Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of h.o.a.rded sweets, No painted plumage to display!
Collins was never a lover, and never married. His odes, with all their exquisite fancy and splendid imagery, have not much interest in their subjects, and no pathos derived from feeling or pa.s.sion. He is reported to have been once in love; and as the lady was a day older than himself, he used to say jestingly, that "he came into the world _a day after the fair_." He was not deeply smitten; and though he led in his early years a dissipated life, his heart never seems to have been really touched. He wrote an Ode on the Pa.s.sions, in which, after dwelling on Hope, Fear, Anger, Despair, Pity, and describing them with many picturesque circ.u.mstances, he dismisses Love with a couple of lines, as dancing to the sound of the sprightly viol, and forming with joy the light fantastic round. Such was Collins"s idea of love!
To these we may add Goldsmith. Of his loves we know nothing; they were probably the reverse of poetical, and may have had some influence on his purse and respectability, but none on his literary character and productions. He also died unmarried.
Shenstone, if he was not a poetical old bachelor, was little better than a poetical dangler. He was not formed to captivate: his person was clumsy, his manners disagreeable, and his temper feeble and vacillating.
The Delia who is introduced into his elegies, and the Phillis of his pastoral ballad, was Charlotte Graves, sister to the Graves who wrote the Spiritual Quixotte. There was nothing warm or earnest in his admiration, and all his gallantry is as vapid as his character. He never gave the lady who was supposed, and supposed herself, to be the object of his serious pursuit, an opportunity of accepting or rejecting him; and his conduct has been blamed as ambiguous and unmanly. His querulous declamations against women in general, had neither cause nor excuse; and his complaints of infidelity and coldness are equally without foundation. He died unmarried.
When we look at a picture of Thomson, we wonder how a man with that heavy, pampered countenance, and awkward mien, could ever have written the "Seasons," or have been in love. I think it is Barry Cornwall, who says strikingly, that Thomson"s figure "was a personification of the Castle of Indolence, without its romance." Yet Thomson, though he has not given any popularity or interest to the name of a woman, is said to have been twice in love, after his own _lack-a-daisical_ fashion. He was first attached to Miss Stanley, who died young, and upon whom he wrote the little elegy,--
Tell me, thou soul of her I love! &c.
He alludes to her also in Summer, in the pa.s.sage beginning,--
And art thou, Stanley, of the sacred band, &c.
His second love was long, quiet, and constant; but whether the lady"s coldness, or want of fortune, prevented a union, is not clear: probably the latter. The object of this attachment was a Miss Young, who resided at Richmond; and his attentions to her were continued through a long series of years, and even till within a short time before his death, in his forty-eighth year. She was his Amanda; and if she at all answered the description of her in his Spring, she must have been a lovely and amiable woman.
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song!
Form"d by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix"d, Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart: Oh, come! and while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread The morning dews, and gather in their prime Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair.
And if his attachment to her suggested that beautiful description of domestic happiness with which his Spring concludes,--
But happy they, the happiest of their kind, Whom gentler stars unite, &c.
who would not grieve at the destiny which denied to Thomson pleasures he could so eloquently describe, and so feelingly appreciate?
Truth, however, obliges me to add one little trait. A lady who did not know Thomson personally, but was enchanted with his "Seasons," said she could gather from his works three parts of his character,--that he was an amiable lover, an excellent swimmer, and extremely abstemious.
Savage, who knew the poet, could not help laughing at this picture of a man who scarcely knew what love was; who shrunk from cold water like a cat; and whose habits were those of a good-natured bon vivant, who indulged himself in every possible luxury, which could be attained without trouble! He also died unmarried.
Hammond, the favourite of our sentimental great-grandmothers, whose "Love Elegies" lay on the toilettes of the Harriet Byrons and Sophia Westerns of the last century, was an amiable youth, "very melancholy and gentlemanlike," who being appointed equerry to Prince Frederic, cast his eyes on Miss Dashwood, bed-chamber woman to the Princess, and she became his Delia. The lady was deaf to his pastoral strains; and though it has been said that she rejected him on account of the smallness of his fortune, I do not see the necessity of believing this a.s.sertion, or of sympathising in the dull invectives and monotonous lamentations of the slighted lover. Miss Dashwood never married, and was, I believe, one of the maids of honour to the late Queen.
