VOLTAIRE DEVOTED a great deal of his own time to Shoshana. He patiently led her into the labyrinthine ways of human knowledge about the universe and creation. He oriented her in the principal schools of philosophy. From time to time he would spend several hours lecturing on the great new advances in human knowledge. He spoke to her of Émilie du Châtelet and her speculations about the physical world. From time to time he would provide commentaries on a work by Plato or a passage in Virgil. One day a week he set exercises for her in the art of constructing elegant essays and letters. He taught her how to coax beautiful convoluted French prose from her pen. He assigned her topics for oral presentation and insisted on elegant polished speech. He monitored her use of grammar and found it satisfactory. He lectured on history and the art of medicine. Voltaire had the imposing appearance and piercing gaze of an eagle, and she followed the artful sweep of his intellect with a heart hammering with joy.
THE PHILOSOPHER NOTED in his diary: “Educating a person is collaborating with the forces of creation, and he who instructs another undertakes anew the creation of the world.”
ON THE THRESHOLD of adolescence Shoshana was drafting original essays—all still available in the Voltaire archives in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France in Paris—on themes such as Pythagoras as a politician, Plato’s thoughts on the state, the culture of the Mayan Indians before the Spanish conquest of Central America, the evolution of culture in France, and Francis of Assisi’s conversations with birds.
She solved advanced problems in mathematics and read with fascination Newton’s Principia on the heavenly bodies and their gravitational properties.
Grammar and syntax fascinated her. She spoke five languages fluently, and already as a young teenager she was translating Greek drama into French.
Voltaire criticized a number of the choices in her French version of Sophocles’s Antigone, but he arranged nevertheless for its premiere at the Théâtre-Français. The much-admired actress Thelma delivered an interpretation fit for the ages, under the direction of the celebrated Italian Raimondo di Vespucci. The public was ecstatic.
THE PHILOSOPHER wrote to Madame Spinoza that her daughter, who had just turned sixteen, “has a great talent; her Latin would have done credit to Cicero and her Greek would have sounded elegant at the Areopagus. My only disappointment is that she is of the feminine gender.”
SHOSHANA’S INTEREST in translating Greek drama evaporated one day, a development as sudden as it was unexpected. She began to delve into the profundities of challenging works of great men of science. She struggled for all of one spring with Newton’s second treatise on the laws of thermodynamics. She studied, did research, and took notes, and her conclusions differed from those of the Englishman. Her experiments established that the energy of an object in motion is proportional to its mass and a squared function of its speed. That finding contradicted Newton’s thesis and overturned fundamental principles long accepted by the scientific establishment.
SEVERAL INFLUENCES stimulated Shoshana’s interest in the natural sciences. Émilie du Châtelet was principal among them. Voltaire’s comments about that renowned researcher opened new prospects for her.
She heard the warmth in Voltaire’s voice when he spoke of Émilie, who had been his lover for years. Émilie’s face and figure remained vivid to him, many years after her death. For him she was the embodiment of feminine virtue and intelligence. He was clearly still deeply grieved that death, ever unexpected death, had taken Émilie from him just as their life together had reached resplendent heights of beauty and happiness.
He spoke of Émilie’s beauty and sensuality, her trim waist and thrusting breasts, and her towering achievements as France’s first female mathematician, physicist, and researcher.
Shoshana became ever more deeply fascinated by Voltaire’s picture of Émilie. She wanted to know everything about her. She brought up Émilie’s name at every opportunity, even though she felt an unhappy pang of jealousy whenever Voltaire spoke of her. She wondered, What does he see in her that I don’t have?
SHOSHANA IMAGINED SAYING, You are my love and I am the one whom you should love, throughout all eternity.
