The next morning, the day of performance, I went to breakfast at the coffee-house du Grand Commun, where I found a great number of people.The rehearsal of the preceding evening, and the difficulty of getting into the theater, were the subjects of conversation.An officer present said he entered with the greatest ease, gave a long account of what had passed, described the author, and related what he had said and done; but what astonished me most in this long narrative given with as much assurance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syllable of truth.It was clear to me that he who spoke so positively of the rehearsal had not been at it, because, without knowing him, he had before his eyes that author whom he said he had seen and examined so minutely.However, what was more singular still in this scene, was its effect upon me.The officer was a man rather in years; he had nothing of the appearance of a coxcomb; his features appeared to announce a man of merit; and his cross of Saint Louis an officer of long standing.He interested me, notwithstanding his impudence.Whilst he uttered his lies, Iblushed, looked down, and was upon thorns; I, for some time, endeavored within myself to find the means of believing him to be in an involuntary error.At length, trembling lest some person should know me, and by this means confound him, I hastily drank my chocolate, without saying a word, and, holding down my head, I passed before him, got out of the coffee-house as soon as possible, whilst the company were making their remarks upon the relation that had been given.I was no sooner in the street than I was in a perspiration, and had anybody known and named me before I left the room, I am certain all the shame and embarrassment of a guilty person would have appeared in my countenance, proceeding from what I felt the poor man would have had to have suffered had his lie been discovered.
I come to one of the critical moments of my life, in which it is difficult to do anything more than to relate, because it is almost impossible that even narrative should not carry with it the marks of censure or apology.I will, however, endeavor to relate how and upon what motives I acted, without adding either approbation or censure.
I was on that day in the same careless undress as usual; with a long beard and wig badly combed.Considering this want of decency as an act of courage, I entered the theater wherein the king, queen, the royal family, and the whole court were to enter immediately after.I was conducted to a box by M.de Cury, and which belonged to him.It was very spacious, upon the stage and opposite to a lesser, but more elevated one, in which the king sat with Madam de Pompadour.As Iwas surrounded by women, and the only man in front of the box, I had no doubt of my having been placed there purposely to be exposed to view.As soon as the theater was lighted up, finding I was in the midst of people all extremely well dressed, I began to be less at my ease, and asked myself if I was in my place? whether or not I was properly dressed? After a few minutes of inquietude: "Yes," replied I, with an intrepidity which perhaps proceeded more from the impossibility of retracting than the force of all my reasoning, "Iam in my place, because I am going to see my own piece performed to which I have been invited, for which reason only I am come here; and after all, no person has a greater right than I have to reap the fruit of my labor and talents; I am dressed as usual, neither better nor worse; and if I once begin to subject myself to public opinion, Ishall shortly become a slave to it in everything.To be always consistent with myself, I ought not to blush, in any place whatever, at being dressed in a manner suitable to the state I have chosen.My exterior appearance is simple, but neither dirty nor slovenly; nor is a beard either of these in itself, because it is given us by nature, and according to time, place and custom, is sometimes an ornament.People think I am ridiculous, nay, even absurd; but what signifies this to me? I ought to know how to bear censure and ridicule, provided I do not deserve them." After this little soliloquy I became so firm that, had it been necessary, I could have been intrepid.But whether it was the effect of the presence of his majesty, or the natural disposition of those about me, I perceived nothing but what was civil and obliging in the curiosity of which Iwas the object.This so much affected me that I began to be uneasy for myself, and the fate of my piece; fearing I should efface the favorable prejudices which seemed to lead to nothing but applause.Iwas armed against raillery; but, so far overcome by the flattering and obliging treatment I had not expected, that I trembled like a child when the performance was begun.
I had soon sufficient reason to be encouraged.The piece was very ill played with respect to the actors, but the musical part was well sung and executed.During the first scene, which was really of a delightful simplicity, I heard in the boxes a murmur of surprise and applause, which, relative to pieces of the same kind, had never yet happened.The fermentation was soon increased to such a degree as to be perceptible through the whole audience, and of which, to speak after the manner of Montesquieu, the effect was augmented by itself.
