no doubt of my having been placed there purposely to be exposed to view.
As soon as the theatre was lighted up, finding I was in the midst of
people all extremely well dressed, I began to be less at my ease, and
asked myself if I was in my place? whether or not I was properly
dressed? After a few minutes of inquietude: "Yes," replied I, with an
intrepidity which perhaps proceeded more from the impossibility of
retracting than the force of all my reasoning, "I am in my place, because
I am going to see my own piece performed, to which I have been invited,
for which reason only I am come here; and after all, no person has a
greater right than I have to reap the fruit of my labor and talents; I am
dressed as usual, neither better nor worse; and if I once begin to
subject myself to public opinion, I shall shortly become a slave to it in
everything. To be always consistent with myself, I ought not to blush,
in any place whatever, at being dressed in a manner suitable to the state
I have chosen. My exterior appearance is simple, but neither dirty nor
slovenly; nor is a beard either of these in itself, because it is given
us by nature, and according to time, place and custom, is sometimes an
ornament. People think I am ridiculous, nay, even absurd; but what
signifies this to me? I ought to know how to bear censure and ridicule,
provided I do not deserve them." After this little soliloquy I became so
firm that, had it been necessary, I could have been intrepid. But
whether it was the effect of the presence of his majesty, or the natural
disposition of those about me, I perceived nothing but what was civil and
obliging in the curiosity of which I was the object. This so much
affected me that I began to be uneasy for myself, and the fate of my
piece; fearing I should efface the favorable prejudices which seemed to
lead to nothing but applause. I was armed against raillery; but, so far
overcome, by the flattering and obliging treatment I had not expected,
that I trembled like a child when the performance was begun.
I had soon sufficient reason to be encouraged. The piece was very ill
played with respect to the actors, but the musical part was well sung and
executed. During the first scene, which was really of a delightful
simplicity, I heard in the boxes a murmur of surprise and applause,
which, relative to pieces of the same kind, had never yet happened. The
fermentation was soon increased to such a degree as to be perceptible
through the whole audience, and of which, to speak--after the manner of
Montesquieu--the effect was augmented by itself. In the scene between
the two good little folks, this effect was complete. There is no
clapping of hands before the king; therefore everything was heard, which
was advantageous to the author and the piece. I heard about me a
whispering of women, who appeared as beautiful as angels. They said to
each other in a low voice: "This is charming: That is ravishing: There is
not a sound which does not go to the heart." The pleasure of giving this
emotion to so many amiable persons moved me to tears; and these I could
not contain in the first duo, when I remarked that I was not the only
person who wept. I collected myself for a moment, on recollecting the
concert of M. de Treitorens. This reminiscence had the effect of the
slave who held the crown over the head of the general who triumphed, but
my reflection was short, and I soon abandoned myself without interruption
to the pleasure of enjoying my success. However, I am certain the
voluptuousness of the sex was more predominant than the vanity of the
author, and had none but men been present, I certainly should not have
had the incessant desire I felt of catching on my lips the delicious
tears I had caused to flow. I have known pieces excite more lively
admiration, but I never saw so complete, delightful, and affecting an
intoxication of the senses reign, during a whole representation,
especially at court, and at a first performance. They who saw this must
recollect it, for it has never yet been equalled.
The same evening the Duke d' Aumont sent to desire me to be at the palace
the next day at eleven o'clock, when he would present me to the king.
M. de Cury, who delivered me the message, added that he thought a pension
was intended, and that his majesty wished to announce it to me himself.
Will it be believed that the night of so brilliant a day was for me
a night of anguish and perplexity? My first idea, after that of being
presented, was that of my frequently wanting to retire; this had made me
suffer very considerably at the theatre, and might torment me the next
day when I should be in the gallery, or in the king's apartment, amongst
all the great, waiting for the passing of his majesty. My infirmity was
the principal cause which prevented me from mixing in polite companies,
and enjoying the conversation of the fair. The idea alone of the
situation in which this want might place me, was sufficient to produce it
to such a degree as to make me faint away, or to recur to means to which,
in my opinion, death was much preferable. None but persons who are
acquainted with this situation can judge of the horror which being
exposed to the risk of it inspires.
