at Rouen, who was to impress them on the publisher. He also sent Jore quite a large sum of money so that he should not be out of pocket by the delay.
Voltaire was ill all that winter, in bed off and on for months. He had not recovered from the intestinal troubles caused by the parodies of his Temple; he was worried about the Lettres philosophiques; Adélaïde du Guesclin came on in January and failed; there is no proof that Ãmilie was much of a comfort to him at this time, and the Abbé Linant, who was living with him, was thoroughly on his nerves. The wretched little fellow went to bed every evening at seven only to rise again after midday; he was eating his head off and constantly demanded more pocket-money. Voltaire got him a pass for the Comédie Française so that he could study the art of writing plays; he would go off there, dressed and powdered likethe son of a prince, and gossip for hours with the actors and actresses at the Café Procope, opposite the theatre. Yet he made no headway at all with Rameses. Voltaire, to whom time was so precious, hated above everything to see it wasted.
* Keeper of the Seals; but often, as in this case, possessing also the powers and pecuniary rewards of the Chancellor.
5. The Richelieu Wedding
The love affair, after its flourishing start, really seemed in danger of being submerged by the various distractions which beset the lovers. However, in April 1734, Voltaire rose from his sick-bed, which at one moment had looked like becoming his death-bed, and the two of them went jaunting off to a country wedding in Burgundy. The Duc de Richelieu was marrying Mlle de Guise. The bride was a relation of the Marquis du Châtelet; the bridegroom an old love of the Marquise and the marriage was made by Voltaire. The brideâs father, the Prince de Guise, was one of his debtors. As soon as Voltaire had any spare cash he hastened to invest it, and a favourite security was loans to noblemen; he used to say that he was never let down by â les grandsâ, and that even if they were not punctual about paying the interest they always did so in the end. Guise was a proper scoundrel; both he and his wife, who had died in 1732, were so well known for the irregularity of their conduct as to be almost déclassés, if such a thing were possible in that irregular century. These immoral people had produced a virtuous daughter with intellectual tastes and Voltaire had conceived the idea of marrying her to his friend Richelieu. He undertook all the negotiations, which were not easy. Richelieu was of mediocre origins, his dukedom having come from merit and not from ancient lineage; to make matters worse he was not even a Du Plessis (a noble but obscure county family) like the Cardinal himself, but a Vignerot, descended from the Cardinalâs sister. He minded; all his life it tormented him to feel that he was not as other dukes. He very much wanted this marriagewhich would improve his coat of arms. The family of Lorraine, however, to which Guise belonged and who considered themselves almost royal, refused to think of such an alliance. At last Voltaire, knowing that the Prince was in financial difficulties, made the magic suggestion that Richelieu should take the lady without a dowry. Guise allowed himself to be persuaded, the more readily because his daughter, to everybodyâs astonishment, declared herself well suited by the Duke. He seemed the last man in the world who would attract her, but like many another she had fallen in love with him.
Richelieu was one of the charmers of his age. Almost illiterate, though he knew a little astronomy, he was sharp and funny. He made both the Regent and Louis XV laugh so much that they forgave him everything; and there was a good deal to forgive, including treachery. He loved to invent mischievous anecdotes. It was he who put it about that Mme de Grignan hated her mother Mme de Sévigné; he also said he knew for a fact that Bossuet
Voltaire was ill all that winter, in bed off and on for months. He had not recovered from the intestinal troubles caused by the parodies of his Temple; he was worried about the Lettres philosophiques; Adélaïde du Guesclin came on in January and failed; there is no proof that Ãmilie was much of a comfort to him at this time, and the Abbé Linant, who was living with him, was thoroughly on his nerves. The wretched little fellow went to bed every evening at seven only to rise again after midday; he was eating his head off and constantly demanded more pocket-money. Voltaire got him a pass for the Comédie Française so that he could study the art of writing plays; he would go off there, dressed and powdered likethe son of a prince, and gossip for hours with the actors and actresses at the Café Procope, opposite the theatre. Yet he made no headway at all with Rameses. Voltaire, to whom time was so precious, hated above everything to see it wasted.
* Keeper of the Seals; but often, as in this case, possessing also the powers and pecuniary rewards of the Chancellor.
5. The Richelieu Wedding
The love affair, after its flourishing start, really seemed in danger of being submerged by the various distractions which beset the lovers. However, in April 1734, Voltaire rose from his sick-bed, which at one moment had looked like becoming his death-bed, and the two of them went jaunting off to a country wedding in Burgundy. The Duc de Richelieu was marrying Mlle de Guise. The bride was a relation of the Marquis du Châtelet; the bridegroom an old love of the Marquise and the marriage was made by Voltaire. The brideâs father, the Prince de Guise, was one of his debtors. As soon as Voltaire had any spare cash he hastened to invest it, and a favourite security was loans to noblemen; he used to say that he was never let down by â les grandsâ, and that even if they were not punctual about paying the interest they always did so in the end. Guise was a proper scoundrel; both he and his wife, who had died in 1732, were so well known for the irregularity of their conduct as to be almost déclassés, if such a thing were possible in that irregular century. These immoral people had produced a virtuous daughter with intellectual tastes and Voltaire had conceived the idea of marrying her to his friend Richelieu. He undertook all the negotiations, which were not easy. Richelieu was of mediocre origins, his dukedom having come from merit and not from ancient lineage; to make matters worse he was not even a Du Plessis (a noble but obscure county family) like the Cardinal himself, but a Vignerot, descended from the Cardinalâs sister. He minded; all his life it tormented him to feel that he was not as other dukes. He very much wanted this marriagewhich would improve his coat of arms. The family of Lorraine, however, to which Guise belonged and who considered themselves almost royal, refused to think of such an alliance. At last Voltaire, knowing that the Prince was in financial difficulties, made the magic suggestion that Richelieu should take the lady without a dowry. Guise allowed himself to be persuaded, the more readily because his daughter, to everybodyâs astonishment, declared herself well suited by the Duke. He seemed the last man in the world who would attract her, but like many another she had fallen in love with him.
Richelieu was one of the charmers of his age. Almost illiterate, though he knew a little astronomy, he was sharp and funny. He made both the Regent and Louis XV laugh so much that they forgave him everything; and there was a good deal to forgive, including treachery. He loved to invent mischievous anecdotes. It was he who put it about that Mme de Grignan hated her mother Mme de Sévigné; he also said he knew for a fact that Bossuet
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