The life of Voltaire

by Evelyn Beatrice Hall

The age was a vile one; and Voltaire was in it and of it. No woman, were she ever so old and ugly, could have been at the head of his house and escaped calumny. But he may be exonerated from being his niece’s lover. It was a sin he had no mind to.

He was undoubtedly very sincerely glad to see her at the present moment. And if she was not quite heroic enough to keep herself from saying, “I told you so!” she was quite good-natured enough to sympathise with her uncle, even if he had brought his misfortunes at least in part upon himself. This meeting, too, had been so long planned, written of, and delayed. Both uncle and niece—not yet knowing each other as fatally well as they were soon to do—had heartily desired it. One of the very first things practical Madame Denis did was to sit down and write on June 11th a very sensible and moving letter to Frederick the Great, which, if her uncle did not help in its composition, is an example of the truth of the axiom that one intuition of a woman is worth all the reasoning of a man. It was not Madame Denis’s fault that that appeal to Frederick to let Voltaire go free did not reach Frederick until it was too late to be of use. She had already implored the good offices of Lord Keith, who had been of Frederick’s suppers, and was now in France as Prussian envoy; and the prudent Scotchman had replied advising her to recommend Uncle Voltaire to keep quiet, and to remember that “Kings have long arms.” Nothing daunted, Madame Denis wrote to Keith again. This letter, too, though in the niece’s hand, bears evidence of the uncle’s brain. The energetic pair (Madame Denis declared in every letter that they were both very ill) further wrote to d’Argenson and Madame de Pompadour to lay before France the astonishing facts of their case.

It only remained for Madame Denis after this to try and cheer the captivity of the prisoner of the “Golden Lion,” and to help him entertain the illustrious local notables who came to call upon him.

Early on the morning of Monday, June 18th, the chest containing that famous “Œuvre de Poëshie” was delivered at Freytag’s house. “Now we can go!” thinks Voltaire. He completed his preparations. He sent Collini to Freytag’s house to be present at the opening of the parcel. But cautious Freytag was awaiting clearer orders from Potsdam: and would not open the case. Voltaire sent Collini many times during that morning; nay, many times in a single hour: and Freytag sent him away again. At noon comes a despatch to Freytag from Fredersdorff. “Do nothing,” says that official, “until the King returns here next Thursday, when you shall have further orders.” And Freytag, in a note of the most excessive politeness, conveys this message to Voltaire.

Voltaire’s patience had had eighteen days to run out: and the supply was pretty well exhausted. At his side was his niece dying to go, and anticipating, not unnaturally, that Frederick intended something very sinister indeed by these delays. Voltaire went to Freytag and asked to see Fredersdorff’s despatch. And Freytag refused, in a rage. That night Madame Denis wrote to the Abbé de Prades—as the intimate of Frederick—telling him of this new insult and delay. And Voltaire resolved upon action.

Leaving Madame Denis to look after the luggage and await events at the “Golden Lion,” on Wednesday, June 20th, about three o’clock in the afternoon, Voltaire and Collini slipped out of the inn and went to another hostelry, called the “Crown of the Empire,” where they got into a post-chaise which was returning to Mayence. A servant followed them as far as the “Crown of the Empire” and put into the post-chaise a cash-box and two portfolios. But for the fact that one of the escaping criminals, sombrely dressed in black velvet for the occasion, dropped a notebook in the city and spent four minutes of priceless time looking for it, they would have been out of Frankfort and the jurisdiction of Freytag before that breathless and flurried official caught them up and arrested them, with the assistance of the officer at the Mayence gate, which they had actually reached.

It is not necessary to say that Voltaire did not submit to this arrest tamely. He argued with no little passion and adroitness. Collini supported all his statements impartially. “The worst bandits could not have struggled more to get away,” said unfortunate Freytag. But the Resident had might on his side, if not right. He left Voltaire and Collini under a guard of six soldiers and “flew” back to the Burgomaster of Frankfort, who confirmed the arrest. When the unhappy official got back to the city gate, he found Voltaire had spent his time burning papers. What he did not know, was that Voltaire had further taken advantage of his absence to abstract a sheaf of manuscript from one of the portfolios and to give it to Collini, saying, “Hide that somewhere about you.”

Freytag brought his prisoners back to the city in his carriage, which was surrounded by a guard of soldiers, and very soon by a crowd. He took them to the house of that Councillor Schmidt (whose office had been temporarily filled on June 1st by Councillor Rucker) because, said Freytag, the landlord of the “Golden Lion” would not have Voltaire in his house any longer “on account of his incredible meanness.” Freytag then made the prisoners give up the cash-box and their money. “Count the money,” said Schmidt; “they are quite capable of pretending they had more than they really had.” From Voltaire were also taken “his watch, his snuff-box, and some jewels that he wears.” Collini recounts that Voltaire feigned illness to soften the hearts of his captors. But this very transparent ruse failed entirely; as might have been expected. After two hours’ waiting, Dorn, Freytag’s clerk, a disgraced solicitor of Frankfort, took the pair to a low tavern called the “Goat,” where Voltaire was shut up in one room guarded by three soldiers with bayonets; and Collini in another. Voltaire’s cash-box and portfolios had been left in a trunk at Schmidt’s, and the trunk padlocked.

Madame Denis, hearing of Voltaire’s arrest, had flown to try the effect of feminine eloquence upon the Burgomaster.

He replied by putting her under arrest at the “Golden Lion”; and presently sent her, under guard of Dorn and three soldiers, to the “Goat” tavern, where she was placed in a garret with no furniture in it but a bed; “soldiers for femmes de chambre, and bayonets for curtains.” Madame Denis appears to have spent the night in hysterics. The miscreant Dorn actually persisted in taking his supper in her room and emptying bottle after bottle in her presence and treating her with insult. The truth was, Freytag and Dorn did not believe in her nieceship to Voltaire and mistook the poor lady for a wholly disreputable character.