I was born for friendship; my mind
and easy disposition nourished it without difficulty. As long as I
lived unknown to the public I was beloved by all my private
acquaintance, and I had not a single enemy. But the moment I
acquired literary fame, I had no longer a friend. This was a great
misfortune; but a still greater was that of being surrounded by people
who called themselves my friends, and used the rights attached to that
sacred name to lead me on to destruction. The succeeding part of these
memoirs will explain this odious conspiracy. I here speak of its
origin, and the manner of the first intrigue will shortly appear.
In the independence in which I lived, it was, however, necessary
to subsist. To this effect I thought of very simple means: which
were copying music at so much a page. If any employment more solid
would have fulfilled the same end I would have taken it up; but this
occupation being to my taste, and the only one which, without personal
attendance, could procure me daily bread, I adopted it. Thinking I had
no longer need of foresight, and, stifling the vanity of cash-keeper
to a financier, I made myself a copyist of music. I thought I had made
an advantageous choice, and of this I so little repented, that I never
quitted my new profession until I was forced to do it, after taking
a fixed resolution to return to it as soon as possible.
The success of my first discourse rendered the execution of this
resolution more easy.
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