Thus the six poets, who, in the history of our literature, fill up the period which intervened between the death of Pope and the first publications of Burns and Cowper--all died old bachelors!
CHAPTER XVIII.
FRENCH POETS.
VOLTAIRE AND MADAME DU CHATELET.
If we take a rapid view of French literature, from the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, down to the Revolution, we are dazzled by the record of brilliant and celebrated women, who protected or cultivated letters, and obtained the homage of men of talent. There was Ninon; and there was Madame de Rambouillet; the one _galante_, the other _precieuse_. One had her St. Evremond; the other her Voiture. Madame de Sablire protected La Fontaine; Madame de Montespan protected Molire; Madame de Maintenon protected Racine. It was all patronage and protection on one side, and dependance and servility on the other. Then we have the _intrigante_ Madame de Tencin;[137] the good-natured, but rather _borne_ Madame de Goffrin; the d.u.c.h.esse de Maine, who held a little court of _bel esprits_ and small poets at Seaux, and is best known as the patroness of Mademoiselle de Launay. Madame d"Epinay, the _amie_ of Grimm, and the patroness of Rousseau; the clever, selfish, witty, ever _ennuye_, never _ennuyeuse_ Madame du Deffand; the ardent, talented Mademoiselle de l"Espina.s.se, who would certainly have been a poetess, if she had not been a philosopheress and a Frenchwoman: Madame Neckar, the patroness of Marmontel and Thomas:--_e tutte quante_. If we look over the light French literature of those times, we find an inconceivable heap of _vers galans_, and _jolis couplets_, licentious songs, pretty, well-turned compliments, and most graceful badinage; but we can discover the names of only two distinguished women, who have the slightest pretensions to a poetical celebrity, derived from the genius, the attachment, and the fame of their lovers. These were Madame du Chtelet, Voltaire"s "Immortelle Emilie:" and Madame d"Houdetot, the Doris of Saint-Lambert.
Gabrielle-Emilie le Tonnelier de Brteuil, was the daughter of the Baron de Brteuil, and born in 1706. At an early age she was taken from her convent, and married to the Marquis du Chtelet; and her life seems thenceforward to have been divided between two pa.s.sions, or rather two pursuits rarely combined,--love, and geometry. Her tutor in both is said to have been the famous mathematician Clairaut; and between them they rendered geometry so much the fashion at one time, that all the women, who were distinguished either for rank or beauty, thought it indispensable to have a geometrician in their train. The "Potes de Socit" hid for a while their diminished heads, or were obliged to study geometry _pour se mettre la mode_.[138] Her friendship with Voltaire began to take a serious aspect, when she was about eight-and-twenty, and he was about forty; he is said to have succeeded that _rou par excellence_, the Duc de Richelieu, in her favour.
This woman might have dealt in mathematics,--might have inked her fingers with writing treatises on the Newtonian philosophy; she might have sat up till five in the morning, solving problems and calculating eclipses;--and yet have possessed amiable, elevated, generous, and attractive qualities, which would have thrown a poetical interest round her character; moreover, considering the horribly corrupt state of French society at that time, she might have been pardoned "une vertu de moins," if her power over a great genius had been exercised to some good purpose;--to restrain his licentiousness, to soften his pungent and merciless satire, and prevent the frequent prost.i.tution of his admirable and versatile talents. But a female sceptic, profligate from temperament and principle; a termagant, "qui voulait furieus.e.m.e.nt tout ce qu"elle voulait; "a woman with all the _suffisance_ of a pedant, and all the _exigeance_, caprices, and frivolity of a fine lady,--_grands dieux!_ what a heroine for poetry!
