THE CONFESSSIONS

BOOK VII

[1741]

  AFTER two years silence and patience, and notwithstanding my
resolutions, I again take up my pen. Reader, suspend your judgment
as to the reasons which force me to such a step: of these you can be
no judge until you shall have read my book.
  You have seen my youth pass away calmly without any great
disappointments or remarkable prosperity. This was mostly owing to
my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt in undertaking than easy to
discourage: quitting repose by violent agitations, but returning to it
from lassitude and inclinations, and which, placing me in an idle
and tranquil state for which alone I felt I was born, at a distance
from the paths of great virtues and still further from those of
great vices.
  The first part of my confessions was written entirely from memory,
and is consequently full of errors. As I am obliged to write the
second part from memory also, the errors in it will probably be
still more numerous. The remembrance of the finest portion of my
years, passed with so much tranquility and innocence, has left in my
heart a thousand charming impressions which I love to call to my
recollection. Far from increasing that of my situation by these
sorrowful reflections, I repel them as much as possible, and in this
endeavor often succeed so well as to be unable to find them at will.
This facility of forgetting my misfortunes is a consolation which
Heaven has reserved to me in the midst of those which fate has one day
to accumulate upon my head. My memory, which presents to me no objects
but such as are agreeable, is the happy counterpoise of my terrified
imagination, by which I foresee nothing but a cruel futurity.
  All the papers I had collected to aid my recollection, and guide
me in this undertaking, are no longer in my possession, nor can I ever
again hope to regain them.
  I have but one faithful guide on which I can depend: this is the
chain of the sentiments by which the succession of my existence has
been marked, and by these the events which have been either the
cause or the effect of the manner of it. I easily forget my
misfortunes, but I cannot forget my faults, and still less my virtuous
sentiments. The remembrance of these is too dear to me ever to
suffer them to be effaced from my mind. I may omit facts, transpose
events, and fall into some errors of dates; but I cannot be deceived
in what I have felt, nor in that which from sentiment I have done; and
to relate this is the chief end of my present work. The real object of
my confessions is to communicate an exact knowledge of what I
interiorly am and have been in every situation of my life. I have
promised the history of my mind, and to write it faithfully I have
no need of other memoirs: to enter into my own heart, as I have
hitherto done, will alone be sufficient.
  There is, however, and very happily, an interval of six or seven
years, relative to which I have exact references, in a collection of
letters copied from the originals, in the hands of M. du Peyrou.
This collection, which concludes in 1760, comprehends the whole time
of my residence at the hermitage, and my great quarrel with those
who called themselves my friends; that memorable epocha of my life,
and the source of all my other misfortunes. With respect to more
recent original letters which may remain in my possession, and are but
few in number, instead of transcribing them at the end of this
collection, too voluminous to enable me to deceive the vigilance of my
Arguses, I will copy them into the work whenever they appear to
furnish any explanation, be this either for or against myself; for I
am not under the least apprehension lest the reader should forget I
make my confession, and be induced to believe I make my apology; but
he cannot expect I shall conceal the truth when it testifies in my
favor.
  This second part, it is likewise to be remembered, contains
nothing in common with the first, except truth; nor has any other
advantage over it, but the importance of the facts; in everything
else, it is inferior to the former. I wrote the first with pleasure,
with satisfaction, and at my ease, at Wootton, or in the castle of
Trye: everything I had to recollect was a new enjoyment. I returned to
my closet with an increased pleasure, and, without constraint, gave
that turn to my descriptions which most flatters my imagination.
  At present my head and memory are become so weak as to render me
almost incapable of every kind of application: my present
undertaking is the result of constraint, and a heart full of sorrow. I
have nothing to treat of but misfortunes, treacheries, perfidies,
and circumstances equally afflicting. I would give the world, could
I bury in the obscurity of time, everything I have to say, and
which, in spite of myself, I am obliged to relate. I am, at the same
time, under the necessity of being mysterious and subtle, of
endeavoring to impose and of descending to things the most foreign
to my nature. The ceiling under which I write has eyes; the walls of
my chamber have ears. Surrounded by spies and by vigilant and
malevolent inspectors, disturbed, and my attention diverted, I hastily
commit to paper a few broken sentences, which I have scarcely time
to read, and still less to correct. I know that, notwithstanding the
barriers which are multiplied around me, my enemies are afraid truth
should escape by some little opening. What means can I take to
introduce it to the world? This, however, I attempt with but few hopes
of success. The reader will judge whether or not such a situation
furnishes the means of agreeable descriptions, or of giving them a
seductive coloring! I therefore inform such as may undertake to read
this work, that nothing can secure them from weariness in the
prosecution of their task, unless it be the desire of becoming more
fully acquainted with a man whom they already know, and a sincere love
of justice and truth.
  In my first part I brought down my narrative to my departure with
infinite regret from Paris, leaving my heart at Charmettes, and, there
building my last castle in the air, intending some day to return to
the feet of Mama, restored to herself, with the treasures I should
have acquired, and depending upon my system of music as upon a certain
fortune.
  I made some stay at Lyons to visit my acquaintance, procure
letters of recommendation to Paris, and to sell my books of geometry
which I had brought with me. I was well received by all whom I knew.
M. and Madam de Mably seemed pleased to see me again, and several
times invited me to dinner. At their house I became acquainted with
the Abbe de Mably, as I had already done with the Abbe de Condillac,
both of whom were on a visit to their brother. The Abbe de Mably
gave me letters to Paris; among others, one to M. de Fontenelle, and
another to the Comte de Caylus. These were very agreeable
acquaintances, especially the first, to whose friendship for me his
death only put a period, and from whom, in our private
conversations, I received advice which I ought to have more exactly
followed.
  I likewise saw M. Bordes, with whom I had been long acquainted and
who had frequently obliged me with the greatest cordiality and the
most real pleasure. He it was who enabled me to sell my books; and
he also gave me from himself good recommendations to Paris. I again
saw the intendant for whose acquaintance I was indebted to M.
Bordes, and who introduced me to the Duke de Richelieu, who was then
passing through Lyons. M. Pallu presented me. The duke received me
well, and invited me to come and see him at Paris; I did so several
times; although this great acquaintance, of which I shall frequently
have occasion to speak, was never of the most trifling utility to me.
  I visited the musician David, who, in one of my former journeys, and
in my distress, had rendered me service. He had either lent or given
me a cap and a pair of stockings, which I have never returned, nor has
he ever asked me for them, although we have since that time frequently
seen each other. I, however, made him a present, something like an
equivalent. I would say more upon this subject, were what I have
owed in question; but I have to speak of what I have done, which,
unfortunately, is far from being the same thing.
  I also saw the noble and generous Perrichon, and not without feeling
the effects of his accustomed munificence; for he made me the same
present he had previously done to "Gentil-Bernard," by paying for my
place in the diligence. I visited the surgeon Parisot, the best and
most benevolent of men; as also his beloved Godefroi, who had lived
with him ten years, and whose merit chiefly consisted in her gentle
manners and goodness of heart. It was impossible to see this woman
without pleasure, or to leave her without regret. Nothing better shows
the inclinations of a man, than the nature of his attachments* Those
who had once seen the gentle Godefroi, immediately knew the good and
amiable Parisot.

  * Unless he be deceived in his choice, or that she, to whom he
attaches himself, changes her character by an extraordinary
concurrence of causes, which is not absolutely impossible. Were this
consequence to be admitted without modification, Socrates must be
judged by his wife Xantippe, and Dion by his friend Calippus, which
would be the most false and iniquitous judgment ever made. However,
let no injurious application be here made to my wife. She is weak
and more easily deceived than I at first imagined, but by her pure and
excellent character she is worthy of all my esteem.

  I was much obliged to all these good people, but I afterwards
neglected them all; not from ingratitude, but from that invincible
indolence which so often assumes its appearance. The remembrance of
their services, has never been effaced from my mind, nor the
impression they made, from my heart; but I could more easily have
proved my gratitude, than assiduously have shown them the exterior
of that sentiment. Exactitude in correspondence is what I never
could observe; the moment I begin to relax, the shame and
embarrassment of repairing my fault make me aggravate it, and I
entirely desist from writing; I have, therefore, been silent, and
appeared to forget them. Parisot and Perrichon took not the least
notice of my negligence, and I ever found them the same. But, twenty
years afterwards it will be seen, in M. Bordes, to what a degree the
self-love of a wit can make him carry his vengeance when he feels
himself neglected.
  Before I leave Lyons, I must not forget an amiable person, whom I
again saw with more pleasure than ever, and who left in my heart the
most tender remembrance. This was Mademoiselle Serre, of whom I have
spoken in my first part; I renewed my acquaintance with her whilst I
was at M. de Mably's.
  Being this time more at leisure, I saw her more frequently, and
she made the most sensible impressions on my heart. I had some
reason to believe her own was not unfavorable to my pretensions; but
she honored me with her confidence so far as to remove from me all
temptation to allure her partiality. She had no fortune, and in this
respect exactly resembled myself; our situations were too similar to
permit us to become united; and with the views I then had, I was far
from thinking of marriage. She gave me to understand that a young
merchant, one M. Geneve, seemed to wish to obtain her hand. I saw
him once or twice at her lodgings; he appeared to me to be an honest
man, and this was his general character. Persuaded she would be
happy with him, I was desirous he should marry her, which he
afterwards did; and that I might not disturb their innocent love, I
hastened my departure; offering up, for the happiness of that charming
woman, prayers, which, here below, were not long heard. Alas! her time
was very short, for I afterwards heard she died in the second or third
year after her marriage. My mind, during the journey, was wholly
absorbed in tender regret. I felt, and since that time, when these
circumstances have been present to my recollection, have frequently
done the same; that although the sacrifices made to virtue and our
duty may sometimes be painful, we are well rewarded by the agreeable
remembrance they leave deeply engraven in our hearts.
  I this time saw Paris in as favorable a point of views as it had
appeared to me in an unfavorable one at my first journey; not that
my ideas of its brilliancy arose from the splendor of my lodgings: for
in consequence of an address given me by M. Bordes, I resided at the
Hotel St. Quentin, Rue des Cordiers, near the Sorbonne; a vile street,
a miserable hotel, and a wretched apartment: but nevertheless a
house in which several men of merit, such as Gresset, Bordes, Abbe
Mably, Condillac, and several others, of whom unfortunately I found
not one, had taken up their quarters: but I there met with M.
Bonnefond, a man unacquainted with the world, lame, litigious, and who
affected to be a purist. To him I owe the acquaintance of M. Roguin,
at present the oldest friend I have, and by whose means I became
acquainted with Diderot, of whom I shall soon have occasion to say a
good deal.
  I arrived at Paris in the autumn of 1741, with fifteen louis in my
purse, and with my comedy of Narcissus and my musical project in my
pocket. These composed my whole stock, consequently, I had not much
time to lose before I attempted to turn the latter to some
advantage. I therefore immediately thought of making use of my
recommendations.
  A young man who arrives at Paris, with a tolerable figure, and
announces himself by his talents, is sure to be well received. This
was my good fortune, which procured me some pleasures without
leading to anything solid. Of all persons to whom I was recommended,
three only were useful to me. M. Damesin, a gentleman of Savoy, at
that time equerry, and I believe favorite, of the Princess of
Carignan; M. de Boze, secretary to the Academy of Inscriptions, and
keeper of the medals of the king's cabinet; and Father Castle, a
Jesuit, author of the Clavecin oculaire.*

  * An effort to produce sensations of melody by combinations of
colors.

  All these recommendations, except that to M. Damesin, were given
me by the Abbe de Mably.
  M. Damesin provided me with that which was most needful, by means of
two persons with whom he brought me acquainted. One was M. Gasc,
president a mortier of the parliament of Bordeaux, and who played very
well upon the violin; the other, the Abbe de Leon, who then lodged
in the Sorbonne, a young nobleman, extremely amiable, who died in
the flower of his age, after having, for a few moments, made a
figure in the world under the name of the Chevalier de Rohan. Both
these gentlemen had an inclination to learn composition. In this I
gave them lessons for a few months, by which means my decreasing purse
received some little aid. The Abbe de Leon conceived a friendship
for me, and wished me to become his secretary; but he was far from
being rich, and all the salary he could offer me was eight hundred
livres, which, with infinite regret, I refused; since it was
insufficient to defray the expenses of my lodging, food and clothing.
  I was well received by M. de Boze. He had a thirst for knowledge, of
which he possessed not a little, but was somewhat pedantic. Madam de
Boze much resembled him; she was lively and affected. I sometimes
dined with them, and it is impossible to be more awkward than I was in
her presence. Her easy manner intimidated me, and rendered mine more
remarkable. When she presented me a plate, I modestly put forward my
fork to take one of the least bits of what she offered me, which
made her give the plate to her servant, turning her head aside that
I might not see her laugh. She had not the least suspicion that in the
head of the rustic with whom she was so diverted there was some
small portion of wit. M. de Boze presented me to M. de Reaumur, his
friend, who came to dine with him every Friday, the day on which the
Academy of Sciences met. He mentioned to him my project, and the
desire I had of having it examined by the academy. M. de Reaumur
consented to make the proposal, and his offer was accepted. On the day
appointed I was introduced and presented by M. de Reaumur, and on
the same day, August 22d, 1742, I had the honor to read to the academy
the memoir I had prepared for that purpose. Although this
illustrious assembly might certainly well be expected to inspire me
with awe, I was less intimidated on this occasion than I had been in
the presence of Madam de Boze, and I got tolerably well through my
reading and the answers I was obliged to give. The memoir was well
received, and acquired me some compliments by which I was equally
surprised and flattered, imagining that before such an assembly,
whoever was not a member of it could not have common-sense. The
persons appointed to examine my system were M. Mairan, M. Hellot,
and M. de Fouchy, all three men of merit, but not one of them
understood music, at least not enough of composition to enable them to
judge of my project.
  During my conference with these gentlemen, I was convinced with no
less certainty than surprise, that if men of learning have sometimes
fewer prejudices than others, they more tenaciously retain those
they have. However weak or false most of their objections were, and
although I answered them with great timidity, and I confess, in bad
terms, yet with decisive reasons, I never once made myself understood,
or gave them any explanation in the least satisfactory. I was
constantly surprised at the facility with which, by the aid of a few
sonorous phrases, they refuted, without having comprehended me. They
had learned, I know not where, that a monk of the name of Souhaitti
had formerly invented a mode of noting the gamut by ciphers: a
sufficient proof that my system was not new. This might, perhaps, be
the case; for although I had never heard of Father Souhaitti, and
notwithstanding his manner of writing the seven notes without
attending to the octaves was not, under any point of view, worthy of
entering into competition with my simple and commodious invention
for easily noting by ciphers every possible kind of music, keys,
rests, octaves, measure, time, and length of note; things on which
Souhaitti had never thought: it was nevertheless true, that with
respect to the elementary expression of the seven notes, he was the
first inventor.
  But besides their giving to this primitive invention more importance
than was due to it, they went still further, and, whenever they
spoke of the fundamental principles of the system, talked nonsense.
The greatest advantage of my scheme was to supersede transpositions
and keys, so that the same piece of music was noted and transposed
at will by means of the change of a single initial letter at the
head of the air. These gentlemen had heard from the music-masters of
Paris that the method of executing by transposition was a bad one; and
on this authority converted the most evident advantage of my system
into an invincible objection against it, and affirmed that my mode
of notation was good for vocal music, but bad for instrumental;
instead of concluding as they ought to have done, that it was good for
vocal, and still better for instrumental. On their report the
academy granted me a certificate full of fine compliments, amidst
which it appeared that in reality it judged my system to be neither
new nor useful. I did not think proper to ornament with such a paper
the work entitled, Dissertation sur la musique moderne,* by which I
appealed to the public.

  * Dissertation on modern music.

