Emilie was at loose ends. Where could she turn for warmth? She had a few desultory affairs while Maupertuis was ordering his final supplies, but who, in France, could fill Maupertuis's place? Enter Voltaire.
"I was tired of the lazy, quarrelsome life led at Paris," Voltaire recounted later, " . . . of the privilege of the king, of the parties and cabals among the learned. . . . In the year 1733 I met a young lady who happened to think nearly as I did. . . ."
She met Voltaire at the opera, and although there was some overlap with Maupertuis, that was no problem. Voltaire composed a stirring poem for Maupertuis, complimenting him as a modern-day argonaut, for his boldness in venturing to the far north for science; he then wrote a romantic poem to du Châtelet, comparing her to a star, and noting that he, at least, was not so faithless as to exchange her for some expedition to the Arctic pole. It wasn't entirely fair to Maupertuis, but du Châtelet didn't mind. Anyway, what could Voltaire do? He was in love.
Emilie du Châtelet
PAINTING BY MAURICE QUENTIN DE LA TOUR. LAUROS-GIRAUDON
And so, finally, was she. This time she wasn't going to let it go. She and Voltaire shared deep interests: in political reform, in the fun of fast conversation ("she speaks with great rapidity," one of her earlier lovers had written, ". . . her words are like an angel"); above all, they shared a drive to advance science as much as they could. Her husband had a Château, at Cirey, in northeastern France. It had been in the family since before Columbus went to America, and now was largely shuttered up; abandoned. Why not use that as a base for genuine scientific research in France? They got to work, and Voltaire soon wrote to a friend that Mme. du Châtelet
. . . is changing staircases into chimneys and chimneys into staircases. Where I ordered the workmen to construct a library, she tells them to place a salon. . . . She's planting lime trees where I'd planned to place elms, and where I only planted herbs and vegetables . . . only a flowerbed will make her happy.
Within two years it was complete. There was a library comparable to that of the Academy of Sciences in Paris, the latest laboratory equipment from London, and there were guest wings, and the equivalent of seminar areas, and soon there were visits from the top researchers in Europe. Du Châtelet had her own professional lab, but the wall decorations in her reading areas were original paintings by Watteau; there was a private wing for Voltaire, yet also a discreet passageway conveniently connecting his bedroom with hers. (Arriving one time when she didn't expect him, he discovered her with another lover, and she tried putting him at ease by explaining that she'd only done this because she knew he hadn't been feeling well and she hadn't wanted to trouble him while he needed his rest.)
The occasional visitors from Versailles who came to scoff saw a beautiful woman willingly staying inside, working at her desk well into the evening, twenty candles around her stacks of calculations and translations; advanced scientific equipment stacked in the great hall. Voltaire would come in, not merely wanting to gossip about the court—though, being Voltaire, he was unable to resist this entirely—but also to compare Newton's Latin texts with some of the latest Dutch commentaries.
At several times she came close to jump-starting future
Now Emilie was at loose ends. Where could she turn for warmth? She had a few desultory affairs while Maupertuis was ordering his final supplies, but who, in France, could fill Maupertuis's place? Enter Voltaire.
"I was tired of the lazy, quarrelsome life led at Paris," Voltaire recounted later, " . . . of the privilege of the king, of the parties and cabals among the learned. . . . In the year 1733 I met a young lady who happened to think nearly as I did. . . ."
She met Voltaire at the opera, and although there was some overlap with Maupertuis, that was no problem. Voltaire composed a stirring poem for Maupertuis, complimenting him as a modern-day argonaut, for his boldness in venturing to the far north for science; he then wrote a romantic poem to du Châtelet, comparing her to a star, and noting that he, at least, was not so faithless as to exchange her for some expedition to the Arctic pole. It wasn't entirely fair to Maupertuis, but du Châtelet didn't mind. Anyway, what could Voltaire do? He was in love.
Emilie du Châtelet
PAINTING BY MAURICE QUENTIN DE LA TOUR. LAUROS-GIRAUDON
And so, finally, was she. This time she wasn't going to let it go. She and Voltaire shared deep interests: in political reform, in the fun of fast conversation ("she speaks with great rapidity," one of her earlier lovers had written, ". . . her words are like an angel"); above all, they shared a drive to advance science as much as they could. Her husband had a Château, at Cirey, in northeastern France. It had been in the family since before Columbus went to America, and now was largely shuttered up; abandoned. Why not use that as a base for genuine scientific research in France? They got to work, and Voltaire soon wrote to a friend that Mme. du Châtelet
. . . is changing staircases into chimneys and chimneys into staircases. Where I ordered the workmen to construct a library, she tells them to place a salon. . . . She's planting lime trees where I'd planned to place elms, and where I only planted herbs and vegetables . . . only a flowerbed will make her happy.
Within two years it was complete. There was a library comparable to that of the Academy of Sciences in Paris, the latest laboratory equipment from London, and there were guest wings, and the equivalent of seminar areas, and soon there were visits from the top researchers in Europe. Du Châtelet had her own professional lab, but the wall decorations in her reading areas were original paintings by Watteau; there was a private wing for Voltaire, yet also a discreet passageway conveniently connecting his bedroom with hers. (Arriving one time when she didn't expect him, he discovered her with another lover, and she tried putting him at ease by explaining that she'd only done this because she knew he hadn't been feeling well and she hadn't wanted to trouble him while he needed his rest.)
The occasional visitors from Versailles who came to scoff saw a beautiful woman willingly staying inside, working at her desk well into the evening, twenty candles around her stacks of calculations and translations; advanced scientific equipment stacked in the great hall. Voltaire would come in, not merely wanting to gossip about the court—though, being Voltaire, he was unable to resist this entirely—but also to compare Newton's Latin texts with some of the latest Dutch commentaries.
At several times she came close to jump-starting future
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