public I was beloved by all my private acquaintance, and I had not a single enemy.  But the moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer a friend.  This, was a great misfortune; but a still greater was that of being surrounded by people who called themselves my friends, and used the rights attached to that sacred name to lead me on to destruction.  The succeeding part of these memoirs will explain this odious conspiracy.  I here speak of its origin, and the manner of the first intrigue will shortly appear.

In the independence in which I lived, it was, however, necessary to subsist.  To this effect I thought of very simple means:  which were copying music at so much a page.  If any employment more solid would have fulfilled the same end I would have taken it up; but this occupation being to my taste, and the only one which, without personal attendance, could procure me daily bread, I adopted it.  Thinking I had no longer need of foresight, and, stifling the vanity of cash-keeper to a financier, I made myself a copyist of music.  I thought I had made an advantageous choice, and of this I so little repented, that I never quitted my new profession until I was forced to do it, after taking a fixed resolution to return to it as soon as possible.

The success of my first discourse rendered the execution of this resolution more easy.  As soon as it had gained the premium, Diderot undertook to get it printed.  Whilst I was in my bed, he wrote me a note informing me of the publication and effect:  “It takes,” said he, “beyond all imagination; never was there an instance of alike success.”

This favor of the public, by no means solicited, and to an unknown author, gave me the first real assurance of my talents, of which, notwithstanding an internal sentiment, I had always had my doubts.  I conceived the great advantage to be drawn from it in favor of the way of life I had determined to pursue; and was of opinion, that a copyist of some celebrity in the republic of letters was not likely to want employment.

The moment my resolution was confirmed, I wrote a note to M, de Francueil, communicating to him my intentions, thanking him and Madam Dupin for all goodness, and offering them my services in the way of my new profession.  Francueil did not understand my note, and, thinking I was still in the delirium of fever, hastened to my apartment; but he found me so determined, that all he could say to me was without the least effect.  He went to Madam Dupin, and told her and everybody he met, that I had become insane.  I let him say what he pleased, and pursued the plan I had conceived.  I began the change in my dress; I quitted laced clothes and white stockings; I put on a round wig, laid aside my sword, and sold my watch; saying to myself, with inexpressible pleasure:  “Thank Heaven!  I shall no longer want to know the hour!” M. de Francueil had the goodness to wait a considerable time before he disposed of my place.  At length perceiving me inflexibly resolved, he gave it to M. d’Alibard, formerly tutor to the young Chenonceaux, and known as a botanist by his Flora Parisiensis.