Finding Emilie (2 page)

Oh dear, I realize I am writing the wrong kind of letter to a former general and gentleman of the court, but since there is no time to start anew, please ignore my silly ramblings.

Emilie still manages to walk daily, although slowly and not for very long. It is so pleasant being away from Paris, where appearing in public in such a state would be viewed as the height of vulgarity. Duke Stanislas has been a most gracious host to let us stay behind at his palace at Lunéville for Emilies lying-in, and I assure you we have been watching over her most carefully. I imagine you have heard that the duke is quite serious about setting up a library and laboratory like the one she and Monsieur Voltaire created at Cirey, and she cannot stop talking about the exciting scientific progress that is possible when cost does not have to be so brutally considered.

I suppose she has written to tell you that Monsieur Voltaire arrived shortly after the court left for Commercy, and he was most disappointed to have missed the chance to see you, and to offer his plays for the court’s entertainment. That will have to wait until Emilie is safely beyond childbirth and we can travel there to join you.

Perhaps the duke would not say this to you as Emilie’s husband, but just before he moved the court to Commercy, he told me he found it quite remarkable that you allowed another man to live openly with your wife all these years and, knowing the nature of their relationship, still intercede for him whenever his pen gets him into trouble. And of course, as you know, when anything puzzles that dear man, he always asks, “Is it the French way?” as if that could satisfactorily explain even something as odd as a two-headed cow. Of course, when his question touched on the rather unusual role of Monsieur Voltaire in your wife’s retinue, Emilie and I burst out laughing, though she stopped in seconds from the pain.

Her pain is worse in the last week, I must admit, since the baby has dropped so low and still refuses to come. Nevertheless she sits at her desk, full of anxiety about not finishing her book, and though I try to tell her that something as important as the deepest principles in nature can wait for a baby to be born, she shakes her head quite assuredly, and that is the end of the subject. I must reveal to you, monsieur, that when she speaks about her work, her face darkens—so unlike how it would light up in the past—and she admits she has premonitions that I will not discuss here for fear that putting them down in words may bring them to life.

In the evenings we perform plays in her bedroom—or rather all of us except Baronne Lomont, who keeps to herself from lack of enjoyment of our company. Though Emilie is too uncomfortable and weary to take part, she still enjoys these immensely, clapping and making remarks so bawdy, they would give no delight if they did not come from someone so charming. She cannot pull herself up to the card table in the parlor, so she rests on a daybed we have positioned nearby. She demands that Voltaire lift his hand over his shoulder so she can have a look at his cards, and when she likes them, she doubles his wagers with her own money. Last night it was Monsieur Saint-Lambert who had the honor of sitting in Voltaire’s usual seat,
since he is our newest arrival and Emilie is clamoring, as usual, for his undivided attention.

We wake up hopeful each morning and go to bed at night praying to be awakened to news that the hour of her deliverance has come. With a fourth child we are told it should be an easy birth, but there are, of course, difficulties that come with age, and no one can recall other such births to use for comparison.

It is time for me to go to my dear friend. She is grateful for my help with her work, since it is so difficult for her to fetch what she needs. I hope to write soon with joyous news.

Your devoted,
Julie, Madame de Bercy

Lorraine, Palais de Lunéville, 4 September 1749
To Florent-Claude, Marquis du Châtelet-Lomont
Commercy, Lorraine

Esteemed Monsieur,

I write in haste to inform you that today your wife was safely delivered of a daughter. The labor took only two hours and the baby appears healthy. She was taken immediately to the parish church for baptism, and then sent out to nurse. She is named Stanislas-Adélaïde and, to everyone’s satisfaction, she resembles her mother.

I remain your devoted sister-in-law,
Philippe-Charlotte, Baronne Lomont

Lorraine, Palais de Lunéville,
II
September 1749
To Florent-Claude, Marquis du Châtelet-Lomont
Commercy, Lorraine

Dearest Monsieur le Marquis,

I know of no other way to get over this wretched moment than just to say what must be said.

Your beloved wife Emilie died suddenly last night, six days after giving birth. I expect you will put down this letter now and only pick it up later when you have had your first round of tears, but before you do, please let me say that this is also the worst moment of my own life. I can barely write I am so full of grief, and my tears have ruined several starts at this letter already. When you are ready to read again, I fear you will simply have to forgive the stains I am sure will fill its pages.

We do not know the cause. She did not complain of illness and in fact had set up a lap table so she could work on her papers in bed. Sometime around midday yesterday she complained she felt hot, but she did not appear exceedingly so, considering the brutal weather we have been having. Though we reminded her that cold was the worst possible remedy for fever, she insisted on having her favorite syrup in water with chunks of ice. Immediately after finishing it she put her hands to her temples, complaining of a sudden, excruciating headache and gasping for breath.

The physician whom the duke so graciously allowed to stay behind until the delivery gave her a hot tisane, which calmed her considerably. He sent for the best doctors from Nancy, who arrived shortly after nightfall. By then the pain and labored breathing had recurred several times, and we were all terribly frightened. She was given opiates and when she began to relax, the doctors told us the air would be better if there were fewer people in the room.

Monsieur Voltaire and Baronne Lomont left with the doctors and the rest of Emilies company to have supper in an apartment across the courtyard. I was preparing to go with them, but Emilie wanted me and Monsieur Saint-Lambert to stay behind.