  I had reason to remark on this occasion that, even with a narrow
understanding, the sole but profound knowledge of a thing is
preferable for the purpose of judging of it, to all the lights
resulting from a cultivation of the sciences, when to these particular
study of that in question has not been joined. The only solid
objection to my system was made by Rameau. I had scarcely explained it
to him before he discovered its weak part. "Your signs," said he, "are
very good, inasmuch as they clearly and simply determine the length of
notes, exactly represent intervals, and show the simple in the
double note, which the common notation does not do; but they are
objectionable on account of their requiring an operation of the
mind, which cannot always accompany the rapidity of execution. The
position of our notes," continued he, "is described to the eye without
the concurrence of this operation. If two notes, one very high and the
other very low, be joined by a series of intermediate ones, I see at
the first glance the progress from one to the other by conjoined
degrees; but in your system, to perceive this series, I must
necessarily run over your ciphers one after the other; the glance of
the eye is here useless." The objection appeared to me insurmountable,
and I instantly assented to it. Although it be simple and striking,
nothing can suggest it but great knowledge and practice of the art,
and it is by no means astonishing that not one of the academicians
should have thought of it. But what creates much surprise is, that
these men of great learning, and who are supposed to possess so much
knowledge, should so little know that each ought to confine his
judgment to that which relates to the study with which he has been
conversant.
  My frequent visits to the literati appointed to examine my system
and the other academicians gave me an opportunity of becoming
acquainted with the most distinguished men of letters in Paris, and by
this means the acquaintance that would have been the consequence of my
sudden admission amongst them which afterwards came to pass, was
already established. With respect to the present moment, absorbed in
my new system of music, I obstinately adhered to my intention of
effecting a revolution in the art, and by that means of acquiring a
celebrity which, in the fine arts, is in Paris mostly accompanied by
fortune. I shut myself in my chamber and labored three or four
months with inexpressible ardor, in forming into a work for the public
eye, the memoir I had read before the academy. The difficulty was to
find a bookseller to take my manuscript; and this on account of the
necessary expenses for new characters, and because booksellers give
not their money by handfuls to young authors; although to me it seemed
but just my work should render me the bread I had eaten while employed
in its composition.
  Bonnefond introduced me to Quillau the father, with whom I agreed to
divide the profits, without reckoning the privilege, of which I paid
the whole expense. Such were the future proceedings of this Quillau
that I lost the expenses of my privilege, never having received a
farthing from that edition; which, probably, had but very middling
success, although the Abbe des Fontaines promised to give it
celebrity, and, notwithstanding the other journalists, had spoken of
it very favorably.
  The greatest obstacle to making the experiment of my system was
the fear, in case of its not being received, of losing the time
necessary to learn it. To this I answered, that my notes rendered
the ideas so clear, that to learn music by means of the ordinary
characters, time would be gained by beginning with mine. To prove this
by experience, I taught music gratis to a young American lady,
Mademoiselle des Roulins, with whom M. Roguin had brought me
acquainted. In three months she read every kind of music, by means
of my notation, and sung at sight better than I did myself, any
piece that was not too difficult. This success was convincing, but not
known; any other person would have filled the journals with the
detail, but with some talents for discovering useful things, I never
have possessed that of setting them off to advantage.
  Thus was my heron-fountain again broken; but this time I was
thirty years of age, and in Paris, where it is impossible to live
for a trifle. The resolution I took upon this occasion will astonish
none, but those by whom the first part of these memoirs has not been
read with attention. I had just made great and fruitless efforts,
and was in need of relaxation. Instead of sinking with despair I
gave myself up quietly to my indolence and to the care of
providence; and the better to wait for its assistance with patience, I
laid down a frugal plan for the slow expenditure of a few louis, which
still remained in my possession, regulating the expense of my supine
pleasures without retrenching it; going to the coffee-house but
every other day, and to the theater but twice a week. With respect
to the expenses of girls of easy virtue, I had no retrenchment to
make; never having in the whole course of my life applied so much as a
farthing to that use except once, of which I shall soon have
occasion to speak. The security, voluptuousness, and confidence with
which I gave myself up to this indolent and solitary life, which I had
not the means of continuing for three months, is one of the
singularities of my life, and the oddities of my disposition. The
extreme desire I had the public should think of me was precisely
what discouraged me from showing myself; and the necessity of paying
visits rendered them to such a degree insupportable, that I ceased
visiting the academicians and other men of letters, with whom I had
cultivated an acquaintance. Marivaux, the Abbe Mably, and
Fontenelle, were almost the only persons whom I sometimes went to see.
To the first I showed my comedy of Narcissus. He was pleased with
it, and had the goodness to make in it some improvements. Diderot,
younger than these, was much about my own age. He was fond of music,
and knew it theoretically; we conversed together, and he
communicated to me some of his literary projects. This soon formed
betwixt us a more intimate connection which lasted fifteen years,
and which probably would still exist were not I, unfortunately, and by
his own fault, of the same profession with himself.
  It would be impossible to imagine in what manner I employed this
short and precious interval which still remained to me, before
circumstances forced me to beg my bread:- in learning by memory
passages from the poets which I had learned and forgotten a hundred
times. Every morning, at ten o'clock, I went to walk in the Luxembourg
with a Virgil and a Rousseau in my pocket, and there, until the hour
of dinner, I passed away the time in restoring to my memory a sacred
ode or a bucolic, without being discouraged by forgetting, by the
study of the morning, what I had learned the evening before. I
recollected that after the defeat of Nicias at Syracuse the captive
Athenians obtained a livelihood by reciting the poems of Homer. The
use I made of this erudition to ward off misery was to exercise my
happy memory by learning all the poets by rote.
  I had another expedient, not less solid, in the game of chess, to
which I regularly dedicated, at Maugis's, the evenings on which I
did not go to the theater. I became acquainted with M. de Legal, M.
Husson, Philidor, and all the great chess players of the day,
without making the least improvement in the game. However, I had no
doubt but, in the end, I should become superior to them all, and this,
in my own opinion, was a sufficient resource. The same manner of
reasoning served me in every folly to which I felt myself inclined.
I said to myself: whoever excels in anything is sure to acquire a
distinguished reception in society. Let us therefore excel, no
matter in what, I shall certainly be sought after; opportunities
will present themselves, and my own merit will do the rest. This
childishness was not the sophism of my reason; it was that of my
indolence. Dismayed at the great and rapid efforts which would have
been necessary to call forth my endeavors, I strove to flatter my
idleness, and by arguments suitable to the purpose, veiled from my own
eyes the shame of such a state.
  I thus calmly waited for the moment when I was to be without
money; and had not Father Castel, whom I sometimes went to see in my
way to the coffee-house, roused me from my lethargy, I believe I
should have seen myself reduced to my last farthing without the
least emotion. Father Castel was a madman, but a good man upon the
whole; he was sorry to see me thus impoverish myself to no purpose.
"Since musicians and the learned," said he, "do not sing by your
scale, change the string, and apply to the women. You will perhaps
succeed better with them. I have spoken of you to Madam de
Beuzenval; go to her from me; she is a good woman who will be glad
to see the countryman of her son and husband. You will find at her
house Madam de Broglie, her daughter, who is a woman of wit. Madam
Dupin is another to whom I also have mentioned you; carry her your
work; she is desirous of seeing you, and will receive you well.
Nothing is done in Paris without the women. They are the curves, of
which the wise are the asymptotes; they incessantly approach each
other, but never touch."
  After having from day to day delayed these very disagreeable
steps, I at length took courage, and called upon Madam de Beuzenval.
She received me with kindness; and Madam de Broglie entering the
chamber, she said to her: "Daughter, this is M. Rousseau, of whom
Father Castel has spoken to us." Madam de Broglie complimented me upon
my work, and going to her harpsichord proved to me she had already
given it some attention. Perceiving it to be about one o'clock, I
prepared to take my leave. Madam de Beuzenval said to me: "You are
at a great distance from the quarter of the town in which you
reside; stay and dine here." I did not want asking a second time. A
quarter of an hour afterwards, I understood, by a word, that the
dinner to which she had invited me was that of her servants' hall.
Madam de Beuzenval was a very good kind of woman, but of a confined
understanding, and too full of her illustrious Polish nobility: she
had no idea of the respect due to talents. On this occasion, likewise,
she judged me by my manner rather than by my dress, which, although
very plain, was very neat, and by no means announced a man to dine
with servants. I had too long forgotten the way to the place where
they eat to be inclined to take it again. Without suffering my anger
to appear, I told Madam de Beuzenval that I had an affair of a
trifling nature which I had just recollected obliged me to return
home, and I immediately prepared to depart. Madam de Broglie
approached her mother, and whispered in her ear a few words which
had their effect. Madam de Beuzenval rose to prevent me from going,
and said "I expect that you will do us the honor to dine with us."
In this case I thought to show pride would be a mark of folly, and I
determined to stay. The goodness of Madam de Broglie had besides
made an impression upon me, and rendered her interesting in my eyes. I
was very glad to dine with her, and hoped, that when she knew me
better, she would not regret having procured me that honor. The
President de Lamoignon, very intimate in the family, dined there also.
He, as well as Madam de Broglie, was a master of all the modish and
fashionable small talk jargon of Paris. Poor Jean-Jacques was unable
to make a figure in this way. I had sense enough not to pretend to it,
and was silent. Happy would it have been for me, had I always
possessed the same wisdom; I should not be in the abyss into which I
am now fallen.
  I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being unable to justify to
Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor. After dinner I thought
of my ordinary resource. I had in my pocket an espistle in verse,
written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons. This fragment was not
without some fire, which I increased by my manner of reading, and made
them all three shed tears. Whether it was vanity, or really the truth,
I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say to her mother:
"Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was fitter to dine
with us than with your women?" Until then my heart had been rather
burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied. Madam de
Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too far,
thought I should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become a
favorite with fine ladies. To guide my inexperience she gave me the
of which you will stand in need in the great world. You will do well
by sometimes consulting it." I kept the book upwards of twenty years
with a sentiment of gratitude to her from whose hand I had received
it, although I frequently laughed at the opinion the lady seemed to
have of my merit in gallantry. From the moment I had read the work,
I was desirous of acquiring the friendship of the author. My
inclination led me right; he is the only real friend I ever
possessed amongst men of letters.*

  * I have so long been of the same opinion, and so perfectly
convinced of its being well founded, that since my return to Paris I
confided to him the manuscript of my confessions. The suspicious J. J.
never suspected perfidy and falsehood until he had been their victim.

  From this time I thought I might depend on the services of Madam the
Baroness of Beuzenval, and the Marchioness of Broglie, and that they
would not long leave me without resource. In this I was not
deceived. But I must now speak of my first visit to Madam Dupin, which
produced more lasting consequences.
  Madam Dupin was, as every one in Paris knows, the daughter of Samuel
Bernard and Madam Fontaine. There were three sisters, who might be
called the three graces. Madam de la Touche who played a little prank,
and went to England with the Duke of Kingston. Madam d'Arty, the
eldest of the three; the friend, the only sincere friend of the Prince
of Conti, an adorable woman, as well by her sweetness and the goodness
of her charming character, as by her agreeable wit and incessant
cheerfulness. Lastly, Madam Dupin, more beautiful than either of her
sisters, and the only one who has not been reproached with some levity
of conduct.
  She was the reward of the hospitality of Madam Dupin, to whom her
mother gave her in marriage with the place of farmer-general and an
immense fortune, in return for the good reception he had given her
in his province. When I saw her for the first time, she was still
one of the finest women in Paris. She received me at her toilette, her
arms were uncovered, her hair disheveled, and her combing-cloth
ill-arranged. This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my
poor head, I became confused, my senses wandered; in short, I was
violently smitten by Madam Dupin.
  My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. She
kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of
my plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to
dinner, and placed me at table by her side. Less than this would
have turned my brain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and
I abused the permission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined
with her twice or thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak,
but never dared attempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural
timidity. Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open
to fortune, and in my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of
shutting it against myself. Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was
serious and unanimated; I found nothing in her manners sufficiently
alluring to embolden me. Her house, at that time, as brilliant as
any other in Paris, was frequented by societies the less numerous,
as the persons by whom they were composed were chosen on account of
some distinguished merit. She was fond of seeing every one who had
claims to a marked superiority; the great men of letters, and fine
women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes, ambassadors, and
blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of Forcalquier,
Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey, passed for
her intimate friends. The Abbe's de Fontenelle, de Saint-Pierre, and
Sallier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Bernis, M. de Buffon, and M. de
Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner
did not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater
awe, as it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques
had no reason to flatter himself he should be able to take a
distinguished part in the midst of such superior talents. I
therefore had not courage to speak; but no longer able to contain
myself, I took a resolution to write. For the first two days she
said not a word to me upon the subject. On the third day, she returned
me my letter, accompanying it with a few exhortations which froze my
blood. I attempted to speak, but my words expired upon my lips; my
sudden passion was extinguished with my hopes, and after a declaration
in form I continued to live with her upon the same terms as before,
without so much as speaking to her even by the language of the eyes.
  I thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived. M. de
Francueil, son to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much
the same with herself and me. He had wit, a good person, and might
have pretensions. This was said to be the case, and probably proceeded
from his mother-in-law's having given him an ugly wife of a mild
disposition, with whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon
the best of terms. M. de Francueil was fond of talents in others,
and cultivated those he possessed. Music, which he understood very
well, was a means of producing a connection between us. I frequently
saw him, and he soon gained my friendship. He, however, suddenly
gave me to understand that Madam Dupin thought my visits too frequent,
and begged me to discontinue them. Such a compliment would have been
proper when she returned my letter; but eight or ten days
afterwards, and without any new cause, it appeared to me ill-timed.
This rendered my situation the more singular, as M. and Madam de
Francueil still continued to give me the same good reception as
before.
  I however made the intervals between my visits longer, and I
should entirely have ceased calling on them, had not Madam Dupin, by
another unexpected caprice, sent to desire I would for a few days take
care of her son, who, changing his preceptor, remained alone during
that interval. I passed eight days in such torments as nothing but the
pleasure of obeying Madam Dupin could render supportable: for poor
Chenonceaux already displayed the evil disposition which nearly
brought dishonor on his family, and caused his death in the Isle de
Bourton. As long as I was with him I prevented him from doing harm
to himself or others, and that was all; besides it was no easy task,
and I would not have undertaken to pass eight other days like them had
Madam Dupin given me herself for the recompense.
  M. de Francueil conceived a friendship for me, and I studied with
him. We began together a course of chemistry at Rouelles. That I might
be nearer at hand, I left my Hotel St. Quentin, and went to lodge at
the Tennis Court, Rue Verdelet, which leads into the Rue Platiere,
where M. Dupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I
contracted an inflammation of the lungs that had like to have
carried me off. In my younger days I frequently suffered from
inflammatory disorders, pleurisies, and especially quinsies, to
which I was very subject, and which frequently brought me near
enough to death to familiarize me to its image. The evening
preceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by
Royer; the name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in
favor of the talents of others, which has ever made me distrustful
of my own, I still thought the music feeble, and devoid of animation
and invention. I sometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I
could do better than that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the
composition of an opera, and the importance I heard men of the
profession affix to such an undertaking, instantly discouraged me, and
made me blush at having so much as thought of it. Besides, where was I
to find a person to write the words, and one who would give himself
the trouble of turning the poetry to my liking? These ideas of music
and the opera had possession of my mind during my illness, and in
the delirium of my fever I composed songs, duets, and choruses. I am
certain I composed two or three little pieces, di prima intenzione,*
perhaps worthy of the admiration of masters, could they have heard
them executed. oh, could an account be taken of the dreams of a man in
a fever, what great and sublime things would sometimes proceed from
his delirium!

  * Off-hand.

  These subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention
during my convalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and
frequent meditations, and which were often involuntary, and made
such an impression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both
words and music. This was not the first time I had undertaken so
difficult a task. Whilst I was at Chambery I had composed an opera
entitled Iphis and Anaxarete, which I had the good sense to throw into
the fire. At Lyons I had composed another, entitled La Decouverte du
Nouveau Monde,* which, after having read it to M. Bordes, the Abbe's
Mably, Trublet, and others, had met the same fate, notwithstanding I
had set the prologue and the first act to music, and although David,
after examining the composition, had told me there were passages in it
worthy of Buononcini.

  * The Discovery of the New World.

