Nothing further was necessary to fix my
determination to follow her, certain that wherever she might be, I
stood more chance of finding her at those places than I could possibly
do at Paris.
Before my departure, I exercised my new poetical talent in an
epistle to Colonel Godard, whom I ridiculed to the utmost of my
abilities. I showed this scribble to Madam de Merveilleux, who,
instead of discouraging me, as she ought to have done, laughed
heartily at my sarcasms, as well as her son, who, I believe, did not
like M. Godard; indeed, it must be confessed, he was a man not
calculated to obtain affection. I was tempted to send him my verses,
and they encouraged me in it; accordingly I made them up in a parcel
directed to him, and there being no post then at Paris by which I
could conveniently send this, I put it in my pocket, and sent it to
him from Auxerre, as I passed through that place. I laugh, even yet,
sometimes, at the grimaces I fancy he made on reading this
panegyric, where he was certainly drawn to the life; it began thus:
Tu croyois, vieux penard, qu'une folle manie
D'elever ton neveu m'inspirerait l'envie.
This little piece, which, it is true, was but indifferently written,
did not want for salt, and announced a turn for satire; it is,
notwithstanding, the only satirical writing that ever came from my
pen. I have too little hatred in my heart to take advantage of such
a talent; but I believe it may be judged from those controversies,
in which from time to time I have been engaged in my own defense, that
had I been of a vindictive disposition, my adversaries would rarely
have had the laughter on their side.
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