We spoke with her until she fell asleep, and then we went out into the hall so we could talk without disturbing her. After no more than a few minutes, we heard the most terrifying groans coming from her room. When we reached her bed, her covers were strewn as if she had been thrashing about, but our precious Emilie was completely still, and her eyes were rolled back in her head.

Monsieur Saint-Lambert had the presence of mind to put his hand to her chest to see if she was breathing. God save us all, I cannot describe the feeling in my heart when he said she was no more. He closed our darling’s eyes, and we held each other in silence while the chambermaid ran across the courtyard to tell the others.

Within a few minutes we heard the cries of the other guests as they mounted the stairs. Oh, dear monsieur, such a doleful scene I pray I will never witness again! Voltaire flung himself upon her, sobbing that he had lost the better half of himself. When he left the room, he was shaking so badly he fell down the stone stairs, or perhaps he flung himself—it isn’t clear—and he is now limping and rather battered about the face. He said terrible things to Saint-Lambert, accusing him of killing Emilie by his carelessness. As for Saint-Lambert, he has locked himself in his quarters and his valet reports the most terrible moans and laments coming from within.

It is left to the women to do what the situation demands. Baronne Lomont and I will shortly begin the sad process of laying out the body. We have sent for permission to raise a floor stone in the new parish church of Saint-Jacques so she may be laid to rest in a place she found so bright and lovely. But since the weather is so hot we must proceed quickly. Please, please, come yourself as soon as you can, and send word if you can ride here in time for the burial. We all need to share our profound loss with you and cover you with tears.

As ever, your devoted,
Julie de Bercy

Lorraine, Palais de Lunéville, 13 September 1749
To Florent-Claude, Marquis du Châtelet-Lomont
Commercy, Lorraine

My Dear Brother-in-Law,

We regret that it was necessary to commit your wife’s body to the ground before you had leave to return, but as you said in your last letter, there is no reason to hasten for the dead, and there will be enough time later to do what is required of you. Madame de Bercy and I appreciate the trust you put in us to act in the best interests of the child, since your new position in the duke’s service obviously precludes involvement yourself. I regret I had to make it forcefully clear to Madame de Bercy that a woman with child for the first time is scarcely in a position to take responsibility for another infant before the birth of her own. Madame de Bercy is of a nature far more sentimental than practical, and her tearful pleas not to send the child immediately to a convent, as you suggested, have worn me down to the point where I have agreed to bring Stanislas-Adélaïde back to Paris and serve as her guardian for the time being. Please do not come to Lunéville in search of us, for we are departing for Paris tomorrow.

I remain your devoted sister-in-law,
Philippe-Charlotte, Baronne Lomont

Paris, 8 April 1753
To Florent-Claude, Marquis du Châtelet-Lomont
Lorraine, Palais de Lunéville

Dearest Monsieur le Marquis,

I just received your letter in the post. Such wonderful news—oh, please forgive me for seeing someone else’s ill health in that way!—that Baronne Lomont no longer feels she can serve as guardian for our beloved Lili. I thank you from the depths of my heart for overruling her decision that Lili be sent to a convent at such a tender age, when I am so willing to raise her myself. What a heartbreak that would have been! I love your darling Lili as much as I do my own Delphine-Anne, and the two girls—still just three years old!—have already shown signs of deep bonds in the few times the baronne has permitted Lili to visit.

In response to Baronne Lomont’s concerns that your daughter will be corrupted by visitors to the salon I have recently begun, I promise you I will keep a watchful eye to ensure she is not made irresponsible or irreverent by exposure to modern thinking. I have given my word to the baronne that Lili will visit her regularly, so she can see for herself that the girl is not being introduced to men of poor character and insufficient loyalty to the king.

She claims that Lili will receive better instruction from her in the comportment so critical to making a good marriage, though I have not taken with the best humor her insinuation that I am not capable of this myself. I must admit, and surely you have noticed yourself, that the baronne’s comportment is, to put it as kindly as I can, rather difficult to tolerate with good humor, and may not be the best model for Lili’s own times. Still, in her own way, I am sure she loves the child and wants to ensure that she is not at a disadvantage in a world that can be most indifferent to the plight of the motherless.

Baronne Lomont and I have very little on which we agree, although our thoughts are united on the issue you raised, as to what
Lili should be told about her mother. As you know, I have the greatest admiration and deepest love for my dear friend, but her path is not one I think it is wise for any young girl to follow. The baroness and I have agreed that it is best that Lili not be told the more—oh, how shall I say it?—salacious details of her mother’s life, and that her achievements in science should not overpower the more conventional view of what accomplishments are appealing in a woman. It is good to be bright and articulate, since it improves the quality of men’s lives as well as our own, but I agree that a woman should glow and warm her surroundings, rather than blind others with her own light.

Baronne Lomont will also see to the transfer of the capital whose interest pays the stipend you so generously provide the child. She tells me it is more than adequate for Lili’s needs at this time. She has made clear that you intend this stipend to serve in lieu of any personal contact with Lili. When she is old enough to ask questions, I will explain that although you do not write or visit, your stipend is the way you express your concern and love. Baronne Lomont tells me she has informed you that a dowry will need to be discussed when the time comes, so that Lili will have the protection that accompanies bringing at least a small measure of her own wealth to a marriage. But of course that can wait for another time. I must prepare Lili’s quarters and tell my Delphine she is to have Lili as a sister!

As ever, your devoted,
Julie de Bercy