  Before I began the work I took time to consider of my plan. In a
heroic ballet I proposed three different subjects, in three acts,
detached from each other, set to music of a different character,
taking for each subject the amours of a poet. I entitled this opera
Les Muses Galantes. My first act, in music strongly characterized, was
Tasso; the second in tender harmony, Ovid; and the third, entitled
Anacreon, was to partake of the gayety of the dithyrambus. I tried
my skill on the first act, and applied to it with an ardor which,
for the first time, made me feel the delightful sensation produced
by the creative power of composition. One evening, as I entered the
opera, feeling myself strongly incited and overpowered by my ideas,
I put my money again into my pocket, returned to my apartment,
locked the door, and, having close drawn all the curtains, that
every ray of light might be excluded, I went to bed, abandoning myself
entirely to this musical and poetical aestrum, and in seven or eight
hours rapidly composed the greatest part of an act. I can truly say my
love for the Princess of Ferrara (for I was Tasso for the moment)
and my noble and lofty sentiment with respect to her unjust brother,
procured me a night a hundred times more delicious than one passed
in the arms of the princess would have been. In the morning but a very
little of what I had done remained in my head, but this little, almost
effaced by sleep and lassitude, still sufficiently evinced the
energy of the pieces of which it was the scattered remains.
  I this time did not proceed far with my undertaking, being
interrupted by other affairs. Whilst I attached myself to the family
of Dupin, Madam de Beuzenval and Madam de Broglie, whom I continued to
visit, had not forgotten me. The Count de Montaigu, captain in the
guards, had just been appointed ambassador to Venice. He was an
ambassador made by Barjac, to whom he assiduously paid his court.
His brother, the Chevalier de Montaigu, gentilhomme de la manche to
the dauphin, was acquainted with these ladies, and with the Abbe Alary
of the French academy, whom I sometimes visited. Madam de Broglie,
having heard the ambassador was seeking a secretary, proposed me to
him. A conference was opened between us. I asked a salary of fifty
guineas, a trifle for an employment which required me to make some
appearance. The ambassador was unwilling to give more than a
thousand livres, leaving me to make the journey at my own expense. The
proposal was ridiculous. We could not agree, and M. de Francueil,
who used all his efforts to prevent my departure, prevailed.
  I stayed, and M. de Montaigu set out on his journey, taking with him
another secretary, one M. Follau, who had been recommended to him by
the office for foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice
than they quarreled. Follau perceiving he had to do with a madman,
left him there, and M. de Montaigu having nobody with him, except a
young abbe of the name of Binis, who wrote under the secretary, and
was unfit to succeed him, had recourse to me. The chevalier, his
brother, a man of wit, by giving me to understand there were
advantages annexed to the place of secretary, prevailed upon me to
accept the thousand livres. I was paid twenty louis in advance for
my journey, and immediately departed.
  At Lyons I would most willing have taken the route by Mount Cenis,
to see my poor mamma. But I went down the Rhone, and embarked at
Toulon, as well on account of the war, and from a motive of economy,
as to obtain a passport from M. de Mirepoix, who then commanded in
Provence, and to whom I was recommended. M. de Montaigu not being able
to do without me, wrote letter after letter, desiring I would hasten
my journey; this, however, an accident considerably prolonged.
  It was at the time of the plague at Messina, and the English fleet
had anchored there, and visited the felucca, on board of which I
was, and this circumstance subjected us, on our arrival at Genoa,
after a long and difficult voyage, to a quarantine of one-and-twenty
days.
  The passengers had the choice of performing it on board or in the
Lazaretto, which we were told was not yet furnished. They all chose
the felucca. The insupportable heat, the closeness of the vessel,
the impossibility of walking in it, and the vermin with which it
swarmed, made me at all risks prefer the Lazaretto. I was therefore
conducted to a large building of two stories, quite empty, in which
I found neither window, bed, table, nor chair, not so much as even a
joint-stool or bundle of straw. My night sack and my two trunks
being brought me, I was shut in by great doors with huge locks, and
remained at full liberty to walk at my ease from chamber to chamber
and story to story, everywhere finding the same solitude and
nakedness.
  This, however, did not induce me to repent that I had preferred
the Lazaretto to the felucca; and, like another Robinson Crusoe, I
began to arrange myself for my one-and-twenty days, just as I should
have done for my whole life. In the first place, I had the amusement
of destroying the vermin I had caught in the felucca. As soon as I had
got clear of these, by means of changing my clothes and linen, I
proceeded to furnish the chamber I had chosen. I made a good
mattress with my waistcoats and shirts; my napkins I converted, by
sewing them together, into sheets; my robe de chamber into a
counterpane; and my cloak into a pillow. I made myself a seat with one
of my trunks laid flat, and a table with the other. I took out some
writing paper and an inkstand, and distributed, in the manner of a
library, a dozen books which I had with me. In a word, I so well
arranged my few movables, that, except curtains and windows, I was
almost as commodiously lodged in this Lazaretto, absolutely empty as
it was, as I had been at the Tennis Court in the Rue Verdelet. My
dinners were served with no small degree of pomp; they were escorted
by two grenadiers with bayonets fixed; the staircase was my
dining-room, the landing-place my table, and the step served me for
a seat; and as soon as my dinner was served up a little bell was
rung to inform me I might sit down to table.
  Between my repasts, when I did not either read or write or work at
the furnishing of my apartment, I went to walk in the burying-ground
of the Protestants, which served me as a courtyard. From this place
I ascended to a lanthorn which looked into the harbor, and from
which I could see the ships come in and go out. In this manner I
passed fourteen days, and should have thus passed the whole time of
the quarantine without the least weariness had not M. Jonville,
envoy from France, to whom I found means to send a letter,
vinegared, perfumed and half burnt, procured eight days of the time to
be taken off: these I went and spent at his house, where I confess I
found myself better lodged than in the Lazaretto. He was extremely
civil to me. Dupont, his secretary, was, good creature: he
introduced me, as well at Genoa as in the country, to several
families, the company of which I found very entertaining and
agreeable; and I formed with him an. acquaintance and a correspondence
which we kept up for a considerable length of time. I continued my
journey, very agreeably, through Lombardy. I saw Milan, Verona,
Brescia, and Padua, and at length arrived at Venice, where I was
impatiently expected by the ambassador.
  I found there piles of despatches, from the court and from other
ambassadors, the ciphered part of which he had not been able to
read, although he had all the ciphers necessary for that purpose,
never having been employed in any office, nor even seen the cipher
of a minister. I was at first apprehensive of meeting with some
embarrassment; but I found nothing could be more easy, and in less
than a week I had deciphered the whole, which certainly was not
worth the trouble; for not to mention the little activity required
in the embassy of Venice, it was not to such a man as M. de Montaigu
that government would confide a negotiation of even the most
trifling importance. Until my arrival he had been much embarrassed,
neither knowing how to dictate nor to write legibly. I was very useful
to him, of which he was sensible; and he treated me well. To this he
was also induced by another motive. Since the time of M. de Froulay,
his predecessor, whose head became deranged, the consul from France,
M. le Blond, had been charged with the affairs of the embassy, and
after the arrival of M. de Montaigu continued to manage them until
he had put him into the track. M. de Montaigu, hurt at this
discharge of his duty by another, although he himself was incapable of
it, became disgusted with the consul, and as soon as I arrived
deprived him of the functions of secretary to the embassy to give them
to me. They were inseparable from the title, and he told me to take
it. As long as I remained with him he never sent any person except
myself under this title to the senate, or to conference, and upon
the whole it was natural enough he should prefer having for
secretary to the embassy a man attached to him, to a consul or a clerk
of office named by the court.
  This rendered my situation very agreeable, and prevented his
gentlemen, who were Italians, as well as his pages, and most of his
suite from disputing precedence with me in his house. I made an
advantageous use of the authority annexed to the title he had
conferred upon me, by maintaining his right of protection, that is,
the freedom of his neighborhood, against the attempts several times
made to infringe it; a privilege which his Venetian officers took no
care to defend. But I never permitted banditti to take refuge there,
although this would have produced me advantages of which his
excellency would not have disdained to partake. He thought proper,
however, to claim a part of those of the secretaryship, which is
called the chancery. It was in time of war, and there were many
passports issued. For each of these passports a sequin was paid to the
secretary who made it out and countersigned it. All my predecessors
had been paid this sequin by Frenchmen and others without distinction.
I thought this unjust, and although I was not a Frenchman, I abolished
it in favor of the French; but I so rigorously demanded my right
from persons of every other nation, that the Marquis de Scotti,
brother to the favorite of the Queen of Spain, having asked for a
passport without taking notice of the sequin, I sent to demand it; a
boldness which the vindictive Italian did not forget. As soon as the
new regulation I had made, relative to passports, was known, none
but pretended Frenchmen, who in a gibberish the most mispronounced,
called themselves Provencals, Picards, or Burgundians, came to
demand them. My ear being very fine, I was not thus made a dupe, and I
am almost persuaded that not a single Italian ever cheated me of my
sequin, and that not one Frenchmen ever paid it. I was foolish
enough to tell M. de Montaigu, who was ignorant of everything that
passed, what I had done. The word sequin made him open his ears, and
without giving me his opinion of the abolition of that tax upon the
French, he pretended I ought to account with him for the others,
promising me at the same time equivalent advantages. More filled
with indignation at this meanness, than concerned for my own interest,
I rejected his proposal. He insisted, and I grew warm. "No, sir," said
I, with some heat, "your excellency may keep what belongs to you,
but do not take from me that which is mine; I will not suffer you to
touch a penny of the perquisites arising from passports." Perceiving
he could gain nothing by these means he had recourse to others, and
blushed not to tell me that since I had appropriated to myself the
profits of the chancery, it was but just I should pay the expenses.
I was unwilling to dispute upon this subject, and from that time I
furnished at my own expense, ink, paper, wax, wax-candle, tape, and
even a new seal, for which he never reimbursed me to the amount of a
farthing. This, however, did not prevent my giving a small part of the
produce of the passports to the Abbe de Binis, a good creature, and
who was far from pretending to have the least right to any such right.
If he was obliging to me my politeness to him was an equivalent, and
we always lived together on the best of terms.
  On the first trial I made of his talents in my official functions, I
found him less troublesome than I expected he would have been,
considering he was a man without experience, in the service of an
ambassador who possessed no more than himself, and whose ignorance and
obstinacy constantly counteracted everything with which common-sense
and some information inspired me for his service and that of the king.
The next thing the ambassador did was to connect himself with the
Marquis Mari, ambassador from Spain, an ingenious and artful man, who,
had he wished so to do, might have led him by the nose, yet on account
of the union of the interests of the two crowns he generally gave
him good advice, which might have been of essential service, had not
the other, by joining his own opinion, counteracted it in the
execution. The only business they had to conduct in concert with
each other was to engage the Venetians to maintain their neutrality.
These did not neglect to give the strongest assurances of their
fidelity to their engagement at the same time that they publicly
furnished ammunition to the Austrian troops, and even recruits under
pretense of desertion. M. de Montaigu, who I believed wished to render
himself agreeable to the republic, failed not on his part,
notwithstanding my representations, to make me assure the government
in all my despatches, that the Venetians would never violate an
article of the neutrality. The obstinacy and stupidity of this poor
wretch made me write and act extravagantly: I was obliged to be the
agent of his folly, because he would have it so, but he sometimes
rendered my employment insupportable and the functions of it almost
impracticable. For example, he insisted on the greatest part of his
despatches to the king, and of those to the minister, being written in
cipher, although neither of them contained anything that required that
precaution. I represented to him that between the Friday, the day
the despatches from the court arrived, and Saturday, on which ours
were sent off, there was not sufficient time to write so much in
cipher, and carry on the considerable correspondence with which I
was charged for the same courier. He found an admirable expedient,
which was to prepare on Thursday the answer to the despatches we
were expected to receive on the next day. This appeared to him so
happily imagined, that notwithstanding all I could say on the
impossibility of the thing, and the absurdity of attempting its
execution, I was obliged to comply during the whole time I
afterwards remained with him, after having made notes of the few loose
words he spoke to me in the course of the week, and of some trivial
circumstances which I collected by hurrying from place to place.
Provided with these materials I never once failed carrying to him on
the Thursday morning a rough draft of the despatches which were to
be sent off on Saturday, excepting the few additions and corrections I
hastily made in answer to the letters which arrived on the Friday, and
to which ours served for answer. He had another custom, diverting
enough, and which made his correspondence ridiculous beyond
imagination. He sent back all information to its respective source,
instead of making it follow its course. To M. Amelot he transmitted
the news of the court; to M. Maurepas, that of Paris; to M.
d'Havrincourt, the news from Sweden; to M. de Chetardie, that from
Petersbourg; and sometimes to each of those the news they had
respectively sent to him, and which I was employed to dress up in
terms different from those in which it was conveyed to us. As he
read nothing of what I laid before him, except the despatches for
the court, and signed those to other ambassadors without reading them,
this left me more at liberty to give what turn I thought proper to the
latter, and in these, therefore, I made the articles of information
cross each other. But it was impossible for me to do the same by
despatches of importance; and I thought myself happy when M. de
Montaigu did not take it into his head to cram into them an
impromptu of a few lines after his manner. This obliged me to
return, and hastily transcribe the whole despatch decorated with his
new nonsense, and honor it with the cipher, without which he would
have refused his signature. I was frequently almost tempted, for the
sake of his reputation, to cipher something different from what he had
written, but feeling that nothing could authorize such a deception,
I left him to answer for his own folly, satisfying myself with
having spoken to him with freedom, and discharged at my own peril
the duties of my station. This is what I always did with an
uprightness, a zeal and courage, which merited on his part a very
different recompense from that which in the end I received from him.
It was time I should once be what Heaven, which had endowed me with
a happy disposition, what the education that had been given me by
the best of women, and that I had given myself, had prepared me for,
and I became so. Left to my own reflections, without a friend or
advice, without experience, and in a foreign country, in the service
of a foreign nation, surrounded by a crowd of knaves, who, for their
own interest, and to avoid the scandal of good example, endeavored
to prevail upon me to imitate them; far from yielding to their
solicitations, I served France well, to which I owed nothing, and
the ambassador still better, as it was right and just I should do to
the utmost of my power. Irreproachable in a post, sufficiently exposed
to censure, I merited and obtained the esteem of the republic, that of
all the ambassadors with whom we were in correspondence, and the
affection of the French who resided at Venice, not even excepting
the consul, whom with regret I supplanted in the functions which I
knew belonged to him, and which occasioned me more embarrassment
than they afforded me satisfaction.
  M. de Montaigu, confiding without reserve to the Marquis Mari, who
did not thoroughly understand his duty, neglected it to such a
degree that without me the French who were at Venice would not have
perceived that an ambassador from their nation resided there. Always
put off without being heard when they stood in need of his protection,
they became disgusted and no longer appeared in his company or at
his table, to which indeed he never invited them. I frequently did
from myself what it was his duty to have done; I rendered to the
French, who applied to me, all the services in my power. In any
other country I should have done more, but, on account of my
employment, not being able to see persons in place, I was often
obliged to apply to the consul, and the consul, who was settled in the
country with his family, had many persons to oblige, which prevented
him from acting as he otherwise would have done. However, perceiving
him unwilling and afraid to speak, I ventured hazardous measures,
which sometimes succeeded. I recollect one which still makes me laugh.
No person would suspect it was to me the lovers of the theater at
Paris owe Coralline and her sister Camille; nothing, however, can be
more true. Veronese, their father, had engaged himself with his
children in the Italian company, and after having received two
thousand livres for the expenses of his journey, instead of setting
out for France, quietly continued at Venice, and accepted an
engagement in the theater of Saint Luke,* to which Coralline, a
child as she still was, drew great numbers of people. The Duke de
Gesvres, as first gentleman of the chamber, wrote to the ambassador to
claim the father and the daughter. M. de Montaigu when he gave me
the letter, confined his instructions to saying, voyez cela, without
giving me further details. I went to M. Blond to beg he would speak to
the patrician, to whom the theater belonged, and who, I believe, was
named Zustinian, that he might discharge Veronese, who had engaged
in the name of the king. Le Blond, to whom the commission was not very
agreeable, executed it badly.

  * I doubt if it was St. Samuel; proper names absolutely escape my
memory.

