Literary occupations caused another interruption not less prejudicial to my daily employment.My discourse had no sooner appeared, than the defenders of letters fell upon me as if they had agreed with each to do it.My indignation was so raised at seeing so many blockheads, who did not understand the question, attempt to decide upon it imperiously, that in my answer I gave some of them the worst of it.One M.Gautier, of Nancy, the first who fell under the lash of my pen, was very roughly treated in a letter to M.
Grimm.The second was King Stanislaus, himself, who did not disdain to enter the lists with me.The honor he did me, obliged me to change my manner in combating his opinions; I made use of a graver style, but not less nervous; and without failing in respect to the author, Icompletely refuted his work.I knew a Jesuit, Father de Menou, had been concerned in it.I depended on my judgment to distinguish what was written by the prince, from the production of the monk, and falling without mercy upon all the Jesuitical phrases, I remarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I thought could come from nobody but the priest.This composition, which, for what reason I knew not, has been less spoken of than any of my other writings, is the only one of its kind.I seized the opportunity which offered of showing to the public in what manner an individual may defend the cause of truth even against a sovereign.It is difficult to adopt a more dignified and respectful manner than that in which I answered him.Ihad the happiness to have to do with an adversary to whom, without adulation, I could show every mark of the esteem of which my heart was full; and this I did with success and a proper dignity.My friends, concerned for my safety, imagined they already saw me in the Bastile.This apprehension never once entered my head, and I was right in not being afraid.The good prince, after reading my answer, said:
"I have enough of it; I will not return to the charge." I have, since that time, received from him different marks of esteem and benevolence, some of which I shall have occasion to speak of; and what I had written was read in France, and throughout Europe, without meeting the least censure.
In a little time I had another adversary whom I had not expected;this was the same M.Bordes, of Lyons, who ten years before had shown me much friendship, and from whom I had received several services.I had not forgotten him, but had neglected him from idleness, and had not sent him my writings for want of an opportunity, without seeking for it, to get them conveyed to his hands.I was therefore in the wrong, and he attacked me; this, however, he did politely, and I answered in the same manner.He replied more decidedly.This produced my last answer; after which I heard no more from him upon the subject; but he became my most violent enemy, took the advantage of the time of my misfortunes, to publish against me the most indecent libels, and made a journey to London on purpose to do me an injury.
All this controversy employed me a good deal, and caused me a great loss of my time in my copying, without much contributing to the progress of truth, or the good of my purse.Pissot, at that time my bookseller, gave me but little for my pamphlets, frequently nothing at all, and I never received a farthing for my first discourse.
Diderot gave it him.I was obliged to wait a long time for the little he gave me, and to take it from him in the most trifling sums.Notwithstanding this, my copying went on but slowly.I had two things together upon my hands, which was the most likely means of doing them both ill.
They were very opposite to each other in their effects by the different manners of living to which they rendered me subject.The success of my first writings had given me celebrity.My new situation excited curiosity.Everybody wished to know that whimsical, man who sought not the acquaintance of any one, and whose only desire was to live free and happy in the manner he had chosen;this was sufficient to make the thing impossible to me.My apartment was continually full of people, who, under different pretenses, came to take up my time.The women employed a thousand artifices to engage me to dinner.The more unpolite I was with people, the more obstinate they became.I could not refuse everybody.While I made myself a thousand enemies by my refusals, I was incessantly a slave to my complaisance, and, in whatever manner I made my engagements, Ihad not an hour in a day to myself.
I then perceived it was not so easy to be poor and independent, as Ihad imagined.I wished to live by my profession: the public would not suffer me to do it.A thousand means were thought of to indemnify me for the time I lost.The next thing would have been showing myself like Punch, at so much each person.I knew no dependence more cruel and degrading than this.I saw no other method of putting an end to it than refusing all kinds of presents, great and small, let them come from whom they would.This had no other effect than to increase the number of givers, who wished to have the honor of overcoming my resistance, and to force me, in spite of myself, to be under an obligation to them.Many who would not have given me half-a-crown had I asked it for them, incessantly importuned me with their offers, and, in revenge for my refusal, taxed me with arrogance and ostentation.