I then supposed myself before the king, presented to his majesty, who
deigned to stop and speak to me. In this situation, justness of
expression and presence of mind were peculiarly necessary in answering.
Would my timidity which disconcerts me in presence of any stranger
whatever, have been shaken off in presence of the King of France; or
would it have suffered me instantly to make choice of proper expressions?
I wished, without laying aside the austere manner I had adopted, to show
myself sensible of the honor done me by so great a monarch, and in a
handsome and merited eulogium to convey some great and useful truth.
I could not prepare a suitable answer without exactly knowing what his
majesty was to say to me; and had this been the case, I was certain that,
in his presence, I should not recollect a word of what I had previously
meditated. "What," said I, "will become of me in this moment, and before
the whole court, if, in my confusion, any of my stupid expressions should
escape me?" This danger alarmed and terrified me. I trembled to such a
degree that at all events I was determined not to expose myself to it.
I lost, it is true, the pension which in some measure was offered me; but
I at the same time exempted myself from the yoke it would have imposed.
Adieu, truth, liberty, and courage! How should I afterwards have dared
to speak of disinterestedness and independence? Had I received the
pension I must either have become a flatterer or remained silent; and,
moreover, who would have insured to me the payment of it! What steps
should I have been under the necessity of taking! How many people must I
have solicited! I should have had more trouble and anxious cares in
preserving than in doing without it. Therefore, I thought I acted
according to my principles by refusing, and sacrificing appearances to
reality. I communicated my resolution to Grimm, who said nothing against
it. To others I alleged my ill state of health, and left the court in
the morning.
My departure made some noise, and was generally condemned. My reasons
could not be known to everybody, it was therefore easy to accuse me of
foolish pride, and thus not irritate the jealousy of such as felt they
would not have acted as I had done. The next day Jelyotte wrote me a
note, in which he stated the success of my piece, and the pleasure it had
afforded the king. "All day long," said he, "his majesty sings, with the
worst voice in his kingdom: 'J'ai perdu mon serviteur: J'ai perdu tout
mon bonheur.'" He likewise added, that in a fortnight the Devin was to
be performed a second time; which confirmed in the eyes of the public the
complete success of the first.
Two days afterwards, about nine o'clock in the evening, as I was going to
sup with Madam D'Epinay, I perceived a hackney-coach pass by the door.
Somebody within made a sign to me to approach. I did so, and got into
it, and found the person to be Diderot. He spoke of the pension with
more warmth than, upon such a subject, I should have expected from a
philosopher. He did not blame me for having been unwilling to be
presented to the king, but severely reproached me with my indifference
about the pension. He observed that although on my own account I might
be disinterested, I ought not to be so on that of Madam Vasseur and her
daughter; that it was my duty to seize every means of providing for their
subsistence; and that as, after all, it could not be said I had refused
the pension, he maintained I ought, since the king seemed disposed to
grant it to me, to solicit and obtain it by one means or another.
Although I was obliged to him for his good wishes, I could not relish his
maxims, which produced a warm dispute, the first I ever had with him.
All our disputes were of this kind, he prescribing to me what he
pretended I ought to do, and I defending myself because I was of a
different opinion.
It was late when we parted. I would have taken him to supper at Madam d'
Epinay's, but he refused to go; and, notwithstanding all the efforts
which at different times the desire of uniting those I love induced me to
make, to prevail upon him to see her, even that of conducting her to his
door which he kept shut against us, he constantly refused to do it, and
never spoke of her but with the utmost contempt. It was not until after
I had quarrelled with both that they became acquainted and that he began
to speak honorably of her.