  Zustinian answered vaguely, and Veronese was not discharged. I was
piqued at this. It was during the carnival, and having taken the
bahute and a mask, I set out for the palace Zustinian. Those who saw
my gondola arrive with the livery of the ambassador, were lost in
astonishment. Venice had never seen such a thing. I entered, and
announced myself as Una Siora Maschera (a lady in a mask). As soon
as I was introduced I took off my mask and told my name. The senator
turned pale and appeared stupefied with surprise. "Sir," said I to him
in Venetian, "it is with much regret I importune your excellency
with this visit; but you have in your theater of Saint Luke, a man
of the name of Veronese, who is engaged in the service of the king,
and whom you have been requested, but in vain, to give up: I come to
claim him in the name of his majesty." My short harangue was
effectual. I had no sooner left the palace than Zustinian ran to
communicate the adventure to the state inquisitors, by whom he was
severely reprehended. Veronese was discharged the same day. I sent him
word that if he did not set off within a week I would have him
arrested. He did not wait for my giving him this intimation a second
time.
  On another occasion I relieved from difficulty solely by my own
means, and almost without the assistance of any other person, the
captain of a merchant-ship. This was one Captain Olivet, from
Marseilles; the name of the vessel I have forgotten. His men had
quarreled with the Sclavonians in the service of the republic, some
violence had been committed, and the vessel was under so severe an
embargo that nobody except the master was suffered to go on board or
leave it without permission. He applied to the ambassador, who would
hear nothing he had to say. He afterwards went to the consul, who told
him it was not an affair of commerce, and that he could not
interfere in it. Not knowing what further steps to take he applied
to me. I told M. de Montaigu he ought to permit me to lay before the
senate a memoir on the subject. I do not recollect whether or not he
consented, or that I presented the memoir; but I perfectly remember
that if I did it was ineffectual, and the embargo still continuing,
I took another method, which succeeded. I inserted a relation of the
affairs in one of our letters to M. de Maurepas, though I had
difficulty in prevailing upon M. de Montaigu to suffer the article
to pass.
  I knew that our despatches, although their contents were
insignificant, were opened at Venice. Of this I had a proof by finding
the articles they contained verbatim in the gazette, a treachery of
which I had in vain attempted to prevail upon the ambassador to
complain. My object in speaking of the affair in the letter was to
turn the curiosity of the ministers of the republic to advantage, to
inspire them with some apprehensions, and to induce the state to
release the vessel: for had it been necessary to this effect to wait
for an answer from the court, the captain would have been ruined
before it could have arrived. I did still more, I went alongside the
vessel to make inquiries of the ship's company. I took with me the
Abbe Patizel, chancellor of the consulship, who would rather have been
excused, so much were these poor creatures afraid of displeasing the
senate. As I could not go on board, on account of the order from the
states, I remained in my gondola, and there took the depositions
successively, interrogating each of the mariners, and directing my
questions in such a manner as to produce answers which might be to
their advantage. I wished to prevail upon Patizel to put the questions
and take depositions himself, which in fact was more his business than
mine; but to this he would not consent; he never once opened his mouth
and refused to sign the depositions after me. This step, somewhat
bold, was, however, successful, and the vessel was released long
before an answer came from the minister. The captain wished to make me
a present; but without being angry with him on that account, I
tapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Captain Olivet, can you imagine
that he who does not receive from the French his perquisite for
passports, which he found his established right, is a man likely to
sell them the king's protection?" He, however, insisted on giving me a
dinner on board his vessel, which I accepted, and took with me the
secretary to the Spanish embassy, M. Carrio, a man of wit and
amiable manners, to partake of it: he has since been secretary to
the Spanish embassy at Paris and charge des affaires. I had formed
an intimate connection with him after the example of our ambassadors.
  Happy should I have been, if, when in the most disinterested
manner I did all the service I could, I had known how to introduce
sufficient order into all these little details, that I might not
have served others at my own expense. But in employments similar to
that I held, in which the most trifling faults are of consequence,
my whole attention was engaged in avoiding all such mistakes as
might be detrimental to my service. I conducted, till the last moment,
everything relative to my immediate duty, with the greatest order
and exactness. Excepting a few errors which a forced precipitation
made me commit in ciphering, and of which the clerks of M. Amelot once
complained, neither the ambassador nor any other person had ever the
least reason to reproach me with negligence in any one of my
functions. This is remarkable in a man so negligent as I am. But my
memory sometimes failed me, and I was not sufficiently careful in
the private affairs with which I was charged; however, a love of
justice always made me take the loss on myself, and this
voluntarily, before anybody thought of complaining. I will mention but
one circumstance of this nature; it relates to my departure from
Venice, and I afterwards felt the effects of it in Paris.
  Our cook, whose name was Rousselot, had brought from France an old
note for two hundred livres, which a hair-dresser, a friend of his,
had received from a noble Venetian of the name of Zanetto Nani, who
had had wigs of him to that amount. Rousselot brought me the note,
begging I would endeavor to obtain payment of some part of it, by
way of accommodation. I knew, and he knew it also, that the constant
custom of noble Venetians was, when once returned to their country,
never to pay the debts they had contracted abroad. When means are
taken to force them to payment, the wretched creditor finds so many
delays, and incurs such enormous expenses, that he becomes disgusted
and concludes by giving up his debt or accepting the most trifling
composition. I begged M. le Blond to speak to Zanetto. The Venetion
acknowledged the note, but did not agree to payment. After a long
dispute he at length promised three sequins; but when Le Blond carried
him the note even these were not ready, and it was necessary to
wait. In this interval happened my quarrel with the ambassador and I
quitted his service. I had left the papers of the embassy in the
greatest order, but the note of Rousselot was not to be found. M. le
Blond assured me he had given me it back. I knew him to be too
honest a man to have the least doubt of the matter; but it was
impossible for me to recollect what I had done with it. As Zanetto had
acknowledged the debt, I desired M. le Blond to endeavor to obtain
from him the three sequins on giving him a receipt for the amount,
or to prevail upon him to renew the note by way of duplicate. Zanetto,
knowing the note to be lost, would not agree to either. I offered
Rousselot the three sequins from my own purse, as a discharge of the
debt. He refused them, and said I might settle the matter with the
creditor at Paris, of whom he gave me the address. The hair-dresser,
having been informed of what had passed, would either have his note or
the whole sum for which it was given. What, in my indignation, would I
have given to have found this vexatious paper! I paid the two
hundred livres, and that in my greatest distress. In this manner the
loss of the note produced to the creditor the payment of the whole
sum, whereas had it, unfortunately for him, been found, he would
have had some difficulty in recovering even the ten crowns, which
his excellency, Zanetto Nani, had promised to pay.
  The talents I thought I felt in myself for my employment made me
discharge the functions of it with satisfaction, and except the
society of my friend de Carrio, that of the virtuous Altuna, of whom I
shall soon have an occasion to speak, the innocent recreations of
the place Saint Mark, of the theater, and of a few visits which we,
for the most part, made together, my only pleasure was in the duties
of my station. Although these were not considerable, especially with
the aid of the Abbe de Binis, yet as the correspondence was very
extensive and there was a war, I was a good deal employed. I applied
to business the greatest part of every morning, and on the days
previous to the departure of the courier, in the evenings, and
sometimes till midnight. The rest of my time I gave to the study of
the political professions I had entered upon, and in which I hoped,
from my successful beginning, to be advantageously employed. In fact I
was in favor with every one; the ambassador himself spoke highly of my
services, and never complained of anything I did for him; his
dissatisfaction proceeded from my having insisted on quitting him,
in consequence of the useless complaints I had frequently made on
several occasions. The ambassadors and ministers of the king with whom
we were in correspondence complimented him on the merit of his
secretary, in a manner by which he ought to have been flattered, but
which in his poor head produced quite a contrary effect. He received
one in particular relative to an affair of importance, for which he
never pardoned me.
  He was so incapable of bearing the least constraint, that on the
Saturday, the day of the despatches for most of the courts, he could
not contain himself, and wait till the business was done before he
went out, and incessantly pressing me to hasten the despatches to
the king and ministers, he signed them with precipitation, and
immediately went I know not where, leaving most of the other letters
without signing; this obliged me, when these contained nothing but
news, to convert them into journals; but when affairs which related to
the king were in question it was necessary somebody should sign, and I
did it. This once happened relative to some important advice we had
just received from M. Vincent, charge des affaires from the king, at
Vienna. The Prince Lobkowitz was then marching to Naples, and Count
Gages had just made the most memorable retreat, the finest military
maneuver of the whole century, of which Europe has not sufficiently
spoken. The despatch informed us that a man, whose person M. Vincent
described, had set out from Vienna, and was to pass by Venice, on
his way into Abruzzo, where he was secretly to stir up the people at
the approach of the Austrians.
  In the absence of M. le Comte de Montaigu, who did not give
himself the least concern about anything, I forwarded this advice to
the Marquis de l'Hopital, so apropos, that it is perhaps to the poor
Jean-Jacques, so abused and laughed at, that the house of Bourbon owes
the preservation of the kingdom of Naples.
  The Marquis de l'Hopital, when he thanked his colleague, as it was
proper he should do, spoke to him of his secretary, and mentioned
the service he had just rendered to the common cause. The Comte de
Montaigu, who in that affair had to reproach himself with
negligence, thought he perceived in the compliment paid him by M. de
l'Hopital, something like a reproach, and spoke of it to me with signs
of ill-humor. I found it necessary to act in the same manner with
the Count de Castellane, ambassador at Constantinople, as I had done
with the Marquis de l'Hopital although in things of less importance.
As there was no other conveyance to Constantinople than by couriers,
sent from time to time by the senate to its Bailli, advice of their
departure was given to the ambassador of France, that he might write
by them to his colleague, if he thought proper so to do. This advice
was commonly sent a day or two beforehand; but M. de Montaigu was held
in so little respect, that merely for the sake of form he was sent
to a couple of hours before the couriers set off. This frequently
obliged me to write the dispatch in his absence. M. de Castellane in
his answer made honorable mention of me; M. de Jonville, at Genoa, did
the same, and these instances of their regard and esteem became new
grievances.
  I acknowledge I did not neglect any opportunity of making myself
known; but I never sought one improperly, and in serving well I
thought I had a right to aspire to the natural return for essential
services; the esteem of those capable of judging of, and rewarding
them. I will not say whether or not my exactness in discharging the
duties of my employment was a just subject of complaint from the
ambassador; but I cannot refrain from declaring that it was the sole
grievance he ever mentioned previous to our separation.
  His house, which he had never put on a good footing, was
constantly filled with rabble; the French were ill-treated in it,
and the ascendancy was given to the Italians; of these even, the
more honest part, they who had long been in the service of the
embassy, were indecently discharged, his first gentleman in
particular, whom he had taken from the Comte de Froulay, and who, if I
remember right, was called Comte de Peati, or something very like that
name. The second gentleman, chosen by M. de Montaigu, was an
outlawed highwayman from Mantua, called Dominic Vitali, to whom the
ambassador intrusted the care of his house, and who had by means of
flattery and sordid economy, obtained his confidence, and became his
favorite to the great prejudice of the few honest people he still
had about him, and of the secretary who was at their head. The
countenance of an upright man always gives inquietude to knaves.
Nothing more was necessary to make Vitali conceive a hatred against
me: but for this sentiment there was still another cause which
rendered it more cruel. Of this I must give an account, that I may
be condemned if I am found in the wrong.
  The ambassador had, according to custom, a box at each of the
theaters. Every day at dinner he named the theater to which it was his
intention to go: I chose after him, and the gentlemen disposed of
the other boxes. When I went out I took the key of the box I had
chosen. One day, Vitali not being in the way, I ordered the footman
who attended on me, to bring me the key to a house which I named to
him. Vitali, instead of sending the key, said he had disposed of it. I
was the more enraged at this as the footman delivered his message in
public. In the evening Vitali wished to make me some apology, to which
however I would not listen. "To-morrow," said I to him, "you will come
at such an hour and apologize to me in the house where I received
the affront, and in the presence of the persons who were witnesses
to it; or after to-morrow, whatever may be the consequence, either you
or I will leave the house." This firmness intimidated him. He came
to the house at the hour appointed, and made me a public apology, with
a meanness worthy of himself. But he afterwards took his measures at
leisure, and, at the same time that he cringed to me in public, he
secretly acted in so vile a manner, that, although unable to prevail
on the ambassador to give me my dismission, he laid me under the
necessity of resolving to leave him.
  A wretch like him, certainly, could not know me, but he knew
enough of my character to make it serviceable to his purposes. He knew
I was mild to an excess, and patient in bearing involuntary wrongs;
but haughty and impatient when insulted with premeditated offenses;
loving decency and dignity in things in which these were requisite,
and not more exact in requiring the respect due to myself than
attentive in rendering that which I owed to others. In this he
undertook to disgust me, and in this he succeeded. He turned the house
upside down, and destroyed the order and subordination I had
endeavored to establish in it. A house without a woman stands in
need of rather a severe discipline to preserve that modesty which is
inseparable from dignity. He soon converted ours into a place of
filthy debauch and scandalous licentiousness, the haunt of knaves
and debauchees. He procured for second gentlemen to his excellency, in
the place of him whom he got discharged, another pimp like himself,
who kept a house of ill-fame, at the Cross of Malta; and the indecency
of these two rascals was equaled by nothing but their insolence.
Except the bed-chamber of the ambassador, which, however, was not in
very good order, there was not a corner in the whole house supportable
to a modest man.
  As his excellency did not sup, the gentleman and myself had a
private table, at which the Abbe de Binis and the pages also eat. In
the most paltry alehouse people are served with more cleanliness and
decency, have cleaner linen, and a table better supplied. We had but
one little and very filthy candle, pewter plates, and iron forks.
  I could have overlooked what passed in secret, but I was deprived of
my gondola. I was the only secretary to an ambassador, who was obliged
to hire one or go on foot, and the livery of his excellency no
longer accompanied me, except when I went to the senate. Besides,
everything which passed in the house was known in the city. All
those who were in the service of the other ambassadors loudly
exclaimed; Dominic, the only cause of all, exclaimed louder than
anybody, well knowing the indecency with which we were treated was
more affecting to me than to any other person. Though I was the only
one in the house who said nothing of the matter abroad, I complained
loudly of it to the ambassador, as well as of himself, who, secretly
excited by the wretch, entirely devoted to his will, daily made me
suffer some new affront. Obliged to expend a good deal to keep up a
footing with those in the same situation with myself, and to make an
appearance proper to my employment, I could not touch a farthing of my
salary, and when I asked him for money, he spoke of his esteem for me,
and his confidence, as if either of these could have filled my
purse, and provided for everything.
  These two banditti at length quite turned the head of their
master, who naturally had not a good one, and ruined him by a
continual traffic, and by bargains, of which he was the dupe, whilst
they persuaded him they were greatly in his favor. They persuaded
him to take, upon the Brenta, a Palazzo at twice the rent it was
worth, and divided the surplus with the proprietor. The apartments
were inlaid with mosaic, and ornamented with columns and pilasters, in
the taste of the country. M. de Montaigu, had all these superbly
masked by fir wainscoting, for no other reason than because at Paris
apartments were thus fitted up. It was for a similar reason that he
only, of all the ambassadors who were at Venice, took from his pages
their swords, and from his footmen their canes. Such was the man, who,
perhaps from the same motive, took a dislike to me on account of my
serving him faithfully.
  I patiently endured his disdain, his brutality, and ill-treatment,
as long as, perceiving them accompanied by ill-humor, I thought they
had in them no portion of hatred; but the moment I saw the design
formed of depriving me of the honor I merited by my faithful services,
I resolved to resign my employment. The first mark I received of his
ill will was relative to a dinner he was to give to the Duke of Modena
and his family, who were at Venice, and at which he signified to me
I should not be present. I answered, piqued, but not angry, that
having the honor daily to dine at his table, if the Duke of Modena,
when he came, required I should not appear at it, my duty as well as
the dignity of his excellency would not suffer me to consent to such a
request. "How," said he, passionately, "my secretary, who is not a
gentleman, pretends to dine with a sovereign when my gentlemen do
not!" "Yes, sir," replied I, "the post with which your excellency
has honored me, as long as I discharge the functions of it, so far
ennobles me that my rank is superior to that of your gentlemen or of
the persons calling themselves such; and I am admitted where they
cannot appear. You cannot but know that on the day on which you
shall make your public entry, I am called to the ceremony by
etiquette; and by an immemorial custom, to follow you in a dress of
ceremony, and afterwards to dine with you at the palace of Saint Mark;
and I know not why a man who has a right and is to eat in public
with the doge and the senate of Venice should not eat in private
with the Duke of Modena." Though this argument was unanswerable, it
did not convince the ambassador; but we had no occasion to renew the
dispute, as the Duke of Modena did not come to dine with him.
  From that moment he did everything in his power to make things
disagreeable to me; and endeavored unjustly to deprive me of my right,
by taking from me the pecuniary advantages annexed to my employment,
to give them to his dear Vitali; and I am convinced that had he
dared to send him to the senate, in my place, he would have done it.
He commonly employed the Abbe Binis in his closet, to write his
private letters: he made use of him to write to M. de Maurepas an
account of the affair of Captain Olivet, in which, far from taking the
least notice of me, the only person who gave himself any concern about
the matter, he deprived me of the honor of the depositions, of which
he sent him a duplicate, for the purpose of attributing them to
Patizel, who had not opened his mouth. He wished to mortify me, and
please his favorite; but had no desire to dismiss me his service. He
perceived it would be more difficult to find me a successor, than M.
Follau, who had already made him known to the world. An Italian
secretary was absolutely necessary to him, on account of the answers
from the senate; one who could write all his despatches, and conduct
his affairs, without his giving himself the least trouble about
anything; a person who, to the merit of serving him well, could join
the baseness of being the toad-eater of his gentlemen, without
honor, merit, or principles. He wished to retain, and humble me, by
keeping me far from my country, and his own, without money to return
to either, and in which he would, perhaps, have succeeded, had he
begun with more moderation: but Vitali, who had other views, and
wished to force me to extremities, carried his point. The moment I
perceived, I lost all my trouble, that the ambassador imputed to me my
services as so many crimes, instead of being satisfied with them; that
with him I had nothing to expect, but things disagreeable at home, and
injustice abroad; and that, in the general disesteem into which he was
fallen, his ill offices might be prejudicial to me, without the
possibility of my being served by his good ones; I took my resolution,
and asked him for my dismission, leaving him sufficient time to
provide himself with another secretary. Without answering yes or no,
he continued to treat me in the same manner, as if nothing had been
said. Perceiving things to remain in the same state, and that he
took no measures to procure himself a new secretary, I wrote to his
brother, and, explaining to him my motives, begged he would obtain
my dismission from his excellency, adding that whether I received it
or not, I could not possibly remain with him. I waited a long time
without any answer, and began to be embarrassed: but at length the
ambassador received a letter from his brother, which must have
remonstrated with him in very plain terms; for although he was
extremely subject to ferocious rage, I never saw him so violent as
on this occasion. After torrents of unsufferable reproaches, not
knowing what more to say, he accused me of having sold his ciphers.
I burst into a loud laughter, and asking him, in a sneering manner, if
he thought there was in Venice a man who would be fool enough to
give half a crown for them all. He threatened to call his servants
to throw me out of the window. Until then I had been very composed;
but on this threat, anger and indignation seized me in my turn. I
sprang to the door, and after having turned a button which fastened it
within: "No, count," said I, returning to him with a grave step, "your
servants shall have nothing to do with this affair; please to let it
be settled between ourselves." My action and manner instantly made him
calm; fear and surprise were marked in his countenance. The moment I
saw his fury abated, I bid him adieu in a very few words, and
without waiting for his answer, went to the door, opened it, and
passed slowly across the antechamber, through the midst of his people,
who rose according to custom, and who, I am of opinion, would rather
have lent their assistance against him than me. Without going back
to my apartment, I descended the stairs, and immediately went out of
the palace never more to enter it.
  I hastened immediately to M. le Blond and related to him what had
happened. Knowing the man, he was but little surprised. He kept me
to dinner. This dinner, although without preparation, was splendid.
All the French of consequence, who were at Venice, partook of it.
The ambassador had not a single person. The consul related my case
to the company. The cry was general, and by no means in favor of his
excellency. He had not settled my account, nor paid me a farthing, and
being reduced to the few louis I had in my pocket, I was extremely
embarrassed about my return to France. Every purse was opened to me. I
took twenty sequins from that of M. le Blond, and as many from that of
M. St. Cyr, with whom, next to M. le Blond, I was the most
intimately connected. I returned thanks to the rest; and, till my
departure, went to lodge at the house of the chancellor of the
consulship, to prove to the public, the nation was not an accomplice
in the injustice of the ambassador.
  His excellency, furious at seeing me taken notice of in my
misfortune, at the same time that, notwithstanding his being an
ambassador, nobody went near his house, quite lost his senses and
behaved like a madman. He forgot himself so far as to present a memoir
to the senate to get me arrested. On being informed of this by the
Abbe de Binis, I resolved to remain a fortnight longer, instead of
setting off the next day as I had intended. My conduct had been
known and approved of by everybody; I was universally esteemed. The
senate did not deign to return an answer to the extravagant memoir
of the ambassador, but sent me word I might remain in Venice as long
as I thought proper, without making myself uneasy about the attempts
of a madman. I continued to see my friends: I went to take leave of
the ambassador from Spain, who received me well, and of the Comte de
Finochietti, minister from Naples, whom I did not find at home. I
wrote him a letter and received from his excellency the most polite
and obliging answer. At length I took my departure, leaving behind me,
notwithstanding my embarrassment, no other debts than the two sums I
had borrowed, and of which I have just spoken; and an account of fifty
crowns with a shopkeeper, of the name of Morandi, which Carrio
promised to pay, and which I have never reimbursed him, although we
have frequently met since that time; but with respect to the two
sums of money, I returned them very exactly the moment I had it in
my power.
  I cannot take leave of Venice without saying something of the
celebrated amusements of that city, or at least of the little part
of them of which I partook during my residence there. It has been seen
how little in my youth I ran after the pleasures of that age, or those
that are so called. My inclinations did not change at Venice, but my
occupations, which moreover would have prevented this, rendered more
agreeable to me the simple recreations I permitted myself. The first
and most pleasing of all was the society of men of merit. M. le Blond,
de St. Cyr, Carrio Altuna, and a Porlinian gentleman, whose name I
am very sorry to have forgotten, and whom I never call to my
recollection without emotion: he was the man of all I ever knew
whose heart most resembled my own. We were connected with two or three
Englishmen of great wit and information, and, like ourselves,
passionately fond of music. All these gentlemen had their wives,
female friends, or mistresses: the latter were most of them women of
talents, at whose apartments there were balls and concerts. There
was but little play; a lively turn, talents, and the theaters rendered
this amusement insipid. Play is the resource of none but men whose
time hangs heavy on their hands. I had brought with me from Paris
the prejudice of that city against Italian music; but I had also
received from nature a sensibility and niceness Of the distinction
which prejudice cannot withstand. I soon contracted that passion for
Italian music with which it inspires all those who are capable of
feeling its excellence. In listening to barcaroles, I found I had
not yet known what singing was, and I soon became so fond of the opera
that, tired of babbling, eating, and playing in the boxes when I
wished to listen, I frequently withdrew from the company to another
part of the theater. There, quite alone, shut up in my box, I
abandoned myself, notwithstanding the length of the representation, to
the pleasure of enjoying it at ease unto the conclusion. One evening
at the theater of Saint Chrysostom, I fell into a more profound
sleep than I should have done in my bed. The loud and brilliant airs
did not disturb my repose. But who can explain the delicious
sensations given me by the soft harmony of the angelic music, by which
I was charmed from sleep; what an awaking! what ravishment! what
ecstasy, when at the same instant I opened my ears and eyes! My
first idea was to believe I was in paradise. The ravishing air,
which I still recollect and shall never forget, began with these
words:

                   Conservami la bella,
                   Che si m'accende il cor.