Her nineteenth birthday came and went, and she was no longer a child. Voices seemed to speak to her, and at times she was struck by the odd feeling that somewhere in her brain there was a cavity, a hollow that had to be filled, filled with a ferocious passion that would drive her to take Voltaire in her arms, kiss him, and tell him, I love you, I need you. She decided to fill that empty spot in her brain with Émilie. She would take on all her characteristics, transform herself from Shoshana into Émilie, replace her and become Voltaire’s only woman.
Sometimes her conscience chided her for wanting to become another person. It was almost as if she was contemplating a kind of suicide. At other times she no longer knew who she was. She often rebuked herself, but she could not control her heart. She felt a deep longing every day, every hour to become Voltaire’s beloved.
VOLTAIRE WATCHED with delight as his ward sat in the shade of a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old pear tree next to his château in Ferney near the border with Switzerland and studied the principles of thermodynamics. The early summer months of 1768 were a time of great happiness in his life. With the purchase of the château came a title of nobility. Count Voltaire, who by then had long been free from trying disputes, had put behind him all the bitter conflicts of his earlier life. He had settled in a quiet corner of France. In his ardor to promote tolerance and the Enlightenment he had written eighteen new articles for the revised fifth edition of the Pocket Lexicon of Philosophy, which by then was so bulky that only an impressively capacious pocket could accommodate it. He was famous and respected, in excellent health, carefree and happy. His fortune took care of itself. Sometimes at night he would awake with a thrill of happiness. He had achieved all of his dreams. Nothing could disturb his peace and quiet.
ON THAT MIDSUMMER EVENING Voltaire went out into the garden, picked a bouquet of flowers, and presented it to Shoshana. He arranged for a delicate dish of kidney sauté for dinner, accompanied by a superb wine from the region, to celebrate the fact that his pupil had put the final touches on her treatise on objects in motion. They clinked the polished crystal wineglasses together, and he provided yet another proof of his great benevolence. He promised to contact the president of the Académie Royale des Sciences in Paris, the distinguished Professor Jean-Baptiste Ferry, to have Shoshana’s work be published and debated at the annual meeting of the association of physicists in the fall.
Voltaire told Shoshana that before contacting Professor Ferry he wanted to show his support by correcting certain points that seemed a trifle weak and strengthening the arguments for others. He added immediately that he had no intention of questioning or weakening her incisive reasoning; the treatise was unique. But a written text could always be tweaked and somewhat improved.
Shoshana expressed her deep gratitude, but she heeded an inner voice that admonished her to decline, politely but firmly, Voltaire’s offer of a critical edit. She was absolutely certain of her thesis; she knew that her observations and conclusions were indisputable. And besides, it was her own work; she did not want anyone else to modify it. She did not dare to affront her benefactor by refusing his help, so she changed the subject instead and asked a question about Émilie.
Voltaire fell into melancholy as he spoke of his deceased life partner. His eyes fixed upon something invisible and impossibly far away. After all those years he could still hear Émilie’s voice whispering in his ear. Shoshana listened attentively, trying to identify any detail, however insignificant, that might refer to her, to Shoshana.
IN BED that night Shoshana felt the warm breath of the bright evening wafting through the wide-open windows and across her skin. That soft touch combined with the languorous effect of the velvety smooth red wine and aroused a tingling ecstasy in her young body, a feeling beyond all words and understanding, something different from anything she had ever experienc
ed before.
The warm currents of her yearning sensuality were dangerous, she knew, and they could lead to madness. Even so, she slowly reached up and rubbed her left nipple with her fingertips. She shivered with pleasure and felt her skin prickle up in gooseflesh. The sensation of pleasure was profound. She shut her eyes and imagined Voltaire’s hands, knowing, wonderful, and perfect as they caressed her naked body. She trembled with desire.
Shoshana knew that sinners were certain to wind up in hell. Cardinal Carlos Fellici in Geneva had often told her so. But she also knew from the great philosopher himself that everyone regardless of rank or sex or age had a right to happiness.
