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
Grenadian prince 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 along 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 operahouse; 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 eat 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,
[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.]
an officer in the mousquetaires kept the young people in a certain kind
of order. This table was also frequented by commercial people,
financiers and contractors, but extremely polite, and such as were
distinguished amongst those of the same profession. M. de Besse, M. de
Forcade, and others whose names I have forgotten, in short, well-dressed
people of every description were seen there; except 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.