  I was desirous of having it; I had and kept it for a time; but it
was not the same thing upon paper as in my head. The notes were the
same but the thing was different. This divine composition can never be
executed but in my mind, in the same manner as it was the evening on
which it awoke me from sleep.
  A kind of music far superior, in my opinion, to that of operas,
and which in all Italy has not its equal, nor perhaps in the whole
world, is that of the scuole. The scuole are houses of charity,
established for the education of young girls without fortune, to
whom the republic afterwards gives a portion either in marriage or for
the cloister. Amongst talents cultivated in these young girls, music
is in the first rank. Every Sunday at the church of each of the four
scuole, during vespers, motettos or anthems with full choruses,
accompanied by a great orchestra, and composed and directed by the
best masters in Italy, are sung in the galleries by girls only; not
one of whom is more than twenty years of age. I have not an idea of
anything so voluptuous and affecting as this music; the richness of
the art, the exquisite taste of the vocal part, the excellence of
the voices, the justness of the execution, everything in these
delightful concerts concurs to produce an impression which certainly
is not the mode, but from which I am of opinion no heart is secure.
Carrio and I never failed being present at these vespers of the
Mendicanti, and we were not alone. The church was always full of the
lovers of the art, and even the actors of the opera came there to form
their tastes after these excellent models. What vexed me was the
iron grate, which suffered nothing to escape but sounds, and concealed
from me the angels of which they were worthy. I talked of nothing
else. One day I spoke of it at Le Blond's: "If you are so desirous,"
said he, "to see those little girls, it will be an easy matter to
satisfy your wishes. I am one of the administrators of the house, I
will give you a collation with them." I did not let him rest until
he had fulfilled his promise. I entering the saloon, which contained
these beauties I so much sighed to see, I felt a trembling of love
which I had never before experienced M. le Blond presented to me,
one after the other, these celebrated female singers, of whom the
names and voices were all with which I was acquainted. Come,
Sophia,- she was horrid. Come, Cattina,- she had but one eye. Come,
Bettina,- the small-pox had entirely disfigured her. Scarcely one of
them was without some striking defect. Le Blond laughed at my
surprise; however, two or three of them appeared tolerable; these
never sung but in the choruses; I was almost in despair. During the
collation we endeavored to excite them, and they soon became
enlivened; ugliness does not exclude the graces, and I found they
possessed them. I said to myself, they cannot sing in this manner
without intelligence and sensibility, they must have both; in fine, my
manner of seeing them changed to such a degree that I left the house
almost in love with each of these ugly faces. I had scarcely courage
enough to return to vespers. But after having seen the girls, the
danger was lessened. I still found their singing delightful; and their
voices so much embellished their persons that, in spite of my eyes,
I obstinately continued to think them beautiful.
  Music in Italy is accompanied with so trifling an expense, that it
is not worth while for such as have a taste for it to deny
themselves the pleasure it affords. I hired a harpsichord, and, for
half a crown, I had at my apartment four or five symphonists, with
whom I practiced once a week in executing such airs, etc., as had
given me most pleasure at the opera. I also had some symphonies
performed from my Muses Galantes. Whether these pleased the
performers, or the ballet-master of St. John Chrysostom wished to
flatter me, he desired to have two of them; and I had afterwards the
pleasure of hearing these executed by that admirable orchestra. They
were danced to by a little Bettina, pretty and amiable, and kept by
a Spaniard, M. Fagoaga, a friend of ours with whom we often went to
spend the evening. But apropos of girls of easy virtue: it is not in
Venice that a man abstains from them. Have you nothing to confess,
somebody will ask me, upon this subject? Yes: I have something to
say upon it, and I will proceed to this confession with the same
ingenuousness with which I have made all my former ones.
  I always had a disinclination to common prostitutes, but at Venice
those were all I had within my reach; most of the houses being shut
against me on account of my place. The daughters of M. le Blond were
very amiable, but difficult of access; and I had too much respect
for the father and mother ever once to have the least desire for them.
  I should have had a much stronger inclination to a young lady
named Mademoiselle de Cataneo, daughter to the agent from the King
of Prussia, but Carrio was in love with her: there was even between
them some question of marriage. He was in easy circumstances, and I
had no fortune: his salary was a hundred louis (guineas) a year, and
mine amounted to no more than a thousand livres (about forty pounds
sterling): and, besides, my being unwilling to oppose a friend, I knew
that in all places, and especially at Venice, with a purse so ill
furnished as mine was, gallantry was out of the question. I had not
lost the pernicious custom of deceiving my wants. Too busily
employed forcibly to feel those proceeding from the climate, I lived
upwards of a year in that city as chastely as I had done in Paris, and
at the end of eighteen months I quitted it without having approached
the sex, except twice by means of the singular opportunities of
which I am going to speak.
  The first was procured me by that honest gentleman, Vitali, some
time after the formal apology I obliged him to make me. The
conversation at the table turned on the amusements of Venice. These
gentlemen reproached me with my indifference with regard to the most
delightful of them all; at the same time extolling the gracefulness
and elegant manners of the women of easy virtue of Venice; and
adding that they were superior to all others of the same description
in any other part of the world. Dominic said I must make the
acquaintance of the most amiable of them all; and he offered to take
me to her apartments, assuring me I should be pleased with her. I
laughed at this obliging offer: and Count Peati, a man in years and
venerable, observed to me, with more candor than I should have
expected from an Italian, that he thought me too prudent to suffer
myself to be taken to such a place by my enemy. In fact I had no
inclination to do it: but notwithstanding this, by an incoherence I
cannot myself comprehend, I at length was prevailed upon to go,
contrary to my inclination, the sentiment of my heart, my reason,
and even my will; solely from weakness, and being ashamed to show an
appearance to the lead mistrust; and besides, as the expression of the
country is, per non parer troppo coglione.* The Padoana whom we went
to visit was pretty, she was even handsome, but her beauty was not
of that kind which pleased me. Dominic left me with her, I sent for
Sorbetti, and asked her to sing. In about half an hour I wished to
take my leave, after having put a ducat on the table, but this by a
singular scruple she refused until she had deserved it, and I from
as singular a folly consented to remove her doubts. I returned to
the palace so fully persuaded that I should feel the consequences of
this step, that the first thing I did was to send for the king's
surgeon to ask him for ptisans. Nothing can equal the uneasiness of
mind I suffered for three weeks, without its being justified by any
real inconvenience or apparent sign. I could not believe it was
possible to withdraw with impunity from the arms of the padoana. The
surgeon himself had the greatest difficulty in removing my
apprehensions; nor could he do this by any other means than by
persuading me I was formed in such a manner as not to be easily
infected: and although in the experiment I exposed myself less than
any other man would have done, my health in that respect never
having suffered the least inconvenience, is in my opinion a proof
the surgeon was right. However, this has never made me imprudent,
and if in fact I have received such an advantage from nature I can
safely assert I have never abused it.

  * Not to appear too great a blockhead.

  My second adventure, although likewise with a common girl, was of
a nature very different, as well in its origin as in its effects. I
have already said that Captain Olivet gave me a dinner on board his
vessel, and that I took with me the secretary of the Spanish
embassy. I expected a salute of cannon. The ship's company was drawn
up to receive us, but not so much as a priming was burnt, at which I
was mortified, on account of Carrio, whom I perceived to be rather
piqued at the neglect. A salute of cannon was given on board
merchantships to people of less consequence than we were; I besides
thought I deserved some distinguished mark of respect from the
captain. I could not conceal my thoughts, because this at all times
was impossible to me, and although the dinner was a very good one, and
Olivet did the honors of it perfectly well, I began it in an ill
humor, eating but little, and speaking still less. At the first
health, at least, I expected a volley;- nothing. Carrio, who read what
passed within me, laughed at hearing me grumble like a child. Before
dinner was half over I saw a gondola approach the vessel. "Bless me,
sir," said the captain, "take care of yourself, the enemy approaches."
I asked him what he meant, and he answered jocosely. The gondola
made the ship's side, and I observed a gay young damsel come on
board very lightly, and coquettishly dressed, and who at three steps
was in the cabin, seated by my side, before I had time to perceive a
cover was laid for her. She was equally charming and lively, a
brunette, not more than twenty years of age. She spoke nothing but
Italian, and her accent alone was sufficient to turn my head. As she
ate and chattered she cast her eyes upon me; steadfastly looked at
me for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Good Virgin! Ah, my dear
Bremond, what an age it is since I saw thee!" Then she threw herself
into my arms, sealed her lips to mine, and pressed me almost to
strangling. Her large black eyes, like those of the beauties of the
East, darted fiery shafts into my heart, and although the surprise
at first stupefied my senses, voluptuousness made a rapid progress
within, and this to such a degree that the beautiful seducer herself
was, notwithstanding the spectators, obliged to restrain my ardor, for
I was intoxicated, or rather become furious. When she perceived she
had made the impression she desired, she became more moderate in her
caresses, but not in her vivacity, and when she thought proper to
explain to us the real or false cause of all her petulance, she said I
resembled M. de Bremond, director of the customs of Tuscany, to such a
degree as to be mistaken for him; that she had turned this M. de
Bremond's head, and would do it again; that she had quitted him
because he was a fool; that she took me in his place; that she would
love me because it pleased her so to do, for which reason I must
love her as long as it was agreeable to her, and when she thought
proper to send me about my business, I must be patient as her dear
Bremond had been. What was said was done. She took possession of me as
of a man that belonged to her, gave me her gloves to keep, her fan,
her cinda, and her coif, and ordered me to go here or there, to do
this or that, and I instantly obeyed her. She told me to go and send
away her gondola, because she chose to make use of mine, and I
immediately sent it away; she bid me to move from my place, and prey
Carrio to sit down in it, because she had something to say to him; and
I did as she desired. They chatted a good while together, but spoke
low, and I did not interrupt them. She called me, and I approached
her. "Hark thee, Zanetto," said she to me, "I will not be loved in the
French manner; this indeed will not be well. In the first moment of
lassitude, get thee gone: but stay not by the way, I caution thee."
After dinner we went to see the glass manufactory at Murano. She
bought a great number of little curiosities; for which she left me
to pay without the least ceremony. But she everywhere gave away little
trinkets to a much greater amount than of the things we had purchased.
By the indifference with which she threw away her money, I perceived
she annexed to it but little value. When she insisted upon a
payment, I am of opinion it was more from a motive of vanity than
avarice. She was flattered by the price her admirers set upon her
favors.
  In the evening we conducted her to her apartments. As we conversed
together, I perceived a couple of pistols upon her toilette. "Ah! ah!"
said I, taking one of them up, "this is a patch-box of a new
construction: may I ask what, is its use? I know you have other arms
which give more fire than those upon your table." After a few
pleasantries of the same kind, she said to us, with an ingenuousness
which rendered her still more charming, "When I am complaisant to
persons whom I do not love, I make them pay for the weariness they
cause me; nothing can be more just; but if I suffer their caresses,
I will not bear their insults; nor miss the first who shall be wanting
to me in respect."
  At taking leave of her, I made another appointment for the next day.
I did not make her wait. I found her in vestito di confidenza, in an
undress more than wanton, unknown to northern countries, and which I
will not amuse myself in describing, although I recollect it perfectly
well. I shall only remark that her ruffles and collar were edged
with silk network ornamented with rose-colored pompons. This, in my
eyes, much enlivened a beautiful complexion. I afterwards found it
to be the mode at Venice, and the effect is so charming that I am
surprised it has never been introduced in France. I had no idea of the
transports which awaited me. I have spoken of Madam de Larnage with
the transport which the remembrance of her still sometimes gives me;
but how old, ugly and cold she appeared, compared with my Zulietta! Do
not attempt to form to yourself an idea of the charms and graces of
this enchanting girl, you will be far too short of truth. Young
virgins in cloisters are not so fresh: the beauties of the seraglio
are less animated: the houris of paradise less engaging. Never was
so sweet an enjoyment offered to the heart and senses of a mortal. Ah!
had I at least been capable of fully tasting of it for a single
moment!- I had tasted of it, but without a charm. I enfeebled all
its delights: I destroyed them as at will. No; Nature has not made
me capable of enjoyment. She has infused into my wretched head the
poison of that ineffable happiness, the desire of which she first
placed in my heart.
  If there be a circumstance in my life, which describes my nature, it
is that which I am going to relate. The forcible manner in which I
at this moment recollect the object of my book, will here make me hold
in contempt the false delicacy which would prevent me from
fulfilling it. Whoever you may be who are desirous of knowing a man,
have the courage to read the two or three following pages, and you
will become fully acquainted with J. J. Rousseau.
  I entered the room of a courtesan as if it had been the sanctuary of
love and beauty: and in her person, I thought I saw the divinity. I
should have been inclined to think that without respect and esteem
it was impossible to feel anything like that which she made me
experience. Scarcely had I, in her first familiarities, discovered the
force of her charms and caresses, before I wished, for fear of
losing the fruit of them, to gather it beforehand. Suddenly, instead
of the flame which consumed me, I felt a mortal cold run through all
my veins; my legs failed me; and ready to faint away, I sat down and
wept like a child.
  Who would guess the cause of my tears, and what, at this moment,
passed within me? I said to myself: the object in my power is the
masterpiece of love; her wit and person equally approach perfection;
she is as good and generous as she is amiable and beautiful. Yet she
is a miserable prostitute, abandoned to the public. The captain of a
merchantship disposed of her at will; she has thrown herself into my
arms, although she knows I have nothing; and my merit with which she
cannot be acquainted, can be to her no inducement. In this there is
something inconceivable. Either my heart deceives me, fascinates my
senses, and makes me the dupe of an unworthy slut, or some secret
defect, of which I am ignorant, destroys the effect of her charms, and
renders her odious in the eyes of those by whom her charms would
otherwise be disputed. I endeavored, by an extraordinary effort of
mind, to discover this defect, but it did not so much as strike me
that even the consequences to be apprehended, might possibly have some
influence. The clearness of her skin, the brilliancy of her
complexion, her white teeth, sweet breath, and the appearance of
neatness about her person, so far removed from me this idea, that
still in doubt relative to my situation after the affair of the
padoana, I rather apprehended I was not sufficiently in health for
her: and I am firmly persuaded I was not deceived in my opinion. These
reflections, so apropos, agitated me to such a degree as to make me
shed tears. Zulietta, to whom the scene was quite novel, was struck
speechless for a moment. But having made a turn in her chamber, and
passing before her glass, she comprehended, and my eyes confirmed
her opinion, that disgust had no part in what had happened. It was not
difficult for her to recover me and dispel this shamefacedness.
  But, at the moment in which I was ready to faint upon a bosom, which
for the first time seemed to suffer the impression of the hand and
lips of a man, I perceived she had a withered teton. I struck my
forehead: I examined, and thought I perceived this teton was not
formed like the other. I immediately began to consider how it was
possible to have such a defect, and persuaded of its proceeding from
some great natural vice, I was clearly convinced, that, instead of the
most charming person of whom I could form to myself an idea, I had
in my arms a species of a monster, the refuse of nature, of men and of
love. I carried my stupidity so far as to speak to her of the
discovery I had made. She, at first, took what I said jocosely; and in
her frolicsome humor, did and said things which made me die of love.
But perceiving an inquietude I could not conceal she at length
reddened, adjusted her dress, raised herself up, and, without saying a
word, went and placed herself at a window. I attempted to place myself
by her side: she withdrew to a sofa, rose from it the next moment, and
fanning herself as she walked about the chamber, said to me in a
reserved and disdainful tone of voice, "Zanetto, lascia le donne, e
studia la matematica."*

  * Leave women, and study the mathematics.