For that reason she had no misgivings or pangs of conscience. She abandoned her body to its will to act and seek, to find and take its desire. She was obsessed with Voltaire’s manly strength, his integrity, his calm superiority, his greatness of spirit. She wanted to give up her arms and the sweetness of her womanhood to the man she loved with all her heart.
SHOSHANA ROSE from her bed, silently made her way to Voltaire’s bedroom, carefully opened the door, and watched him for a long moment. Then she shed her nightgown, crept into his bed, and caressed his face.
Voltaire awoke with a start. He wasn’t surprised to find Soshana in his bed. He understood immediately what she wanted. He turned his searching gaze upon her. She was nineteen and a half. Her body was thin, almost scrawny, and her breasts were still those of a young girl. She was not particularly handsome. But beauty was not the issue here; the problem was something else. His body was not responding. Tenderly he informed her he was an elderly and ailing man, too old for such pleasures. His smile was extremely gentle and apologetic.
“My child,” he said, and carefully enfolded her in his arms, “you are at the fortunate age at which one makes love. We must find the right man with whom you can share those all-too-transitory moments.”
She was devastated that he had refused her. She seized his hands, pressed them against her face, and began to weep.
THE NEXT MORNING Voltaire instructed his secretary, Wagnière, to hire a carriage for a trip to Paris, and the philosopher told Shoshana to pack her belongings into two large trunks. They left Ferney at lunchtime and took the road via Nantua and Dijon. They changed horses four times. Once they were obliged to wait for a couple of hours outside Troyes because an axle had broken.
Neither Voltaire nor Shoshana spoke a word during the entire journey of five days. Each found it painful to sit in silence hearing only the other’s breathing, but they preferred that to carrying on a conversation as if nothing had happened.
MADAME SPINOZA was surprised by the knocking on the front door of her apartment near the Palais Royal. She was expecting no callers. The clock had already struck four, but she was still wearing a colorful morning robe of crepe de chine. The sight of Voltaire and Shoshana standing in her entry was an unwelcome and entirely unexpected surprise. Her habit was to avoid even the slightest exertion in life, and she detested being disturbed in her comfortable existence.
Voltaire preferred to speak with her in private. He told Shoshana to leave them, and after the door closed behind her he briefly summarized the situation. In his opinion, he stressed, it was no longer healthy for the young woman to be living with him. He regarded Madame Spinoza sternly, for he knew well how indifferent she had always been to her daughter; he insisted that he considered it best for Shoshana to move back home.
Voltaire’s words left Madame Spinoza completely at a loss. She had never had the least desire to take charge of her daughter. Shoshana had always seemed a stranger to her. Even a few days under the same roof with her daughter would render her life unbearable. But she dared not oppose Voltaire.
“But of course,” she answered with a friendly smile, carefully concealing the effect upon her of the philosopher’s announcement.
The first quarrel between mother and daughter broke out the very next morning. “Shoshana, I cannot bear all of this!” Madame Spinoza shrieked in her bitterest tone. The day had hardly begun when her daughter had locked herself in the bathroom and huddled there, weeping interminably. Her mother had no idea what to do: she felt helpless and entirely unprepared. She was convinced that she would fall into a nervous collapse if the child’s hysterical weeping continued. Things got no better when Shoshana at last left the bathroom several hours later. She insisted her mother leave her in peace and declared that being cooped up with her mother was like going to jail.
Over the following days Madame Spinoza repeatedly berated Shoshana for destroying her life. In answer her daughter screamed that she didn’t have a bit of sympathy or motherly feeling in her pampered body. New and futile conflicts between the two women erupted constantly, obliging the good-hearted old manservant Gilbert to intervene as a peacemaker. He admonished both mother and daughter and called on them to demonstrate a modicum of mutual goodwill so as to make their lives together more bearable.