To a taste for Newton and the stars, and geometry and algebra, Madame du Chtelet added some other tastes, not quite so sublime;--a great taste for bijoux--and pretty gimcracks--and old china--and watches--and rings--and diamonds--and snuff-boxes--and--puppet-shows![139] and, now and then, _une pet.i.te affaire du coeur_, by way of variety.
Tout lui plait, tout convient son vaste genie: Les livres, les bijoux, les compas, les pompons, Les vers, les diamants, le biribi,[140] l"optique, L"algbre, les soupers, le latin, les jupons, L"opra, les procs, le bal, et la physique!
This "Minerve de la France, la respectable Emilie," did not resemble Minerva in _all_ her attributes; nor was she satisfied with a _succession_ of lovers. The whole history of her _liaison_ with Voltaire, is enough to put _en droute_ all poetry, and all sentiment.
With her imperious temper and bitter tongue, and his extreme irritability, no wonder they should have _des scnes terribles_.[141]
Marmontel says they were often _ couteaux tirs_; and this, not metaphorically but literally. On one occasion, Voltaire happened to criticise some couplets she had written for Madame de Luxembourg.
"L"Amante de Newton"[142] could calculate eclipses, but she could not make verses; and, probably, for that reason, she was most particularly jealous of all censure, while she criticised Voltaire without manners or mercy; and he endured it, sometimes with marvellous patience.
A dispute was now the consequence; both became furious; and at length Voltaire s.n.a.t.c.hed up a knife, and brandishing it exclaimed, "ne me regarde donc pas avec tes yeux hagards et louches!" After such a scene as this one would imagine that Love must have spread his light wings and fled for ever. Could Emilie ever have forgiven those words, or Voltaire have forgotten the look that provoked them?
But the _mobilit_ of his mind was one of the most extraordinary parts of his character, and he was not more irascible than he was easily appeased. Madame du Chtelet maintained her power over him for twenty years; during five of which they resided in her chteau at Cirey, under the countenance of her husband; he was a good sort of man, but seems to have been considered by these two geniuses and their guests as a complete nonent.i.ty. He was "_Le bon-homme, le vilain pet.i.t Trichateau_"
whom it was a task to speak to, and a penance to amuse. Every day, after coffee, Monsieur rose from the table with all the docility imaginable, leaving Voltaire and Madame to recite verses, translate Newton, philosophise, dispute, and do the honours of Cirey to the brilliant society who had a.s.sembled under his roof.
While the boudoir, the laboratory, and the sleeping-room of the lady, and the study and gallery appropriated to Voltaire, were furnished with Oriental luxury and splendour, and shone with gilding, drapery, pictures, and baubles, the lord of the mansion and the guests were destined to starve in half-furnished apartments, from which the wind and the rain were scarcely excluded.[143]
In 1748, Voltaire and Madame du Chtelet paid a visit to the Court of Stanislas, the ex-king of Poland, at Luneville, and took M. du Chtelet in their train. There Madame du Chtelet was seized with a pa.s.sion for Saint-Lambert, the author of the "Saisons," who was at least ten or twelve years younger than herself, and then a _jeune militaire_, only admired for his fine figure and pretty _vers de socit_. Voltaire, it is said, was extremely jealous; but his jealousy did not prevent him from addressing some very elegant verses to his handsome rival, in which he compliments him gaily on the good graces of the lady.
Saint-Lambert, ce n"est que pour toi Que ces belles fleurs sont closes, C"est ta main qui cueille les roses, Et les pines sont pour moi![144]
Some months afterwards, Madame du Chtelet died in child-birth, in her forty-fourth year.