  Before I took leave I requested her to appoint another rendezvous
for the next day, which she postponed for three days, adding, with a
satirical smile, that I must needs be in want of repose. I was very
ill at ease during the interval; my heart was full of her charms and
graces; I felt my extravagance, and reproached myself with it,
regretting the loss of the moments I had so ill employed, and which,
had I chosen, I might have rendered more agreeable than any in my
whole life; waiting with the most burning impatience for the moment in
which I might repair the loss, and yet, notwithstanding all my
reasoning upon what I had discovered, anxious to reconcile the
perfections of this adorable girl with the indignity of her situation.
I ran, I flew to her apartment at the hour appointed. I know not
whether or not her ardor would have been more satisfied with this
visit, her pride at least would have been flattered by it, and I
already rejoiced at the idea of my convincing her, in every respect,
that I knew how to repair the wrongs I had done. She spared me this
justification. The gondolier whom I had sent to her apartment
brought me for answer that she had set off, the evening before, for
Florence. If I had not felt all the love I had for her person when
this was in my possession, I felt it in the most cruel manner on
losing her. Amiable and charming as she was in my eyes, I could have
consoled myself for the loss of her; but this I have never been able
to do relative to the contemptuous idea which at her departure she
must have had of me.
  These are my two adventures. The eighteen months I passed at
Venice furnished me with no other of the same kind, except a simple
prospect at most. Carrio was a gallant. Tired of visiting girls
engaged to others, he took a fancy to have one to himself, and, as
we were inseparable, he proposed to me an arrangement common enough at
Venice, which was to keep one girl for us both. To this I consented.
The question was, to find one who was safe. He was so industrious in
his researches that he found out a little girl of from eleven to
twelve years of age, whom her infamous mother was endeavoring to sell,
and I went with Carrio to see her. The sight of the child moved me
to the most lively compassion. She was fair and as gentle as a lamb.
Nobody would have taken her for an Italian. Living is very cheap at
Venice; we gave a little money to the mother and provided for the
subsistence of her daughter. She had a voice, and to procure her
some resource we gave her a spinnet, and a singing-master. All these
expenses did not cost each of us more than two sequins a month, and we
contrived to save a much greater sum in other matters; but as we
were obliged to wait until she became of a riper age, this was
sowing a long time before we could possibly reap. However, satisfied
with passing our evenings, chatting and innocently playing with the
child, we perhaps enjoyed greater pleasure than if we had received the
last favors. So true is it that men are more attached to women by a
certain pleasure they have in living with them, than by any kind of
libertinism. My heart became insensibly attached to the little
Anzoletta, but my attachment was paternal, in which the senses had
so little share, that in proportion as the former increased, to have
connected it with the latter would have been less possible; and I felt
I should have experienced, at approaching this little creature when
become nubile, the same horror with which the abominable crime of
incest would have inspired me. I perceived the sentiments of Carrio
take, unobserved by himself, exactly the same turn. We thus prepared
for ourselves, without intending it, pleasure not less delicious,
but very different from that of which we first had an idea; and I am
fully persuaded that however beautiful the poor child might have
become, far from being the corrupters of her innocence we should
have been the protectors of it. The circumstance which shortly
afterwards befell me deprived me of the happiness of taking part in
this good work, and my only merit in the affair was the inclination of
my heart.
  I will now return to my journey.
  My first intention after leaving M. de Montaigu, was to retire to
Geneva, until time and more favorable circumstances should have
removed the obstacles which prevented my union with my poor mamma; but
the quarrel between me and M. de Montaigu being become public, and
he having had the folly to write about it to the court, I resolved
to go there to give an account of my conduct and complain of that of a
madman. I communicated my intention, from Venice, to M. du Theil,
charged per interim with foreign affairs after the death of M. Amelot.
I set off as soon as my letter, and took my route through Bergamo,
Como, and Duomo d'Ossola, and crossing the Simplon. At Sion, M. de
Chaignon, charge des affaires from France, showed me great civility;
at Geneva M. de la Closure treated me with the same polite
attention. I there renewed my acquaintance with M. de Gauffecourt from
whom I had some money to receive. I had passed through Nyon without
going to see my father; not that this was a matter of indifference
to me, but because I was unwilling to appear before my
mother-in-law, after the disaster which had befallen me, certain of
being condemned by her without being heard. The bookseller, Du
Villard, an old friend of my father's, reproached me severely with
this neglect. I gave him my reasons for it, and to repair my fault,
without exposing myself to meet my mother-in-law, I took a chaise
and we went together to Nyon and stopped at a public house. Du Villard
went to fetch my father, who came running to embrace me. We supped
together, and, after passing an evening very agreeable to the wishes
of my heart, I returned the next morning to Geneva with Du Villard,
for whom I have ever since retained a sentiment of gratitude in return
for the service he did me on this occasion.
  Lyons was a little out of my direct road, but I was determined to
pass through that city in order to convince myself of a knavish
trick played me by M. de Montaigu. I had sent me from Paris a little
box containing a waistcoat, embroidered with gold, a few pairs of
ruffles, and six pairs of white silk stockings; nothing more. Upon a
proposition made me by M. de Montaigu, I ordered this box to be
added to his baggage. In the apothecary's bill he offered me in
payment of my salary, and which he wrote out himself, he stated the
weight of this box, which he called a bale, at eleven hundred
pounds, and charged me with the carriage of it at an enormous rate. By
the cares of M. Boy de la Tour, to whom I was recommended by M.
Roguin, his uncle, it was proved from the registers of the customs
of Lyons and Marseilles, that the said bale weighed no more than
forty-five pounds, and had paid carriage according to that weight. I
joined this authentic extract to the memoir of M. de Montaigu, and
provided with these papers and others containing stronger facts, I
returned to Paris, very impatient to make use of them. During the
whole of this long journey I had little adventures: at Como, in
Valais, and elsewhere. I there saw many curious things, amongst others
the Borromean Islands, which are worthy of being described. But I am
pressed by time, and surrounded by spies. I am obliged to write in
haste, and very imperfectly, a work which requires the leisure and
tranquility I do not enjoy. If ever providence in its goodness
grants me days more calm, I shall destine them to new modeling this
work, should I be able to do it, or at least to give a supplement,
of which I perceive it stands in the greatest need.*

  * I have given up this project.

  The news of my quarrel had reached Paris before me, and on my
arrival I found the people in all the offices, and the public in
general, scandalized at the follies of the ambassador. Notwithstanding
this, the public talk of Venice, and the unanswerable proof I
exhibited, I could not obtain even the shadow of justice. Far from
obtaining satisfaction or reparation, I was left at the discretion
of the ambassador for my salary, and this for no other reason than
because, not being a Frenchman, I had no right to national protection,
and that it was a private affair between him and myself. Everybody
agreed I was insulted, injured, and unfortunate; that the ambassador
was mad, cruel, and iniquitous, and that the whole of the affair
dishonored him forever. But what of this! He was the ambassador, and I
was nothing more than the secretary.
  Order, or that which is so called, was in opposition to my obtaining
justice, and of this the least shadow was not granted me. I supposed
that, by loudly complaining, and by publicly treating this madman in
the manner he deserved, I should at length be told to hold my
tongue; this was what I wished for, and I was fully determined not
to obey until I had obtained redress. But at that time there was no
minister for foreign affairs. I was suffered to exclaim, nay, even
encouraged to do it, and joined with; but the affair still remained in
the same state, until, tired of being in the right without obtaining
justice, my courage at length failed me, and let the whole drop.
  The only person by whom I was ill received, and from whom I should
have least expected such an injustice, was Madam de Beuzenval. Full of
the prerogatives of rank and nobility, she could not conceive it was
possible an ambassador could ever be in the wrong with respect to
his secretary. The reception she, gave me was conformable to this
prejudice. I was so piqued at it that, immediately after leaving
her, I wrote her perhaps one of the strongest and most violent letters
that ever came from my pen, and since that time I never once
returned to her house. I was better received by Father Castel; but, in
the midst of his Jesuitical wheedling I perceived him faithfully to
follow one of the great maxims of his society, which is to sacrifice
the weak to the powerful. The strong conviction I felt of the
justice of my cause, and my natural greatness of mind did not suffer
me patiently to endure this partiality. I ceased visiting Father
Castel, and on that account, going to the college of the Jesuits,
where I knew nobody but himself. Besides the intriguing and tyrannical
spirit of his brethren, so different from the cordiality of the good
Father Hemet, gave me such a disgust to their conversation that I have
never since been acquainted with, nor seen any one of them except
Father Berthier, whom I saw twice or thrice at M. Dupin's, in
conjunction with whom he labored with all his might at the
refutation of Montesquieu.
  That I may not return to the subject, I will conclude what I have to
say of M. de Montaigu. I had told him in our quarrels that a secretary
was not what he wanted, but an attorney's clerk. He took the hint, and
the person whom he procured to succeed me was a real attorney, who
in less than a year robbed him of twenty or thirty thousand livres. He
discharged him, and sent him to prison, dismissed his gentleman with
disgrace, and, in wretchedness, got himself everywhere into
quarrels, received affronts which a footman would not have put up
with, and, after numerous follies, was recalled, and sent from the
capital. It is very probable that among the reprimands he received
at court, his affair with me was not forgotten. At least, a little
time after his return he sent his maitre d'hotel, to settle my
account, and give me some money. I was in want of it at that moment;
my debts at Venice, debts of honor, if ever there were any, lay
heavy upon my mind. I made use of the means which offered to discharge
them, as well as the note of Zanetto Nani. I received what was offered
me, paid all my debts, and remained as before, without a farthing in
my pocket, but relieved from a weight which had become
insupportable. From that time I never heard speak of M. de Montaigu
until his death, with which I became acquainted by means of the
Gazette. The peace of God be with that poor man! He was as fit for the
functions of an ambassador as in my infancy I had been for those of
Grapignan.* However, it was in his power to have honorably supported
himself by my services, and at the same time to have rapidly
advanced me in a career to which the Comte de Gauvon had destined me
in my youth, and of the functions of which I had in a more advanced
age rendered myself capable.

  * Term of disparagement for an attorney.- La Rousse.

  The justice and inutility of my complaints left in my mind seeds
of indignation against our foolish civil institutions, by which the
welfare of the public and real justice are always sacrificed to I know
not what appearance of order, and which does nothing more, than add
the sanction of public authority to the oppression of the weak, and
the iniquity of the powerful. Two things prevented these seeds from
putting forth at that time as they afterwards did: one was, myself
being in question in the affair, and private interest, whence
nothing great or noble ever proceeded, could not draw from my heart
the divine soarings, which the most pure love, only of that which is
just. and sublime, can produce. The other was the charm of
friendship which tempered and calmed my wrath by the ascendancy of a
more pleasing sentiment. I had become acquainted at Venice with a
Biscayan, a friend of my friend Carrio's, and worthy of being that
of every honest man. This amiable young man, born with every talent
and virtue, had just made the tour of Italy to gain a taste for the
fine arts, and, imagining he had nothing more to acquire, intended
to return by the most direct road to his own country. I told him the
arts were nothing more than a relaxation to a genius like his, fit
to cultivate the sciences; and to give him a taste for these, I
advised him to make a journey to Paris and reside there for six
months. He took my advice, and went to Paris. He was there and
expected me when I arrived. His lodging was too considerable for
him, and he offered me the half of it, which I instantly accepted. I
found him absorbed in the study of the sublimest sciences. Nothing was
above his reach. He digested everything with a prodigious rapidity.
How cordially did he thank me for having procured him this food for
his mind, which was tormented by a thirst after knowledge, without his
being aware of it! What a treasure of light and virtue I found in
the vigorous mind of this young man! I felt he was the friend I
wanted. We soon became intimate. Our tastes were not the same, and
we constantly disputed. Both opinionated, we never could agree about
anything. Nevertheless we could not separate; and, notwithstanding our
reciprocal and incessant contradiction, we neither of us wished the
other to be different from what he was.
  Ignacio Emmanuel de Altuna was one of those rare beings whom only
Spain produces, and of whom she produces too few for her glory. He had
not the violent national passions common in his own country. The
idea of vengeance could no more enter his head, than the desire of
it could proceed from his heart. His mind was too great to be
vindictive, and I have frequently heard him say, with the greatest
coolness, that no mortal could offend him. He was gallant, without
being tender. He played with women as with so many pretty children. He
amused himself with the mistresses of his friends, but I never knew
him to have one of his own, nor the least desire for it. The
emanations from the virtue with which his heart was stored never
permitted the fire of the passions to excite sensual desires.
  After his travels he married, died young, and left children; and,
I am as convinced as of my existence, that his wife was the first
and only woman with whom he ever tasted of the pleasures of love.
  Externally he was devout, like a Spaniard, but in his heart he had
the piety of an angel. Except myself, he is the only man I ever saw
whose principles were not intolerant. He never in his life asked any
person his opinion in matters of religion. It was not of the least
consequence to him whether his friend was a Jew, a Protestant, a Turk,
a Bigot, or an Atheist, provided he was an honest man. Obstinate and
headstrong in matters of indifference, but the moment religion was
in question, even the moral part, he collected himself, was silent, or
simply said: "I am charged with the care of myself only." It is
astonishing so much elevation of mind should be compatible with a
spirit of detail carried to minuteness. He previously divided the
employment of the day by hours, quarters and minutes; and so
scrupulously adhered to this distribution, that had the clock struck
while he was reading a phrase, he would have shut his book without
finishing it. His portions of time thus laid out, were some of them
set apart to studies of one kind, and others to those of another: he
had some for reflection, conversation divine service, the reading of
Locke, for his rosary, for visits, music and painting; and neither
pleasure, temptation, nor complaisance, could interrupt this order:
a duty he might have had to discharge was the only thing that could
have done it. When he gave me a list of his distribution, that I might
conform myself thereto, I first laughed, and then shed tears of
admiration. He never constrained anybody nor suffered constraint: he
was rather rough with people, who from politeness attempted to put
it upon it. He was passionate without being sullen. I have often
seen him warm, but never saw him really angry with any person. Nothing
could be more cheerful than his temper: he knew how to pass and
receive a joke; raillery was one of his distinguished talents, and
with which he possessed that of pointed wit and repartee. When he
was animated, he was noisy and heard at a great distance; but whilst
he loudly inveighed, a smile was spread over his countenance, and in
the midst of his warmth he used some diverting expression which made
all his hearers break out into a loud laugh. He had no more of the
Spanish complexion than of the phlegm of that country. His skin was
white, his cheeks finely colored, and his hair of a light chestnut. He
was tall and well made: his body was well formed for the residence
of his mind.
  This wise-hearted, as well as wise-headed man, knew mankind, and was
my friend; this is my only answer to such as are not so. We were so
intimately united, that our intention was to pass our days together.
In a few years I was to go to Ascoytia to live with him at his estate;
every part of the project was arranged the eve of his departure;
nothing was left undetermined, except that which depends not upon
men in the best concerted plans, posterior events. My disasters, his
marriage, and finally, his death, separated us forever. Some men would
be tempted to say, that nothing succeeds except the dark
conspiracies of the wicked, and that the innocent intentions of the
good are seldom or never accomplished. I had felt the inconvenience of
dependence, and took a resolution never again to expose myself to
it; having seen the projects of ambition, which circumstances had
induced me to form, overturned in their birth. Discouraged in the
career I had so well begun, from which, however, I had just been
expelled, I resolved never more to attach myself to any person, but to
remain in an independent state, turning my talents to the best
advantage: of these I at length began to feel the extent, and that I
had hitherto had too modest an opinion of them. I again took up my
opera, which I had laid aside to go to Venice; and, that I might be
less interrupted after the departure of Altuna, I returned to my old
hotel St. Quentin; which, in a solitary part of the town, and not
far from the Luxembourg, was more proper for my purpose than noisy Rue
St. Honore.
  There the only consolation which Heaven suffered me to taste in my
misery, and the only one which rendered it supportable, awaited me.
This was not a transient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail
relative to the manner in which it was made.
  We had a new landlady from Orleans; to help her with the linen,
she had a young girl from her own country, of between twenty-two and
twenty-three years of age, and who, as well as the hostess, ate at our
table. This girl, named Theresa le Vasseur, was of a good family;
her father was an officer in the mint of Orleans, and her mother a
shopkeeper; they had many children. The function of the mint of
Orleans being suppressed, the father found himself without employment;
and the mother having suffered losses, was reduced to narrow
circumstances. She quitted her business and came to Paris with her
husband and daughter, who, by her industry, maintained all the three.
  The first time I saw this girl at table, I was struck with her
modesty; and still more so with her lively, yet charming look;
which, with respect to the impression it made upon me, was never
equaled. Beside M. de Bonnefond, the company was composed of several
Irish priests, Gascons, and others of much the same description. Our
hostess herself had not made the best possible use of her time, and
I was the only person at the table who spoke and behaved with decency.
Allurements were thrown out to the young girl. I took her part, and
the joke was then turned against me. Had I had no natural
inclination to the poor girl, compassion and contradiction would
have produced it in me: I was always a great friend to decency in
manners and conversation, especially in the fair sex. I openly
declared myself her champion, and perceived she was not insensible
of my attention; her looks, animated by the gratitude she dared not
express by words, were for this reason still more penetrating.
  She was very timid, and I was as much so as herself. The
connection which this disposition common to both seemed to remove to a
distance, was however rapidly formed. Our landlady perceiving its
progress, became furious, and her brutality forwarded my affair with
the young girl, who, having no person in the house except myself to
give her the least support, was sorry to see me go from home, and
sighed for the return of her protector. The affinity our hearts bore
to each other, and the similarity of our dispositions, had soon
their ordinary effect. She thought she saw in me an honest man, and in
this she was not deceived. I thought I perceived in her a woman of
great sensibility, simple in her manners, and devoid of all coquetry:-
I was no more deceived in her than she in me. I began by declaring
to her that I would never either abandon or marry her. Love, esteem,
artless sincerity were the ministers of my triumph, and it was because
her heart was tender and virtuous, that I was happy without being
presuming.
  The apprehensions she was under of my not finding in her that for
which I sought, retarded my happiness more than every other
circumstance. I perceived her disconcerted and confused before she
yielded her consent, wishing to be understood and not daring to
explain herself. Far from suspecting the real cause of her
embarrassment, I falsely imagined it to proceed from another motive, a
supposition highly insulting to her morals, and thinking she gave me
to understand my health might be exposed to danger, I fell into so
perplexed a state that, although it was no restraint upon me, it
poisoned my happiness during several days. As we did not understand
each other, our conversations upon this subject were so many enigmas
more than ridiculous. She was upon the point of believing I was
absolutely mad; and I on my part was as near not knowing what else
to think of her. At last we came to an explanation; she confessed to
me with tears the only fault of the kind of her whole life,
immediately after she became nubile; the fruit of her ignorance and
the address of her seducer. The moment I comprehended what she
meant, I gave a shout of joy. "Virginity!" exclaimed I; "sought for at
Paris, and at twenty years of age! Ah, my Theresa! I am happy in
possessing thee, virtuous and healthy as thou art, and in not
finding that for which I never sought."
  At first, amusement was my only object; I perceived I had gone
further, and had given myself a companion. A little intimate
connection with this excellent girl, and a few reflections upon my
situation, made me discover that, while thinking of nothing more
than my pleasures, I had done a great deal towards my happiness. In
the place of extinguished ambition, a lively sentiment, which had
entire possession of my heart, was necessary to me. In a word, I
wanted a successor to mamma: since I was never again to live with her,
it was necessary some person should live with her pupil, and a person,
too, in whom I might find that simplicity and docility of mind and
heart which she had found in me. It was, moreover, necessary that
the happiness of domestic life should indemnify me for the splendid
career I had just renounced. When I was quite alone there was a void
in my heart, which wanted nothing more than another heart to fill it
up. Fate had deprived me of this, or at least in part alienated me
from that for which by nature I was formed. From that moment I was
alone, for there never was for me the least thing intermediate between
everything and nothing. I found in Theresa the supplement of which I
stood in need; by means of her I lived as happily as I possibly
could do, according to the course of events.
  I first attempted to improve her mind. In this my pains were
useless. Her mind is as nature formed it; it was not susceptible of
cultivation. I do not blush in acknowledging she never knew how to
read well, although she writes tolerably. When I went to lodge in
the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, opposite to my windows at the Hotel
de Pontchartrain, there was a sun-dial, on which for a whole month I
used all my efforts to teach her to know the hours; yet, she
scarcely knows them at present. She never could enumerate the twelve
months of the year in order, and cannot distinguish one numeral from
another, notwithstanding all the trouble I took endeavoring to teach
them to her. She neither knows how to count money, nor to reckon the
price of anything. The word which when she speaks, presents itself
to her mind, is frequently opposite to that of which she means to make
use. I formerly made a dictionary of her phrases, to amuse M. de
Luxembourg, and her qui pro quos often became celebrated among those
with whom I was most intimate. But this person, so confined in her
intellects, and, if the world pleases, so stupid, can give excellent
advice in cases of difficulty. In Switzerland, in England, and in
France, she frequently saw what I had not myself perceived; she has
often given me the best advice I could possibly follow; she has
rescued me from dangers into which I had blindly precipitated
myself, and in the presence of princes and the great, her
sentiments, good sense, answers, and conduct have acquired her
universal esteem, and myself the most sincere congratulations on her
merit. With persons whom we love, sentiment fortifies the mind as well
as the heart; and they who are thus attached, have little need of
searching for ideas elsewhere.
  I lived with my Theresa as agreeably as with the finest genius in
the world. Her mother, proud of having been brought up under the
Marchioness of Monpipeau, attempted to be witty, wished to direct
the judgment of her daughter, and by her knavish cunning destroyed the
simplicity of our intercourse.
  The fatigue of this importunity made me in some degree surmount
the foolish shame which prevented me from appearing with Theresa in
public; and we took short country walks, tete-a-tete, and partook of
little collations, which, to me, were delicious. I perceived she loved
me sincerely, and this increased my tenderness. This charming intimacy
left me nothing to wish; futurity no longer gave me the least concern,
or at most appeared only as the present moment prolonged: I had no
other desire than that of insuring its duration.
  This attachment rendered all other dissipation superfluous and
insipid to me. I never went but for the purpose of going to the
apartment of Theresa, her place of residence almost became my own.
My retirement was so favorable to the work I had undertaken, that,
in less than three months, my opera was entirely finished, both
words and music, except a few accompaniments, and fillings up which
still remained to be added. This maneuvring business was very
fatiguing to me. I proposed it to Philidor, offering him at the same
time a part of the profits. He came twice, and did something to the
middle parts in the act of Ovid; but he could not confine himself to
an assiduous application by the allurement of advantages which were
distant and uncertain. He did not come a third time, and I finished
the work myself.
  My opera completed, the next thing was to make something of it: this
was by much the more difficult task of the two. A man living in
solitude in Paris will never succeed in anything. I was on the point
of making my way by means of M. de la Popliniere, to whom Gauffecourt,
at my return to Geneva, had introduced me. M. de la Popliniere was the
Mecaenas of Rameau. Madam de la Popliniere his very humble scholar.
Rameau was said to govern in that house. Judging that he would with
pleasure protect the work of one of his disciples, I wished to show
him what I had done. He refused to examine it; saying he could not
read score, it was too fatiguing to him. M. de la Popliniere, to
obviate this difficulty, said he might hear it; and offered me to send
for musicians to execute certain detached pieces. I wished for nothing
better. Rameau consented with an ill grace, incessantly repeating that
the composition of a man not regularly bred to the science, and who
had learned music without a master, must certainly be very fine! I
hastened to copy into parts five or six select passages. Ten
symphonies were procured, and Albert, Berard, and Mademoiselle
Bourdonnais undertook the vocal part. Rameau, the moment he heard
the overture, was purposely extravagant in his eulogium, by which he
intended it should be understood it could not be my composition. He
showed signs of impatience at every passage: but after a counter tenor
song, the air of which was noble and harmonious, with a brilliant
accompaniment, he could no longer contain himself; he apostrophized me
with a brutality at which everybody was shocked, maintaining that a
part of what he had heard was by a man experienced in the art, and the
rest by some ignorant person who did not so much as understand
music. It is true my composition, unequal and without rule, was
sometimes sublime, and at others insipid, as that of a person who
forms himself in an art by the soarings of his own genius, unsupported
by science, must necessarily be. Rameau pretended to see nothing in me
but a contemptible pilferer, without talents or taste. The rest of the
company, among whom I must distinguish the master of the house, were
of a different opinion. M. de Richelieu, who at that time frequently
visited M. and Madam de la Popliniere, heard them speak of my work,
and wished to hear the whole of it, with an intention, if it pleased
him, to have it performed at court. The opera was executed with full
choruses, and by a great orchestra, at the expense of the king, at
M. de Bonneval's, Intendant of the Menus; Francoeur directed the band.
The effect was surprising: the duke never ceased to exclaim and
applaud; and, at the end of one of the choruses, in the act of
Tasso, he arose and came to me, and pressing my hand, said: "M.
Rousseau, this is transporting harmony. I never heard anything
finer. I will get this performed at Versailles."
  Madam de la Popliniere, who was present, said not a word. Rameau,
although invited, refused to come. The next day, Madam de la
Popliniere received me at her toilette very ungraciously, affected
to undervalue my piece, and told me, that although a little false
glitter had at first dazzled M. de Richelieu, he had recovered from
his error, and she advised me not to place the least dependence upon
my opera. The duke arrived soon after, and spoke to me in quite a
different language. He said very flattering things my talents, and
seemed as much disposed as ever to have my composition performed
before the king. "There is nothing," said he, "but the act of Tasso
which cannot pass at court: you must write another." Upon this
single word I shut myself up in my apartment; and in three weeks
produced, in the place of Tasso, another act, the subject of which was
Hesiod inspired by the muses. In this I found the secret of
introducing a part of the history of my talents, and of the jealousy
with which Rameau had been pleased to honor me. There was in the new
act an elevation less gigantic and better supported than in the act of
Tasso. The music was as noble and the composition better; and had
the other two acts been equal to this, the whole piece would have
supported a representation to advantage. But whilst I was
endeavoring to give it the last finishing, another undertaking
suspended the completion of that I had in my hand. In the winter which
succeeded the battle of Fontenoi, there were many galas at Versailles,
and several operas performed at the theater of the little stables.
Among the number of the latter was the dramatic piece of Voltaire,
entitled La Princess de Navarre, the music by Rameau, the name of
which had just been changed to that of the Fetes de Ramire. This new
subject required several changes to be made in the divertissements, as
well in the poetry as in the music.
  A person capable of both was now sought after. Voltaire was in
Lorraine, and Rameau also; both of whom were employed on the opera
of The Temple of Glory, and could not give their attention to this. M.
de Richelieu thought of me, and sent to desire I would undertake the
alterations; and, that I might the better examine what there was to
do, he gave me separately the poem and the music. In the first
place, I would not touch the words without the consent of the
author, to whom I wrote upon the subject a very polite and
respectful letter, such a one as was proper; and received from him the
following answer:

