It is
true the only proofs he gave of it was pitying my wretched fortune, of
which I did not complain; compassionating my sad fate, with which I
was satisfied; and lamenting to see me obstinately refuse the
benevolent services, he said, he wished to render me. Thus was it he
artfully made the world admire his affectionate generosity, blame my
ungrateful misanthropy, and insensibly accustomed people to imagine
there was nothing more between a protector like him and a wretch
like myself, than a connection founded upon benefactions on one part
and obligations on the other, without once thinking of a friendship
between equals. For my part, I have vainly sought to discover in
what I was under an obligation to this new protector. I had lent him
money, he had never lent me any; I had attended him in his illness, he
scarcely came to see me in mine; I had given him all my friends, he
never had given me any of his; I had said everything I could in his
favor, and if ever he has spoken of me it has been less publicly and
in another manner. He has never either rendered or offered me the
least service of any kind. How, therefore, was he my Mecaenas? In what
manner was I protected by him? This was incomprehensible to me, and
still remains so.
It is true he was more or less arrogant with everybody, but I was
the only person with whom he was brutally so. I remember Saint Lambert
once ready to throw a plate at his head, upon his, in some measure,
giving him the lie at table by vulgarly saying, "That is not true.
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