What in our days of strength we knew:
Who would with joy anticipate
At his last gasp love's rendezvous?
Must pass into eternal night,
Oblivious of her loveliness,
Oblivious of her youth's delight.
We die—nor learn the reason here;
From out the unknown void we start,
And whither bound?—God knows, my dear."
It seems likely that the extraordinary old man might have continued for some years to enjoy his work and his comforts at Ferney, but for an unlucky visit to Paris in 1778. His niece, Madame Denis, had lived with him ever since he had been in the neighbourhood of Geneva; a short, fat woman, vulgar, unfeeling, extravagant, and very fond of gaiety. Notwithstanding that she had never been handsome, and was far from young, she spent so much time at her toilette that Voltaire seldom saw her till dinner; she was very grasping and exacting, very anxious that nobody should obtain any influence over him, and quarrelled with all his secretaries; in fact, seems to have devoted herself generally to promote his unhappiness. Voltaire, who, though in some respects irritable, was in many ways exceptionally indulgent, humoured her, even praised and flattered her, indemnifying himself occasionally with a little ridicule. It occurred to this lady, then about sixty-six, that her residence at Ferney was rather dull, and that Parisian life was much better suited to her style and temperament.