From this time Diderot and Grimm seemed to have undertaken to alienate
from me the governesses, by giving them to understand that if they were
not in easy circumstances the fault was my own, and that they never would
be so with me. They endeavored to prevail on them to leave me, promising
them the privilege for retailing salt, a snuff shop, and I know not what
other advantages by means of the influence of Madam d' Epinay. They
likewise wished to gain over Duclos and d'Holback, but the former
constantly refused their proposals. I had at the time some intimation of
what was going forward, but I was not fully acquainted with the whole
until long afterwards; and I frequently had reason to lament the effects
of the blind and indiscreet zeal of my friends, who, in my ill state of
health, striving to reduce me to the most melancholy solitude,
endeavored, as they imagined, to render me happy by the means which, of
all others, were the most proper to make me miserable.
In the carnival following the conclusion of the year 1753, the Devin was
performed at Paris, and in this interval I had sufficient time to compose
the overture and divertissement. This divertissement, such as it stands
engraved, was to be in action from the beginning to the end, and in a
continued subject, which in my opinion, afforded very agreeable
representations. But when I proposed this idea at the opera-house,
nobody would so much as hearken to me, and I was obliged to tack together
music and dances in the usual manner: on this account the divertissement,
although full of charming ideas which do not diminish the beauty of
scenes, succeeded but very middlingly. I suppressed the recitative of
Jelyotte, and substituted my own, such as I had first composed it, and as
it is now engraved; and this recitative a little after the French manner,
I confess, drawled out, instead of pronounced by the actors, far from
shocking the ears of any person, equally succeeded with the airs, and
seemed in the judgment of the public to possess as much musical merit.
I dedicated my piece to Duclos, who had given it his protection, and
declared it should be my only dedication. I have, however, with his
consent, written a second; but he must have thought himself more honored
by the exception, than if I had not written a dedication to any person.
I could relate many anecdotes concerning this piece, but things of
greater importance prevent me from entering into a detail of them at
present. I shall perhaps resume the subject in a supplement. There is
however one which I cannot omit, as it relates to the greater part of
what is to follow. I one day examined the music of D'Holbach, in his
closet. After having looked over many different kinds, he said, showing
me a collection of pieces for the harpsichord: "These were composed for
me; they are full of taste and harmony, and unknown to everybody but
myself. You ought to make a selection from them for your
divertissement." Having in my head more subjects of airs and symphonies
than I could make use of, I was not the least anxious to have any of his.
However, he pressed me so much, that, from a motive of complaisance, I
chose a Pastoral, which I abridged and converted into a trio, for the
entry of the companions of Colette. Some months afterwards, and whilst
the Devin still continued to be performed, going into Grimms I found
several people about his harpsichord, whence he hastily rose on my
arrival. As I accidently looked toward his music stand, I there saw the
same collection of the Baron d'Holback, opened precisely at the piece he
had prevailed upon me to take, assuring me at the same time that it
should never go out of his hands. Some time afterwards, I again saw the
collection open on the harpischord of M. d'Papinay, one day when he gave
a little concert. Neither Grimm, nor anybody else, ever spoke to me of
the air, and my reason for mentioning it here is that some time
afterwards, a rumor was spread that I was not the author of Devin.
As I never made a great progress in the practical part, I am persuaded
that had it not been for my dictionary of music, it would in the end have
been said I did not understand composition.
Sometime before the 'Devin du Village' was performed, a company of
Italian Bouffons had arrived at Paris, and were ordered to perform at the
opera-house, without the effect they would produce there being foreseen.