                                      "December 15th, 1745.
  "SIR: In you two talents, which hitherto have always been
separate, are united. These are two good reasons for me to esteem
and to endeavor to love you. I am sorry, on your account, you should
employ these talents in a work which is so little worthy of them. A
few months ago the Duke de Richelieu commanded me to make,
absolutely in the twinkling of an eye, a little and bad sketch of a
few insipid and imperfect scenes to be adapted to divertissements
which are not of a nature to be joined with them. I obeyed with the
greatest exactness. I wrote very fast, and very ill. I sent this
wretched production to M. de Richelieu, imagining he would make no use
of it, or that I should have it again to make the necessary
corrections. Happily it is in your hands, and you are at full
liberty to do with it whatever you please: I have entirely lost
sight of the thing. I doubt not but you will have corrected all the
faults which cannot but abound in so hasty a composition of such a
very simple sketch, and am persuaded you will have supplied whatever
was wanting.
  "I remember that, among other stupid inattentions, no account is
given in the scenes which connect the divertissements of the manner in
which the Princess Grenadine immediately passes from a prison to a
garden or palace. As it is not a magician but a Spanish nobleman who
gives her the gala, I am of opinion nothing should be effected by
enchantment.
  "I beg, sir, you will examine this part, of which I have but a
confused idea.
  "You will likewise consider, whether or not it be necessary the
prison should be opened, and the princess conveyed from it to a fine
palace, gilt and varnished, and prepared for her. I know all this is
wretched, and that it is beneath a thinking being to make a serious
affair of such trifles; but, since we must displease as little as
possible, it is necessary we should conform to reason, even in a bad
divertissement of an opera.
  "I depend wholly upon you and M. Ballod, and soon expect to have the
honor of returning you my thanks, and assuring you how much I am,
etc."
                          *   *   *   *   *
  There is nothing surprising in the great politeness of this
letter, compared with the almost rude ones which he has since
written to me. He thought I was in great favor with Madam Richelieu;
and the courtly suppleness, which every one knows to be the
character of this author, obliged him to be extremely polite to a
new-comer, until he became better acquainted with the measure of the
favor and patronage he enjoyed.
  Authorized by M. de Voltaire, and not under the necessity of
giving myself the least concern about M. Rameau, who endeavored to
injure me, I set to work, and in two months my undertaking was
finished. With respect to the poetry, it was confined to a mere
trifle; I aimed at nothing more than to prevent the difference of
style from being perceived, and had the vanity to think I had
succeeded. The musical part was longer and more laborious. Besides
my having to compose several preparatory pieces, and, amongst
others, the overture, all the recitative, with which I was charged,
was extremely difficult on account of the necessity there was of
connecting, in a few verses, and by very rapid modulations, symphonies
and choruses, in keys very different from each other; for I was
determined neither to change nor transpose any of the airs, that
Rameau might not accuse me of having disfigured them. I succeeded in
the recitative; it was well accented, full of energy and excellent
modulation. The idea of two men of superior talents, with whom I was
associated, had elevated my genius, and I can assert, that in this
barren and inglorious task, of which the public could have no
knowledge, I was for the most part equal to my models.
  The piece, in the date to which I had brought it, was rehearsed in
the great theater of the opera. Of the three authors who had
contributed to the production, I was the only one present. Voltaire
was not in Paris, and Rameau either did not come, or concealed
himself. The words of the first monologue were very mournful; they
began with:

      O Mort! viens terminer les malheurs de ma vie.*

  * O Death! hasten to terminate the misfortunes of my life.

  To these, suitable music was necessary. It was, however, upon this
that Madam de la Popliniere founded her censure; accusing me, with
much bitterness, of having composed a funeral anthem. M. de
Richelieu very judiciously began by informing himself who was the
author of the poetry of this monologue; I presented him the manuscript
he had sent me, which proved it was by Voltaire. "In that case,"
said the duke, "Voltaire alone is to blame." During the rehearsal,
everything I had done was disapproved by Madam de la Popliniere, and
approved of by M. de Richelieu; but I had afterwards to do with too
powerful an adversary. It was signified to me that several parts of my
composition wanted revising, and that on this it was necessary I
should consult M. Rameau; my heart was wounded by such a conclusion,
instead of the eulogium I expected, and which certainly I merited, and
I returned to my apartment overwhelmed with grief, exhausted with
fatigue, and consumed by chagrin. I was immediately taken ill, and
confined to my chamber for upwards of six weeks.
  Rameau, who was charged with the alterations indicated by Madam de
la Popliniere, sent to ask me for the overture of my great opera, to
substitute it for that I had just composed. Happily I perceived the
trick he intended to play me, and refused him the overture. As the
performance was to be in five or six days, he had not time to make
one, and was obliged to leave that I had prepared. It was in the
Italian taste, and in a style at that time quite new in France. It
gave satisfaction, and I learned from M. de Valmalette, maitre d'hotel
to the king, and son-in-law to M. Mussard, my relation and friend,
that the connoisseurs were highly satisfied with my work, and that the
public had not distinguished it from that of Rameau. However, he and
Madam de la Popliniere took measures to prevent any person from
knowing I had any concern in the matter. In the books distributed to
the audience, and in which the authors are always named, Voltaire
was the only person mentioned, and Rameau preferred the suppression of
his own name to seeing it associated with mine.
  As soon as I was in a situation to leave my room, I wished to wait
upon M. de Richelieu, but it was too late; he had just set off from
Dunkirk, where he was to command the expedition destined to
Scotland. At his return, said I to myself, to authorize my idleness,
it will be too late for my purpose, not having seen him since that
time. I lost the honor of my work and the emoluments it should have
produced me, besides considering my time, trouble, grief, and
vexation, my illness, and the money this cost me, without ever
receiving the least benefit, or, rather, recompense. However, I always
thought M. de Richelieu was disposed to serve me, and that he had a
favorable opinion of my talents; but my misfortune, and Madam de la
Popliniere, prevented the effect of his good wishes.
  I could not divine the reason of the aversion this lady had to me. I
had always endeavored to make myself agreeable to her, and regularly
paid her my court. Gauffecourt explained to me the causes of her
dislike: "The first," said he, "is her friendship for Rameau, of
whom she is the declared panegyrist, and who will not suffer a
competitor; the next is an original sin, which ruins you in her
estimation, and which she will never forgive; you are a Genevese."
Upon this he told me the Abbe Hubert, who was from the same city,
and the sincere friend of M. de la Popliniere, had used all his
efforts to prevent him from marrying this lady, with whose character
and temper he was very well acquainted; and that after the marriage
she had vowed him an implacable hatred, as well as all the Genevese.
"Although La Popliniere has a friendship for you, do not," said he,
"depend upon his protection: he is still in love with his wife: she
hates you, and is vindictive and artful; you will never do anything in
that house." All this I took for granted.
  The same Gauffecourt rendered me much about this time a service of
which I stood in the greatest need. I had just lost my virtuous
father, who was about sixty years of age. I felt this loss less
severely than I should have done at any other time, when the
embarrassments of my situation had less engaged my attention. During
his life-time I had never claimed what remained of the property of
my mother, and of which he received the little interest. His death
removed all my scruples upon this subject. But the want of a legal
proof of the death of my brother created a difficulty which
Gauffecourt undertook to remove, and this he effected by means of
the good offices of the advocate De Lolme. As I stood in need of the
little resource, and the event being doubtful, I waited for a
definitive account with the greatest anxiety.
  One evening on entering my apartment I found a letter, which I
knew to contain the information I wanted, and I took it up with an
impatient trembling, of which I was inwardly ashamed. What? said I
to myself, with disdain, shall Jean-Jacques thus suffer himself to
be subdued by interest and curiosity? I immediately laid the letter
again upon the chimney-piece. I undressed myself, went to bed with
great composure, slept better than ordinary, and rose in the morning
at a late hour, without thinking more of my letter. As I dressed
myself, it caught my eye; I broke the seal very leisurely, and found
under the envelope a bill of exchange. I felt a variety of pleasing
sensations at the same time: but I can assert, upon my honor, that the
most lively of them all was that proceeding from having known how to
be master of myself.
  I could mention twenty such circumstances in my life, but I am too
much pressed for time to say everything. I sent a small part of this
money to my poor mamma; regretting, with my eyes suffused with
tears, the happy time when I should have laid it all at her feet.
All her letters contained evident marks of her distress. She sent me
piles of recipes, and numerous secrets, with which she pretended I
might make my fortune and her own. The idea of her wretchedness
already affected her heart and contracted her mind. The little I
sent her fell a prey to the knaves by whom she was surrounded; she
received not the least advantage from anything. The idea of dividing
what was necessary to my own subsistence with these wretches disgusted
me, especially after the vain attempt I had made to deliver her from
them, and of which I shall have occasion to speak. Time slipped
away, and with it the little money I had; we were two, or indeed, four
persons; or, to speak still more correctly, seven or eight. Although
Theresa was disinterested to a degree of which there are but few
examples, her mother was not so. She was no sooner a little relieved
from her necessities by my care, than she sent for her whole family to
partake of the fruits of them. Her sisters, sons, daughters, all,
except her eldest daughter, married to the director of the coaches
of Angers, came to Paris. Everything I did for Theresa her mother
diverted from its original destination in favor of these people who
were starving. I had not to do with an avaricious person; and, not
being under the influence of an unruly passion, I was not guilty of
follies. Satisfied with genteelly supporting Theresa without luxury,
and unexposed to pressing wants, I readily consented to let all the
earnings of her industry go to the profit of her mother; and to this
even I did not confine myself; but, by a fatality by which I was
pursued, whilst mamma was a prey to the rascals about her, Theresa was
the same to her family; and I could not do anything on either side for
the benefit of her to whom the succor I gave was destined. It was
odd enough the youngest child of M. de la Vasseur, the only one who
had not received a marriage portion from her parents, should provide
for their subsistence; and that, after having a long time been
beaten by her brothers, sisters, and even her nieces, the poor girl
should be plundered by them all, without being more able to defend
herself from their thefts than from their blows. One of her nieces,
named Goton le Duc, was of a mild and amiable character; although
spoiled by the lessons and examples of the others. As I frequently saw
them together, I gave them names, which they afterwards gave to each
other; I called the niece my niece, and the aunt my aunt; they both
called me uncle. Hence the name of aunt, by which I continued to
call Theresa, and which my friends sometimes jocosely repeated. It
will be judged that in such a situation I had not a moment to lose,
before I attempted to extricate myself. Imagining M. de Richelieu
had forgotten me, and, having no more hopes from the court, I made
some attempts to get my opera brought out at Paris; but I met with
difficulties which could not immediately be removed, and my
situation became daily more painful. I presented my little comedy of
Narcisse to the Italians; it was received, and I had the freedom of
the theater, which gave much pleasure. But this was all; I could never
get my piece performed, and, tired of paying my court to players, I
gave myself no more trouble about them. At length I had recourse to
the last expedient which remained to me, and the only one of which I
ought to have made use. While frequenting the house of M. de la
Popliniere, I had neglected the family of Dupin. The two ladies,
although related, were not upon good terms, and never saw each
other. There was not the least intercourse between the two families,
and Thieriot was the only person who visited both. He was desired to
endeavor to bring me again to M. Dupin's. M. de Francueil was then
studying natural history and chemistry, and collecting a cabinet. I
believe he aspired to become a member of the Academy of Sciences; to
this effect he intended to write a book, and judged I might be of
use to him in the undertaking. Madam de Dupin, who, on her part, had
another work in contemplation, had much the same views with respect to
me. They wished to have me in common as a kind of secretary, and
this was the reason of the invitations of Thieriot.
  I required that M. de Francueil should previously employ his
interest with that of Jelyote to get my work rehearsed at the
opera-house; to this he consented. The Muses Galantes were several
times rehearsed, first at the Magazin, and afterwards in the Grand
Theatre. The audience was very numerous at the great rehearsal, and
several parts of the composition were highly applauded. However,
during this rehearsal, very ill-conducted by Rebel, I felt the piece
would not be received; and that, before it could appear, great
alterations were necessary. I therefore withdrew it without saving a
word, or exposing myself to a refusal; but I plainly perceived, by
several indications, that the work, had it been perfect, could not
have succeeded. M. de Francueil had promised me to get it rehearsed,
but not that it should be received. He exactly kept his word. I
thought I perceived on this occasion, as well as many others, that
neither Madam Dupin nor himself were willing I should acquire a
certain reputation in the world, lest, after the publication of
their books, it should be supposed they had grafted their talents upon
mine. Yet as Madam Dupin always supposed those I had to be very
moderate, and never employed me except it was to write what she
dictated, or in researches of pure erudition, the reproach, with
respect to her, would have been unjust.
  This last failure of success completed my discouragement, I
abandoned every prospect of fame and advancement; and, without further
troubling my head about real or imaginary talents, with which I had so
little success, I dedicated my whole time and cares to procure
myself and Theresa a subsistence in the manner most pleasing to
those to whom it should be agreeable to provide for it. I therefore
entirely attached myself to Madam Dupin and M. de Francueil. This
did not place me in a very opulent situation; for with eight or nine
hundred livres, which I had the first two years, I had scarcely enough
to provide for my primary wants; being obliged to live in their
neighborhood, a dear part of the town, in a furnished lodging, and
having to pay for another lodging at the extremity of Paris, at the
very top of the Rue Saint-Jacques, to which, let the weather be as
it would, I went almost every evening to supper. I soon got into the
track of my new occupations, and conceived a taste for them. I
attached myself to the study of chemistry, and attended several
courses of it with M. de Francueil at M. Rouelle's, and we began to
scribble over paper upon that science, of which we scarcely
possessed the elements. In 1747, we went to pass the autumn in
Touraine, at the castle of Chenonceaux, a royal mansion upon the Cher,
built by Henry the II., for Diana of Poitiers, of whom the ciphers are
still seen, and which is now in the possession of M. Dupin, a
farmer-general. We amused ourselves very agreeably in this beautiful
place, and lived very well: I became as fat there as a monk. Music was
a favorite relaxation. I composed several trios full of harmony, and
of which I may perhaps speak in my supplement if ever I should write
one. Theatrical performances were another resource. I wrote a comedy
in fifteen days, entitled l'Engagement temeraire,* which will be found
amongst my papers; it has no other merit than that of being lively.
I composed several other little things: amongst others a poem
entitled, l'Allee de Sylvie,*(2) from the name of an alley in the park
upon the bank of the Cher; and this without discontinuing my
chemical studies, or interrupting what I had to do for Madam Dupin.

