"No, I am not the author of the '
'
The verses of this rhapsody are not worth much, it is
true; but indeed they are not mine: they are too
miserable, and of too bad a style. All this vile trash
spread abroad in my name, all those pamphlets without
talent, make me lose my senses, and now I have scarcely
enough left to defend myself with. It is on you,
monsieur le duc, that I rely; do not refuse to be the
advocate of an unfortunate man unjustly accused.
Condescend to say to this young lady, that I have
been before embroiled with madame de Pompadour,
for whom I professed the highest esteem; tell her, that
at the present day especially, the favorite of Caesar is
sacred for me; that my heart and pen are hers, and
that I only aspire to live and die under her banner.
"As to the scraps you ask for, I have not at this moment
any suitable. Only the best viands are served up at the
table of the goddesses. If I had any I would present them
to the person of whom you speak to me. Assure her, that
one day the greatest merit of my verse will be to have them
recited by her lips; and entreat her, until she bestows
immortality on me, to permit me to prostrate myself at
her beautiful feet.
"I will not conclude my letter, monsieur le duc,
without thanking you a thousand times for the advice
you have given me.
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