Although they were detestable, and the orchestra, at that time very
ignorant, mutilated at will the pieces they gave, they did the French
opera an injury that will never be repaired. The comparison of these two
kinds of music, heard the same evening in the same theatre, opened the
ears of the French; nobody could endure their languid music after the
marked and lively accents of Italian composition; and the moment the
Bouffons had done, everybody went away. The managers were obliged to
change the order of representation, and let the performance of the
Bouffons be the last. 'Egle Pigmalion' and 'le Sylphe' were successively
given: nothing could bear the comparison. The 'Devin du Village' was the
only piece that did it, and this was still relished after 'la Serva
Padroma'. When I composed my interlude, my head was filled with these
pieces, and they gave me the first idea of it: I was, however, far from
imagining they would one day be passed in review by the side of my
composition. Had I been a plagiarist, how many pilferings would have
been manifest, and what care would have been taken to point them out to
the public! But I had done nothing of the kind. All attempts to
discover any such thing were fruitless: nothing was found in my music
which led to the recollection of that of any other person; and my whole
composition compared with the pretended original, was found to be as new
as the musical characters I had invented. Had Mondonville or Rameau
undergone the same ordeal, they would have lost much of their substance.
The Bouffons acquired for Italian music very warm partisans. All Paris
was divided into two parties, the violence of which was greater than if
an affair of state or religion had been in question. One of them, the
most powerful and numerous, composed of the great, of men of fortune, and
the ladies, supported French music; the other, more lively and haughty,
and fuller of enthusiasm, was composed of real connoisseurs, and men of
talents, and genius. This little group assembled at the opera-house,
under the box belonging to the queen. The other party filled up the rest
of the pit and the theatre; but the heads were mostly assembled under the
box of his majesty. Hence the party names of Coin du Roi, Coin de la
Reine,--[King's corner,--Queen's corner.]--then in great celebrity.
The dispute, as it became more animated, produced several pamphlets.
The king's corner aimed at pleasantry; it was laughed at by the 'Petit
Prophete'. It attempted to reason; the 'Lettre sur la Musique Francoise'
refuted its reasoning. These two little productions, the former of which
was by Grimm, the latter by myself, are the only ones which have outlived
the quarrel; all the rest are long since forgotten.
But the Petit Prophete, which, notwithstanding all I could say, was for a
long time attributed to me, was considered as a pleasantry, and did not
produce the least inconvenience to the author: whereas the letter on
music was taken seriously, and incensed against me the whole nation,
which thought itself offended by this attack on its music. The
description of the incredible effect of this pamphlet would be worthy of
the pen of Tacitus. The great quarrel between the parliament and the
clergy was then at its height. The parliament had just been exiled; the
fermentation was general; everything announced an approaching
insurrection. The pamphlet appeared: from that moment every other
quarrel was forgotten; the perilous state of French music was the only
thing by which the attention of the public was engaged, and the only
insurrection was against myself. This was so general that it has never
since been totally calmed. At court, the bastile or banishment was
absolutely determined on, and a 'lettre de cachet' would have been issued
had not M. de Voyer set forth in the most forcible manner that such a
step would be ridiculous. Were I to say this pamphlet probably prevented
a revolution, the reader would imagine I was in a dream. It is, however,
a fact, the truth of which all Paris can attest, it being no more than
fifteen years since the date of this singular fact. Although no attempts
were made on my liberty, I suffered numerous insults; and even my life
was in danger. The musicians of the opera orchestra humanely resolved to
murder me as I went out of the theatre. Of this I received information;
but the only effect it produced on me was to make me more assiduously
attend the opera; and I did not learn, until a considerable time
afterwards, that M. Ancelot, officer in the mousquetaires, and who had a
friendship for me, had prevented the effect of this conspiracy by giving
me an escort, which, unknown to myself, accompanied me until I was out of
danger. The direction of the opera-house had just been given to the
hotel de ville. The first exploit performed by the Prevot des Marchands,
was to take from me my freedom of the theatre, and this in the most
uncivil manner possible. Admission was publicly refused me on my
presenting myself, so that I was obliged to take a ticket that I might
not that evening have the mortification to return as I had come. This
injustice was the more shameful, as the only price I had set on my piece
when I gave it to the managers was a perpetual freedom of the house; for
although this was a right, common to every author, and which I enjoyed
under a double title, I expressly stipulated for it in presence of M.
