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 Forlinian 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

theatres rendered this amusement incipid. 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 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 theatre 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

woke 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. In 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 practised 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 the confession with the same

ingenuousness with which I have made my former ones.

I always had a disinclination to girls of pleasure, 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, and assured me I

should be pleased with her. I laughed at this obliging offer: and Count

Piati, 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 least mistrust; and besides, as the expression of the

country is, 'per non parer troppo cogliono'--[Not to appear too great

a blockhead.]--The 'Padoana' whom we went to visit was pretty, she was

even handsome, but her beauty was not of that kind that 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, 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.

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 merchant-ships 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 pray 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 patchbox 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 chamber of a woman of easy virtue, as 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. Zuliette, 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, a studia la matematica."--[Leave women and

study 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 not console 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 narratives. 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 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 in 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 a 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 intentions 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 Domo

D'Oscela, and crossing Saint Plomb. 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 Nion 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 Nion 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. Roquin, 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 Boroma

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 modelling this work, should I be able to do

it, or at least to giving 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 at 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 for

their conversation that I have never since been acquainted with, nor

seen anyone 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 rapidly to have 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.

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 Emanuel 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

him. 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 was 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. Honor.

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 trancient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail relative

to the manner in which it was made.

We had a new landlady from Orleans; she took for a needlewoman a 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 equalled. 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. "A Hymen!" 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 life of 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 at 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 Ponchartrain,

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 opportunity 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. As I only went out 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 maneuvering 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 Bourbonnais 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 apostrophised 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 Poliniere, 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 of 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 Princesse

de Navarre', the music by Rameau, the name of which has just been

changed to that of '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:

"SIR: In you two talents, which hitherto have always been separated, 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. Ballot, 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 crude ones which he has since written to me.

He thought I was in great favor with Madam Richelieu; and the courtly

suppleness, which everyone knows to be the character of this author,

obliged him to be extremely polite to a new comer, until he become

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 state to which I had brought it, was rehearsed in the

great theatre 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 to 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 for 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 mywork 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 cares, 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 Augers, 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 Gorton 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 theatre,

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 on 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 in 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 Magazine, and afterwards in the great 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 saying 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 1717, we went to pass the autumn in

Tourraine, 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',--[The Rash Engagement]--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'Aliee de Sylvie', 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.

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

'Traiteurs', 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.

[It was to this M. Ancelet I gave a little comedy, after my own

manner entitled 'les Prisouniers de Guerre', 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.]

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 abbes 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 Le 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, 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

Point Saint Eustache, and when the time came, Theresa was conducted to

her house by her mother.

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 of 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 theatre, 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

Nannette, as well as I a Theresa; this was between us another conformity

of circumstances. But my Theresa, as fine a woman as his Nannette, was

of a mild and amiable character, which might gain and fix the affections

of a worthy man; whereas Nannette 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 Saint 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, Durand, 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'--[The Jeerer]--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.

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 'Pensees Philosophiques' 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', in which

there was nothing reprehensible, but some personal attacks with which

Madam du Pre St. Maur, and M. de Raumur were displeased: for this he was

confined in the dungeon of Vincennes. Nothing can describe the anguish

I felt on account of the misfortunes 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.