Voltaire was so overwhelmed by this loss, that he set off for Paris immediately _pour se dissiper_. Marmontel has given us a most ludicrous account of a visit of condolence he paid him on this occasion. He found Voltaire absolutely drowned in tears, and at every fresh burst of sorrow, he called on Marmontel to sympathise with him. "Helas! j"ai perdu mon ill.u.s.tre amie! Ah! ah! je suis au desespoir!"--Then exclaiming against Saint-Lambert, whom he accused as the cause of the catastrophe--"Ah! mon ami! il me l"a tue, le brutal!" while Marmontel, who had often heard him abuse his "_sublime_ Emilie" in no measured terms, as "une furie, attache ses pas," hid his face with his handkerchief in pretended sympathy, but in reality to conceal his irrepressible smiles. In the midst of this scene of despair, some ridiculous idea or story striking Voltaire"s vivid fancy, threw him into fits of laughter, and some time elapsed before he recollected that he was inconsolable.
The death of Madame du Chtelet, the circ.u.mstances which attended it, and the celebrity of herself and her lover, combined to cause a great _sensation_. No elegies indeed appeared on the occasion,--"no tears eternal that embalm the dead;" but a shower of epigrams and _bon mots_--some exquisitely witty and malicious. The story of her ring, in which Voltaire and her husband each expected to find his own portrait, and which on being opened, was found, to the utter discomfiture of both, to contain that of Saint-Lambert, is well known.
If we may judge from her picture, Madame du Chtelet must have been extremely pretty. Her eyes were fine and piercing; her features delicate, with a good deal of _finesse_ and intelligence in their expression. But her countenance, like her character, was devoid of interest. She had great power of mental abstraction; and on one occasion she went through a most complicated calculation of figures in her head, while she played and won a game at piquet. She _could_ be graceful and fascinating, but her manners were, in general, extremely disagreeable; and her parade of learning, her affectation, her egotism, her utter disregard of the comforts, feelings, and opinions of others, are well pourtrayed in two or three brilliant strokes of sarcasm from the pen of Madame de Stael.[145] She even turns her philosophy into ridicule.
"Elle fait actuellement la revue de ses Principes;[146] c"est un exercise qu"elle ritre chaque anne, sans quoi ils pourroient s"chapper; et peut-tre s"en aller si loin qu"elle n"en retrouverait pas un seul. Je crois bien que sa tte est pour eux une maison de force, et non pas le lieu de leur naissance."[147]
That Madame du Chtelet was a woman of extraordinary talent, and that her progress in abstract sciences was uncommon, and even _unique_ at that time, at least among her own s.e.x, is beyond a doubt; but her learned treatises on Newton, and the nature of fire, are now utterly forgotten. We have since had a Mrs. Marcet; and we have read of Gaetana Agnesi, who was professor of mathematics in the University of Padua; two women who, uniting to the rarest philosophical acquirements, gentleness and virtue, have needed no poet to immortalize them.
Of the numerous poems which Voltaire addressed to Madame du Chtelet, the Epistle beginning
Tu m"appelles toi, vaste et puissant gnie, Minerve de la France, immortelle Emilie,
is a _chef d"oeuvre_, and contains some of the finest lines he ever wrote. The Epistle to her on calumny, written to console her for the abuse and ridicule which her abstractions and indiscretions had provoked, begins with these beautiful lines--
Ecoutez-moi, respectable Emilie: Vous tes belle; ainsi donc la moiti Du genre humain sera votre ennemie: Vous possdez un sublime gnie; On vous craindra; votre tendre amiti Est confiante; et vous serez trahie: Votre vertu dans sa dmarche unie, Simple et sans fard, n"a point sacrifi A nos dvots; craignez la calomnie.
With that famous ring, from which he had afterwards the mortification to discover that his own portrait had been banished to make room for that of Saint-Lambert, he sent her this elegant _quatrain_.
Barier grava ces traits destins pour vos yeux; Avec quelque plaisir daignez les reconnoitre: Les vtres dans mon coeur furent gravs bien mieux, Mais ce fut par un plus grand maitre.
The heroine of the famous Epistle, known as "Les TU et les VOUS,"
(Madame de Gouvern,) was one of Voltaire"s earliest loves; and he was pa.s.sionately attached to her. They were separated in the world:--she went through the usual _routine_ of a French woman"s existence,--I mean, of a French woman _sous l"ancien rgime_.