Externally he was devout, like a Spaniard, but in his heart he had the piety of an angel.Except myself, he is the only man I ever saw whose principles were not intolerant.He never in his life asked any person his opinion in matters of religion.It was not of the least consequence to him whether his friend was a Jew, a Protestant, a Turk, a Bigot, or an Atheist, provided he was an honest man.Obstinate and headstrong in matters of indifference, but the moment religion was in question, even the moral part, he collected himself, was silent, or simply said: "I am charged with the care of myself only." It is astonishing so much elevation of mind should be compatible with a spirit of detail carried to minuteness.He previously divided the employment of the day by hours, quarters and minutes; and so scrupulously adhered to this distribution, that had the clock struck while he was reading a phrase, he would have shut his book without finishing it.His portions of time thus laid out, were some of them set apart to studies of one kind, and others to those of another: he had some for reflection, conversation divine service, the reading of Locke, for his rosary, for visits, music and painting; and neither pleasure, temptation, nor complaisance, could interrupt this order:
a duty he might have had to discharge was the only thing that could have done it.When he gave me a list of his distribution, that I might conform myself thereto, I first laughed, and then shed tears of admiration.He never constrained anybody nor suffered constraint: he was rather rough with people, who from politeness attempted to put it upon it.He was passionate without being sullen.I have often seen him warm, but never saw him really angry with any person.Nothing could be more cheerful than his temper: he knew how to pass and receive a joke; raillery was one of his distinguished talents, and with which he possessed that of pointed wit and repartee.When he was animated, he was noisy and heard at a great distance; but whilst he loudly inveighed, a smile was spread over his countenance, and in the midst of his warmth he used some diverting expression which made all his hearers break out into a loud laugh.He had no more of the Spanish complexion than of the phlegm of that country.His skin was white, his cheeks finely colored, and his hair of a light chestnut.He was tall and well made: his body was well formed for the residence of his mind.
This wise-hearted, as well as wise-headed man, knew mankind, and was my friend; this is my only answer to such as are not so.We were so intimately united, that our intention was to pass our days together.
In a few years I was to go to Ascoytia to live with him at his estate;every part of the project was arranged the eve of his departure;nothing was left undetermined, except that which depends not upon men in the best concerted plans, posterior events.My disasters, his marriage, and finally, his death, separated us forever.Some men would be tempted to say, that nothing succeeds except the dark conspiracies of the wicked, and that the innocent intentions of the good are seldom or never accomplished.I had felt the inconvenience of dependence, and took a resolution never again to expose myself to it; having seen the projects of ambition, which circumstances had induced me to form, overturned in their birth.Discouraged in the career I had so well begun, from which, however, I had just been expelled, I resolved never more to attach myself to any person, but to remain in an independent state, turning my talents to the best advantage: of these I at length began to feel the extent, and that Ihad hitherto had too modest an opinion of them.I again took up my opera, which I had laid aside to go to Venice; and, that I might be less interrupted after the departure of Altuna, I returned to my old hotel St.Quentin; which, in a solitary part of the town, and not far from the Luxembourg, was more proper for my purpose than noisy Rue St.Honore.
There the only consolation which Heaven suffered me to taste in my misery, and the only one which rendered it supportable, awaited me.
This was not a transient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail relative to the manner in which it was made.
We had a new landlady from Orleans; to help her with the linen, she had a young girl from her own country, of between twenty-two and twenty-three years of age, and who, as well as the hostess, ate at our table.This girl, named Theresa le Vasseur, was of a good family;her father was an officer in the mint of Orleans, and her mother a shopkeeper; they had many children.The function of the mint of Orleans being suppressed, the father found himself without employment;and the mother having suffered losses, was reduced to narrow circumstances.She quitted her business and came to Paris with her husband and daughter, who, by her industry, maintained all the three.
The first time I saw this girl at table, I was struck with her modesty; and still more so with her lively, yet charming look;which, with respect to the impression it made upon me, was never equaled.Beside M.de Bonnefond, the company was composed of several Irish priests, Gascons, and others of much the same description.Our hostess herself had not made the best possible use of her time, and I was the only person at the table who spoke and behaved with decency.
Allurements were thrown out to the young girl.I took her part, and the joke was then turned against me.Had I had no natural inclination to the poor girl, compassion and contradiction would have produced it in me: I was always a great friend to decency in manners and conversation, especially in the fair sex.I openly declared myself her champion, and perceived she was not insensible of my attention; her looks, animated by the gratitude she dared not express by words, were for this reason still more penetrating.