I HAVE been obliged to pause at the end of the preceding book.
With this begins the long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin.
Having lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had, notwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance.Amongst others at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha, and of the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M.
de le Popliniere, that of M.Seguy, friend to the Baron de Thun, and known in the literary world by his beautiful edition of Rousseau.* The baron invited M.Seguy and myself to go and pass a day or two at Fontenai-sous-Bois, where the prince had a house.As I passed Vincennes, at the sight of the dungeon, my feelings were acute; the effect of which the baron perceived on my countenance.At supper the prince mentioned the confinement of Diderot.The baron, to hear what Ihad to say, accused the prisoner of imprudence; and I showed not a little of the same in the impetuous manner in which I defended him.
There were present two Germans in the service of the prince.M.
Klupffel, a man of great wit, his chaplain, and who afterwards, having supplanted the baron, became his governor.The other was a young man named M.Grimm, who served him as a reader until he could obtain some place, and whose indifferent appearance sufficiently proved the pressing necessity he was under of immediately finding one.From this very evening Klupffel and I began an acquaintance which soon led to friendship.That with the Sieur Grimm did not make quite so rapid a progress: he made but few advances, and was far from having that haughty presumption which prosperity afterwards gave him.The next day at dinner, the conversation turned upon music: he spoke well on the subject.I was transported with joy when I learned from him he could play an accompaniment on the harpsichord.After dinner was over music was introduced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon on the harpsichord of the prince.Thus began that friendship which, at first, was so agreeable to me, afterwards so fatal, and of which I shall hereafter have so much to say.
* Jean Baptiste Rousseau, the poet.
On my return to Paris, I learned the agreeable news that Diderot was released from the dungeon, and that he had on his parole the castle and park of Vincennes for a prison, with permission to see his friends.How painful was it to me not to be able instantly to fly to him! But I was detained two or three days at Madam Dupin's by indispensable business.After ages of impatience, I flew to the arms of my friend.He was not alone: D'Alembert and the treasurer of the Sainte Chapelle were with him.As I entered I saw nobody but himself, I made but one step, one cry: I riveted my face to his: Ipressed him in my arms, without speaking to him, except by tears and sighs: I stifled him with my affection and joy.The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was to turn himself towards the ecclesiastic, and say: "You see, sir, how much I am beloved by my friends." My emotion was so great, that it was then impossible for me to reflect upon this manner of turning it to advantage; but Ihave since thought that, had I been in the place of Diderot, the idea he manifested would not have been the first that would have occurred to me.
I found him much affected by his imprisonment.The dungeon had made a terrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeably situated in the castle, and at liberty to walk where he pleased in the park, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of his friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy.As I was the person most concerned for his sufferings, Iimagined I should also be the friend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which account, notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two days at farthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the afternoon with him.
The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive.Vincennes is two leagues from Paris.The state of my finances not permitting me to pay for hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on foot, when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive the sooner.The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according to the custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and, exhausted by fatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceed any further.I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate my pace.One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read, I came to the following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for the premium of the ensuing year, Has the progress of sciences and arts contributed to corrupt or purify morals?
The moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and became a different man.Although I have a lively remembrance of the impression it made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since Icommunicated it to M.de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him.
This is one of the singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked.It serves me in proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed to paper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have no sooner written a thing than I have forgotten it entirely.This singularity is the same with respect to music.Before I learned the use of notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made a sufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollect any one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be able entirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond.All I distinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival at Vincennes, Iwas in an agitation which approached a delirium.Diderot perceived it;I told him the cause, and read to him the Prosopopoeia of Fabricius, written with a pencil under a tree.He encouraged me to pursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium.I did so, and from that moment I was ruined.