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 Prancueil 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
laquais, 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 Philosophiquiest' 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',
--[Letter concerning blind persons.]--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.