except by tears and sighs:  I stifled him with my affection and joy.  The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was to turn himself towards the ecclesiastic, and say:  “You see, sir, how much I am beloved by my friends.”  My emotion was so great, that it was then impossible for me to reflect upon this manner of turning it to advantage; but I have since thought that, had I been in the place of Diderot, the idea he manifested would not have been the first that would have occurred to me.

I found him much affected by his imprisonment.  The dungeon had made a terrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeably situated in the castle, and at liberty to, walk where he pleased in the park, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of his friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy.  As I was the person most concerned for his sufferings, I imagined I should also be the friend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which account, notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two days at farthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the afternoon with him.

The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive.  Vincennes is two leagues from Paris.  The state of my finances not permitting me to pay for hackney coaches, at two o’clock in the afternoon, I went on foot, when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive the sooner.  The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according to the custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and exhausted by fatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceed any further.  I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate my pace.  One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read, I came to the following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for the premium of the ensuing year, ’Has the progress of sciences and arts contributed to corrupt or purify morals?’

The moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and became a different man.  Although I have a lively remembrance of the impression it made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since I communicated it to M. de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him.  This is one of the singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked.  It serves me in proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed to paper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have no sooner written a thing than I had forgotten it entirely.  This singularity is the same with respect to music.  Before I learned the use of notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made a sufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollect any one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be able entirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond.  All I distinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival at Vincennes, I was in an agitation which approached a delirium.  Diderot perceived it; I told him the cause, and read to him the prosopopoeia of Fabricius, written with a pencil under a tree.  He encouraged me to pursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium.  I did so, and from that moment I was ruined.