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 ******* of the theater, 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 ******* of the house; for although this was a right common to every author, and which Ienjoyed under a double tide, 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 rules established in such cases, was due to me, this payment had nothing in common with the right of entry formally 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 theater, 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: Ch'ognun un ama la giustizia in casa 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 inclosed 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 Ialways had of his character and abilities.It was in this manner the managers kept my piece while they deprived me of that for which Ihad 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 pretense, 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 Ireceived polite attention, and civility to as great an extreme, as Ihad found a want of it in that of M.d'Holbach.