GILBERT ENTREATED Madame Spinoza to write to Voltaire to ask for his help in resolving their difficulties. She accepted his suggestion but was uncertain how to word the letter. In response, the elderly servant dictated the text to her. He urged her first and foremost to remind the philosopher to send Shoshana’s treatise to the president of the Académie Royale des Sciences. That would certainly put the young lady in a better mood and keep her from continuing to weep for days on end and interrupting her tears only with wrathful tantrums. He told her to emphasize that a disciplined regime of scientific inquiry was likely to rein in Shoshana’s wild nerves.
VOLTAIRE REACTED PROMPTLY, as always. He sent Shoshana’s work to the Académie Royale des Sciences with an effusive letter of recommendation.
The president of the academy, Jean-Baptiste Ferry, had great respect for Voltaire. He immediately sat down with the treatise. He read it with a critical but friendly eye, and his jaw dropped in astonishment as he absorbed the first few pages. He had never before seen such a bold, independent, and comprehensive piece of work. He wished that a man of mature age had written it. That would have certainly made it easier for everyone to accept the outcomes of those empirical experiments and the author’s decisively worded conclusions. He dreaded the immense controversy that this thesis was certain to generate. Its criticism of Newton’s work was decisive and devastating. Ferry had no doubt that the young woman behind the work was a conscientious and truthful researcher. He had a distinct impression that she could well be correct in her analysis. Her paper might well demolish one of the basic principles of physics and provoke the most passionate scientific clash of the century. For a moment he was tempted to toss the pages into the fireplace and let the flames consume them. He resisted, as a respectable scientist was bound to do. But he knew that the impulse to burn that piece of work would also tempt a number of his colleagues. The advisory committee of the academy would certainly do everything possible to prevent publication of the work and silence the young woman. If it succeeded, future generations might well condemn him for all time for suppressing the greatest discovery of the century. After quickly weighing the pros and cons, he decided to bypass the committee and send the work directly for publication.
———
THE WORK was printed in early fall under the title A Treatise on the Energy of Objects in Motion by S. Spinoza. The author’s sex and age were carefully withheld from the four leading physicists invited to discuss the treatise at the Palais du Louvre in the elegant quarters of the Académie Royale des Sciences in a session to be chaired by its president, Jean-Baptiste Ferry.
In the crowded room were seated a number of journalists, many physicists, the entire faculty of natural sciences from the Sorbonne, two senior representatives of the court, and, as guest of honor, d’Alembert, the permanent secretary of the Académie Française. Voltaire escorted Shoshana.
President Ferry made the opening remarks. There were looks of astonishment on many faces when with a politeness that verged upon exaggeration he presented the author of the first treatise to be debat
ed during the annual general meeting of the Royal Society of Physicists.
“Shoshana Spinoza, ahem …”
Shoshana stood up. Voltaire admonished her in a whisper to pay attention to her posture. A murmur ran through the audience. A woman? No one had expected this. And so young! Beyond all comparison, the youngest person who had ever attended a meeting in the salon of the academy. The four physicists on the podium could not believe their eyes.
Voltaire knew that many of those older scientists, blinded by prejudice and deep-seated misogyny, could not conceive of the notion of female physicists. He remembered the withering reception accorded to Émilie in her day. He stood up. Addressing President Ferry, he respectfully stressed the vital importance of impartiality and open minds as the physicists of France evaluated advances in scientific knowledge.
The suspicious expressions on the faces of the four physicists made it immediately clear to Shoshana that they would stubbornly resist her findings. The distinguished gentlemen would seize upon any pretext to dismiss her work because she was young and female. And she lost no time in providing them with a good one.
Baptiste de Gendre was the most senior of the four, and it was his privilege to begin the examination of Shoshana. Without bothering with niceties, he started by asking the young woman to stand and swear before Almighty God that she herself had carried out all the calculations, that she had written the treatise herself, and that Voltaire was not the author.
The great philosopher was outraged. He protested immediately and declared with great force that such insinuations had no place in serious scientific debate. President Ferry dismissed his comments.
The Elixir of Immortality Page 35
