During supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well:  he knew all the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors, actresses, pretty women, and powerful lords; in short nothing was mentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with.  Though no sooner was any topic started, than by some drollery, which set every one a-laughing, he made them forget what had been said.  This was on a Saturday; the next day there was to be music at the cathedral:  M. le Maitre asked if he would sing there—­“Very willingly.”—­“What part would he chose?”—­“The counter-tenor:”  and immediately began speaking of other things.  Before he went to church they offered him his part to peruse, but he did not even look at it.  This Gasconade surprised Le Maitre —­“You’ll see,” said he, whispering to me, “that he does not know a single note.”—­I replied:  “I am very much afraid of him.”  I followed them into the church; but was extremely uneasy, and when they began, my heart beat violently, so much was I interested in his behalf.

I was presently out of pain:  he sung his two recitatives with all imaginable taste and judgment; and what was yet more, with a very agreeable voice.  I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise.  After mass, M. Venture received the highest compliments from the canons and musicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace.  M. le Maitre embraced him heartily; I did the same; he saw I was rejoiced at his success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction.

It will easily be surmised, that after having been delighted with M. Bacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuated with M. Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of the world, and might be called an agreeable rake.  This was exactly what happened, and would, I believe, have happened to any other young man in my place; especially supposing him possessed of better judgment to distinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it; for Venture doubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, very rare at his age, namely, that of never being in haste to display his talents.  It is true, he boasted of many things he did not understand, but of those he knew (which were very numerous) he said nothing, patiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did with ease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect.  As there was ever some intermission between the proofs of his various abilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever discovered all his talents.  Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing in conversation, ever smiling, but never laughing, and repeating the rudest things in the most elegant manner—­even the most modest women were astonished at what they endured from him:  it was in vain for them to determine to be angry; they could not assume the appearance of it.  It was extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a country where they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so long remained only a musician.