  * The Rash Engagement.
  *(2) The Alley of Sylvia.

  Whilst I was increasing my corpulency at Chenonceaux, that of my
poor Theresa was augmented at Paris in another manner, and at my
return I found the work I had put upon the frame in greater
forwardness than I had expected. This, on account of my situation,
would have thrown me into the greatest embarrassment, had not one of
my messmates furnished me with the only resource which could relieve
me from it. This is one of those essential narratives which I cannot
give with too much simplicity; because, in making an improper use of
their names, I should either excuse or inculpate myself, both of which
in this place are entirely out of the question.
  During the residence of Altuna at Paris, instead of going to eat
at a Troiteurs, he and I commonly ate in the neighborhood, almost
opposite the cul-de-sac of the opera, at the house of a Madam la
Selle, the wife of a tailor, who gave but very ordinary dinners, but
whose table was much frequented on account of the safe company which
generally resorted to it; no person was received without being
introduced by one of those who used the house. The commander, de
Graville, an old debauchee, with much wit and politeness, but
obscene in conversation, lodged at the house, and brought to it a
set of riotous and extravagant young men; officers in the guards and
mousquetaires. The Commander de Nonant, chevalier to all the girls
of the opera, was the daily oracle, who conveyed to us the news of
this motley crew. M. du Plessis, a lieutenant-colonel, retired from
the service, an old man of great goodness and wisdom; and M. Ancelet,*
an officer in the mousquetaires kept the young people in a certain
kind of order. This table was also frequented by commercial people,
financiers and contractors, but extremely polite, and such as were
distinguished amongst those of the same profession. M. de Besse, M. de
Forcade, and others whose names I have forgotten, in short,
well-dressed people of every description were seen there; except
abbe's and men of the long robe, not one of whom I ever met in the
house, and it was agreed not to introduce men of either of these
professions. This table, sufficiently resorted to, was very cheerful
without being noisy, and many of the guests were waggish, without
descending to vulgarity. The old commander with all his smutty
stories, with respect to the substance, never lost sight of the
politeness of the old court; nor did any indecent expression, which
even women would not have pardoned him, escape his lips. His manner
served as a rule to every person at table; all the young men related
their adventures of gallantry with equal grace and freedom, and
these narratives were the more complete, as the seraglio was at the
door; the entry which led to it was the same; for there was a
communication between this and the shop of La Duchapt, a celebrated
milliner, who at that time had several very pretty girls, with whom
our young people went to chat before or after dinner. I should thus
have amused myself as well as the rest, had I been less modest; I
had only to go in as they did, but this I never had courage enough
to do. With respect to Madam de Selle, I often went to eat at her
house after the departure of Altuna. I learned a great number of
amusing anecdotes and by degrees I adopted, thank God, not the morals,
but the maxims I found to be established there. Honest men injured,
husbands deceived, women seduced, secret accouchements, were the
most ordinary topics, and he who had best filled the foundling
hospital was always the most applauded. I caught the manners I daily
had before my eyes: I formed my manner of thinking upon that I
observed to be the reigning one amongst amiable, and upon the whole,
very honest people. I said to myself, since it is the custom of the
country, they who live here may adopt it; this is the expedient for
which I sought. I cheerfully determined upon it without the least
scruple, and the only one I had to overcome was that of Theresa, whom,
with the greatest imaginable difficulty, I persuaded to adopt this
only means of saving her honor. Her mother, who was moreover
apprehensive of a new embarrassment by an increase of family, came
to my aid, and she at length suffered herself to be prevailed upon. We
made choice of a midwife, a safe and prudent woman, Mademoiselle
Gouin, who lived at the Pointe Saint-Eustache, and when the time came,
Theresa was conducted to her house by her mother.

  * It was to this M. Ancelet I gave a little comedy, after my own
manner entitled "Les Prisonniers de Guerre," (The Prisoners of War),
which I wrote after the disasters of the French in Bavaria and
Bohemia: I dared not either avow this comedy or show it, and this
for the singular reason that neither the King of France nor the French
were ever better spoken of nor praised with more sincerity of heart
than in my piece; though written by a professed republican, I dared
not declare myself the panegyrist of a nation, whose maxims were
exactly the reverse of my own. More grieved at the misfortunes of
France than the French themselves, I was afraid the public would
construe into flattery and mean complaisance the marks of a sincere
attachment, of which in my first part I have mentioned the date and
the cause, and which I was ashamed to show.

  I went thither several times to see her, and gave her a cipher which
I had made double upon two cards; one of them was put into the linen
of the child, and by the midwife deposited with the infant in the
office of the foundling hospital according to the customary form.
The year following, a similar inconvenience was remedied by the same
expedient, excepting the cipher, which was forgotten: no more
reflection on my part, nor approbation on that of the mother; she
obeyed with trembling. All the vicissitudes which this fatal conduct
has produced in my manner of thinking, as well as in my destiny,
will be successively seen. For the present, we will confine
ourselves to this first period; its cruel and unforeseen
consequences will but too frequently oblige me to refer to it.
  I here mark that of my first acquaintance with Madam D'Epinay, whose
name will frequently appear in these memoirs. She was a Mademoiselle
D'Esclavelles, and had lately been married to M. D'Epinay, son to M.
de Lalive de Bellegarde, a farmer general. She understood music, and a
passion for the art produced between these three persons the
greatest intimacy. Madam Francueil introduced me to Madam D'Epinay,
and we sometimes supped together at her house. She was amiable, had
wit and talent, and was certainly a desirable acquaintance; but she
had a female friend, a Mademoiselle d'Ette, who was said to have
much malignancy in her disposition; she lived with the Chevalier de
Valory, whose temper was far from being one of the best. I am of
opinion, an acquaintance with these two persons was prejudicial to
Madam D'Epinay, to whom, with a disposition which required the
greatest attention from those about her, nature had given very
excellent qualities to regulate or counterbalance her extravagant
pretensions. M. de Francueil inspired her with a part of the
friendship he had conceived for me, and told me of the connection
between them, of which, for that reason, I would not now speak, were
it not become so public as not to be concealed from M. D'Epinay
himself.
  M. de Francueil confided to me secrets of a very singular nature
relative to this lady, of which she herself never spoke to me, nor
so much as suspected my having a knowledge; for I never opened my lips
to her upon the subject, nor will I ever do it to any person. The
confidence all parties had in my prudence rendered my situation very
embarrassing, especially with Madam de Francueil, whose knowledge of
me was sufficient to remove from her all suspicion on my account,
although I was connected with her rival. I did everything I could to
console this poor woman, whose husband certainly did not return the
affection she had for him. I listened to these three persons
separately; I kept all their secrets so faithfully that not one of the
three ever drew from me those of the two others, and this, without
concealing from either of the women my attachment to each of them.
Madam de Francueil, who frequently wished to make me an agent,
received refusals in form, and Madam D'Epinay, once desiring me to
charge myself with a letter to M. de Francueil received the same
mortification, accompanied by a very express declaration, that if ever
she wished to drive me forever from the house, she had only a second
time to make me a like proposition.
  In justice to Madam D'Epinay, I must say, that far from being
offended with me she spoke of my conduct to M. de Francueil in terms
of the highest approbation, and continued to receive me as well, and
as politely as ever. It was thus, amidst the heart-burnings of three
persons to whom I was obliged to behave with the greatest
circumspection, on whom I in some measure depended, and for whom I had
conceived an attachment, that by conducting myself with mildness and
complaisance, although accompanied with the greatest firmness, I
preserved unto the last not only their friendship, but their esteem
and confidence. Notwithstanding my absurdities and awkwardness,
Madam D'Epinay would have me make one of the party to the Chevrette, a
country-house, near Saint Denis, belonging to M. de Bellegarde.
There was a theater, in which performances were not unfrequent. I
had a part given me, which I studied for six months without
intermission, and in which, on the evening of the representation, I
was obliged to be prompted from the beginning to the end. After this
experiment no second proposal of the kind was ever made to me.
  My acquaintance with M. D'Epinay procured me that of her
sister-in-law, Mademoiselle de Bellegarde, who soon afterwards
became Countess of Houdetot. The first time I saw her she was upon the
point of marriage; when she conversed with me a long time, with that
charming familiarity which was natural to her. I thought her very
amiable, but I was far from perceiving that this young person would
lead me, although innocently, into the abyss in which I still remain.
  Although I have not spoken of Diderot since my return from Venice,
no more than of my friend M. Roguin, I did not neglect either of them,
especially the former, with whom I daily became more intimate. He
had a Nanette, as well as I a Theresa; this was between us another
conformity of circumstances. But my Theresa, as fine a woman as his
Nanette, was of a mild and amiable character, which might gain and fix
the affections of a worthy man; whereas Nanette was a vixen, a
troublesome prater, and had no qualities in the eyes of others which
in any measure compensated for her want of education. However he
married her, which was well done of him, if he had given a promise
to that effect. I, for my part, not having entered into any such
engagement, was not in the least haste to imitate him.
  I was also connected with the Abbe de Condillac, who had acquired no
more literary fame than myself, but in whom there was every appearance
of his becoming what he now is. I was perhaps the first who discovered
the extent of his abilities, and esteemed them as they deserved. He on
his part seemed satisfied with me, and, whilst shut up in my chamber
in the Rue Jean St. Denis, near the opera-house, I composed my act
of Hesiod, he sometimes came to dine with me tete-a-tete. We sent
for our dinner, and paid share and share alike. He was at that time
employed on his Essay on the Origin of Human Knowledge, which was
his first work. When this was finished, the difficulty was to find a
bookseller who would take it. The booksellers of Paris are shy of
every author at his beginning, and metaphysics, not much then in
vogue, were no very inviting subject. I spoke to Diderot of
Condillac and his work, and I afterwards brought them acquainted
with each other. They were worthy of each other's esteem, and were
presently on the most friendly terms. Diderot persuaded. the
bookseller, Durant, to take the manuscript from the abbe, and this
great metaphysician received for his first work, and almost as a
favor, a hundred crowns, which perhaps he would not have obtained
without my assistance. As we lived in a quarter of the town very
distant from each other, we all assembled once a week at the
Palais-Royal, and went to dine at the Hotel du Panier Fleuri. These
little weekly dinners must have been extremely pleasing to Diderot;
for he who failed in almost all his appointments never missed one of
these. At our little meeting I formed the plan of a periodical
paper, entitled le Persifleur,* which Diderot and I were alternately
to write. I sketched out the first sheet, and this brought me
acquainted with D'Alembert, to whom Diderot had mentioned it.
Unforeseen events frustrated our intention, and the project was
carried no further.

  * The Jeerer.

  These two authors had just undertaken the Dictionnaire
Encyclopedique, which at first was intended to be nothing more than
a kind of translation of Chambers', something like that of the Medical
Dictionary of James, which Diderot had just finished. Diderot was
desirous I should do something in this second undertaking, and
proposed to me the musical part, which I accepted. This I executed
in great haste, and consequently very ill, in the three months he
had given me, as well as all the authors who were engaged in the work.
But I was the only person in readiness at the time prescribed. I
gave him my manuscript, which I had copied by a lackey, belonging to
M. de Francueil of the name of Dupont, who wrote very well. I paid him
ten crowns out of my own pocket, and these have never been
reimbursed me. Diderot had promised me a retribution on the part of
the booksellers, of which he has never since spoken to me nor I to
him.
  This undertaking of the Encyclopedie was interrupted by his
imprisonment. The Penses Philosophiquies,* drew upon him some
temporary inconvenience which had no disagreeable consequences. He did
not come off so easily on account of the Lettre sur les
Aveugles,*(2) in which there was nothing reprehensible, but some
personal attacks with which Madam du Pre St. Maur, and M. de Reaumur
were displeased: for this he was confined in the dungeon of Vincennes.
Nothing can describe the anguish I felt on account of the misfortune
of my friend. My wretched imagination, which always sees everything in
the worst light, was terrified. I imagined him to be confined for
the remainder of his life: I was almost distracted with the thought. I
wrote to Madam de Pompadour, beseeching her to release him or obtain
an order to shut me up in the same dungeon. I received no answer to my
letter: this was too reasonable to be efficacious, and I do not
flatter myself that it contributed to the alleviation which, some time
afterwards, was granted to the severities of the confinement of poor
Diderot. Had this continued for any length of time with the same
rigor, I verily believe I should have died in despair at the foot of
the hated dungeon. However, if my letter produced but little effect, I
did not on account of it attribute to myself much merit, for I
mentioned it but to very few people, and never to Diderot himself.

  * Philosophical Thoughts.
  *(2) Letter concerning blind persons.