BOOK VII.

|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.

My peaceful youth has been seen to pass away calmly and agreeably

without any great disappointments or remarkable prosperity. This

mediocrity was mostly owing to my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt

in undertaking than easy to discourage; quitting repose for 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, never permitted me to arrive at

anything great, either good or bad. What a different account will I

soon have to give of myself! Fate, which for thirty years forced my

inclinations, for thirty others has seemed to oppose them; and this

continued opposition, between my situation and inclinations, will appear

to have been the source of enormous faults, unheard of misfortunes,

and every virtue except that fortitude which alone can do honor to

adversity.

The history of the first part of my life was written 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 agreeable remembrance of the finest portion of my years, passed

with so much tranquillity and innocence, has left in my heart a

thousand charming impressions which I love incessantly to call to my

recollection. It will soon appear how different from these those of the

rest of my life have been. To recall them to my mind would be to renew

their bitterness. 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.

The 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 Trie: 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 flattered 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 every thing 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 for Paris, leaving my heart at Charmettes, and, there

building my last castle in the air, intending some day to return to the

feet of mamma, 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 Malby seemed pleased to see me again, and several times invited me to

dinner. At their house I became acquainted with the Abbe de Malby, as

I had already done with the Abbe de Condillac, both of whom were on

a visit to their brother. The Abbe de Malby gave me letters to Paris;

among others, one to M. de Pontenelle, 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

owned 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 the elegant 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.

[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 of 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.]

Those who had once seen the gentle Godefroi, immediately knew the good

and amiable Parisot.

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 began

to relax, the shame and embarrassment of repairing my fault made 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 Malby'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 view 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 Malby,

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 pleasure without leading to anything

solid. Of all the 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 of the Academy of Inscriptions, and keeper of the medals of

the king's cabinet; and Father Castel, a Jesuit, author of the 'Clavecin

oculaire'.--[ocular harpsichord.]

All these recommendations, except that to M. Damesin, were given me by

the Abbe de Malby.

M. Damesin provided me with that which was most needful, by means of two

persons with whom he brought me acquainted. One was M. Gase, '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 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 commonsense. 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.

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 a 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 airy castle again overthrown; 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 lay 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 theatre 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 Malby, 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, the evenings on which I did not go to

the theatre. 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. No

thing 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 Broglio 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

epistle 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

confessions of the Count de -----. "This book," said she, "is a Mentor,

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 Darby, 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 M. 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 dishevelled, 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.

[Illustration: 0268]

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 Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint

Pierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, 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: 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 at 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 liked 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.

During my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, and

to lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding

the fire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in

an inactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. 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 infenzione', 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!

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 Abbes Malby, 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.

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 'oestrum', 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 of foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice than they

quarrelled. 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 willingly have taken the road to 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, 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 chambre 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 Lazeretto,

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 steps 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. Joinville, 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 a

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, Brescie,

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 Frenchman 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 concern 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 thing. 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 believe wished to render himself agreeable to the republic, failed

not on his part, notwithstanding my representation 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 theatre 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 theatre of Saint Luke, to which Coralline, a child as she still was,

drew great numbers of people. The Duke de Greves, 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', examine and pay attention to this.

I went to M. Blond to beg he would speak to the patrician, to whom the

theatre 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.

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 caused myself to

be announced by the name of 'Una Siora Maschera'. 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 theatre 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 Montaigne 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 hairdresser, 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 debtor accepting the most trifling composition. I begged M. le Blond

to speak to Zanetto. The Venetian 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 it me 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 theatre, 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 manoeuvre 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, in 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 despatch 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 outlaw 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, sir," 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 consequences, 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 offences; 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 gentleman 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 equalled 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 an modest man.

As his excellency did not sup, the gentleman and myself had a private

table, at which the Abbe Binis and the pages also ate. In the most

paltry ale-house 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 spend a good

deal to keep up a footing with those in the same situation with myself,

and to make are 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 St. 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 rights,

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, had succeeded, had he began

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 asked 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.