Duclos. It is true, the treasurer brought me fifty louis, for which I
had not asked; but, besides the smallness of the sum, compared with that
which, according to the rule, established in such cases, was due to me,
this payment had nothing in common with the right of entry formerly
granted, and which was entirely independent of it. There was in this
behavior such a complication of iniquity and brutality, that the public,
notwithstanding its animosity against me, which was then at its highest,
was universally shocked at it, and many persons who insulted me the
preceding evening, the next day exclaimed in the open theatre, that it
was shameful thus to deprive an author of his right of entry; and
particularly one who had so well deserved it, and was entitled to claim
it for himself and another person. So true is the Italian proverb:
Ogn' un ama la giustizia in cosa d altrui.--[Every one loves justice in
the affairs of another.]
In this situation the only thing I had to do was to demand my work,
since the price I had agreed to receive for it was refused me. For this
purpose I wrote to M. d'Argenson, who had the department of the opera.
I likewise enclosed to him a memoir which was unanswerable; but this, as
well as my letter, was ineffectual, and I received no answer to either.
The silence of that unjust man hurt me extremely, and did not contribute
to increase the very moderate good opinion I always had of his character
and abilities. It was in this manner the managers kept my piece while
they deprived me of that for which I had given it them. From the weak to
the strong, such an act would be a theft: from the strong to the weak,
it is nothing more than an appropriation of property, without a right.
With respect to the pecuniary advantages of the work, although it did not
produce me a fourth part of the sum it would have done to any other.
person, they were considerable enough to enable me to subsist several
years, and to make amends for the ill success of copying, which went on
but very slowly. I received a hundred louis from the king; fifty from
Madam de Pompadour, for the performance at Bellevue, where she herself
played the part of Colin; fifty from the opera; and five hundred livres
from Pissot, for the engraving; so that this interlude, which cost me no
more than five or six weeks' application, produced, notwithstanding the
ill treatment I received from the managers and my stupidity at court,
almost as much money as my 'Emilius', which had cost me twenty years'
meditation, and three years' labor. But I paid dearly for the pecuniary
ease I received from the piece, by the infinite vexations it brought upon
me. It was the germ of the secret jealousies which did not appear until
a long time afterwards. After its success I did not remark, either in
Grimm, Diderot, or any of the men of letters, with whom I was acquainted,
the same cordiality and frankness, nor that pleasure in seeing me, I had
previously experienced. The moment I appeared at the baron's, the
conversation was no longer general; the company divided into small
parties; whispered into each other's ears; and I remained alone, without
knowing to whom to address myself. I endured for a long time this
mortifying neglect; and, perceiving that Madam d'Holbach, who was mild
and amiable, still received me well, I bore with the vulgarity of her
husband as long as it was possible. But he one day attacked me without
reason or pretence, and with such brutality, in presence of Diderot, who
said not a word, and Margency, who since that time has often told me how
much he admired the moderation and mildness of my answers, that, at
length driven from his house, by this unworthy treatment, I took leave
with a resolution never to enter it again. This did not, however,
prevent me from speaking honorably of him and his house, whilst he
continually expressed himself relative to me in the most insulting terms,
calling me that 'petit cuistre': the little college pedant, or servitor
in a college, without, however, being able to charge me with having done
either to himself or any person to whom he was attached the most trifling
injury. In this manner he verified my fears and predictions, I am of
opinion my pretended friends would have pardoned me for having written
books, and even excellent ones, because this merit was not foreign to
themselves; but that they could not forgive my writing an opera, nor the
brilliant success it had; because there was not one amongst them capable
of the same, nor in a situation to aspire to like honors. Duclos, the
only person superior to jealousy, seemed to become more attached to me:
he introduced me to Mademoiselle Quinault, in whose house I received
polite attention, and civility to as great an extreme, as I had found a
want of it in that of M. d'Holbach.