Spite of the mortifying terms in which this
celebrated writer had spoken of the king's mistresses, I had a
lively curiosity to know him; all that his enemies repeated of
his uncouthness, and even of his malicious nature, far from
weakening the powerful interest with which he inspired me, rather
augmented it, by strengthening the idea I had previously formed
of his having been greatly calumniated. The generous vengeance
which he had recently taken for the injuries he had received
from Voltaire particularly charmed me.* I thought only how I
could effect my design of seeing him by one means or another,
and in this resolution I was confirmed by an accident which befell
me one day.
*Jean Jacques Rousseau in his journey through
Lyons in June 1770 subscribed for the statue
of Voltaire.--author
It was the commencement of April, 1771, I was reading for the
fourth time, the "
,"and for the tenth, or,
probably, twelfth, the account of the party on the lake, when
the marechale de Mirepoix entered the room. I laid my open
volume on the mantel-piece, and the marechale, glancing her eye
upon the book I had just put down, smilingly begged my pardon for
disturbing my grave studies, and taking it in her hand, exclaimed,
"Ah! I see you have been perusing ''; I
have just been having more than an hour's conversation respecting
its author.
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