Such was the account he gave
of me to Madam de Warrens. This was not the first time such an opinion
had been formed of me, neither was it the last; the judgment of M.
Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed.
The cause of these opinions is too much connected with my
character not to need a particular explanation; for it will not be
supposed that I can in conscience subscribe to them: and with all
possible impartiality, whatever M. Masseron, M. d'Aubonne and many
others may have said, I cannot help thinking them mistaken.
Two things, very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I
cannot myself conceive. My disposition is extremely ardent, my
passions lively and impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly,
with great embarrassment and after much afterthought. It might be said
my heart and understanding do not belong to the same individual. A
sentiment takes possession of my soul with the rapidity of
lightning, but instead of illuminating, it dazzles and confounds me; I
feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, but stupid; to think I must be
cool. What is astonishing, my conception is clear and penetrating,
if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus at leisure, but on the
instant, could never say or do anything worth notice. I could hold a
tolerable conversation by the post, as they say the Spaniards play
at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke of Savoy, who turned
himself round, while on a journey, to cry out a votre gorge,
marchand de Paris! I said, "Here is a trait of my character!"
This slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not
only sensible of in conversation, but even alone.
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