This
was a complete collection of songs of the court and Paris for
upwards of fifty years past, in which many anecdotes were to be
found that would have been sought for in vain elsewhere. These are
memoirs for the history of France, which would scarcely be thought
of in any other country.
One day, whilst we were still upon the very best terms, he
received me so coldly and in a manner so different from that which was
customary to him, that after having given him an opportunity to
explain, and even having begged him to do it, I left his house with
a resolution, in which I have persevered, never to return to it again;
for I am seldom seen where I have been once ill received, and in
this case there was no Diderot who pleaded for M. de Joinville. I
vainly endeavored to discover what I had done to offend him; I could
not recollect a circumstance at which he could possibly have taken
offense. I was certain of never having spoken of him or his in any
other than in the most honorable manner; for he had acquired my
friendship, and besides my having nothing but favorable things to
say of him, my most inviolable maxim has been that of never speaking
but in an honorable manner of the houses I frequented.
At length, by continually ruminating, I formed the following
conjecture: the last time we had seen each other, I had supped with
him at the apartment of some girls of his acquaintance, in company
with two or three clerks in the office of foreign affairs, very
amiable men, and who had neither the manner nor appearance of
libertines; and on my part, I can assert that the whole evening passed
in making melancholy reflections on the wretched fate of the creatures
with whom we were.
Pages:
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745