I long sought the cause of this partiality, but was never able to find any, except in the occasion that gave it birth.A rising taste for literature attached me to French books, to their authors, and their country: at the very moment the French troops were passing Chambery, I was reading Brantome's Celebrated Captains; my head was full of the Clissons, Bayards, Lautrecs, Colignys, Montmorencys, and Trimouilles and I loved their descendants as the heirs of their merit and courage.In each regiment that passed by methought I saw those famous black bands who had formerly done so many noble exploits in Piedmont; in fine, I applied to these all the ideas Ihad gathered from books; my reading continued, which, still drawn from the same nation, nourished my affection for that country, till, at length, it became a blind passion, which nothing could overcome.Ihave had occasion to remark several times in the course of my travels, that this impression was not peculiar to me for France, but was more or less active in every country, for that part of the nation who were fond of literature, and cultivated learning, and it was this consideration that balanced in my mind the general hatred which the conceited air of the French is so apt to inspire.Their romances, more than their men, attract the women of all countries, and the celebrated dramatic pieces of France create a fondness in youth for their theaters; the reputation which that of Paris in particular has acquired, draws to it crowds of strangers, who return enthusiasts to their own country: in short, the excellence of their literature captivates the senses, and in the unfortunate war just ended, I have seen their authors and philosophers maintain the glory of France, so tarnished by its warriors.
I was, therefore, an ardent Frenchman; this rendered me a politician, and I attended in the public square, amid a throng of news-mongers, the arrival of the post, and, sillier than the ass in the fable, was very uneasy to know whose packsaddle I should next have the honor to carry, for it was then supposed we should belong to France, and that Savoy would be exchanged for Milan.I must confess, however, that I experienced some uneasiness, for had this war terminated unfortunately for the allies, the pension of Madam de Warrens would have been in a dangerous situation; nevertheless, Ihad great confidence in my good friends, the French, and for once (in spite of the surprise of M.de Broglio) my confidence was not ill-founded- thanks to the King of Sardinia, whom I had never thought of.
While we were fighting in Italy, they were singing in France: the operas of Rameau began to make a noise there, and once more raise the credit of his theoretic works, which, from their obscurity, were within the compass of very few understandings.By chance I heard of his Treatise on Harmony, and had no rest till I purchased it.By another chance I fell sick; my illness was inflammatory, short and violent, but my convalescence was tedious, for I was unable to go abroad for a whole month.During this time I eagerly ran over my Treatise on Harmony, but it was so long, so diffuse, and so badly disposed, that I found it would require a considerable time to unravel it: accordingly I suspended my inclination, and recreated my sight with music.
The cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself with.These were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by heart, and among the rest, The Sleeping Cupids, which I have never seen since that time, though I still retain it almost entirely; as well as Cupid Stung by a Bee, a very pretty cantata by Clerambault, which I learned about the same time.
To complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdost, called the Abbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion, who performed very well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him, and we soon became inseparable.He had been brought up by an Italian monk, who was a capital organist.He explained to me his principles of music, which I compared with Rameau; my head was filled with accompaniments, concords and harmony, but as it was necessary to accustom the ear to all this, I proposed to Madam de Warrens having a little concert once a month, to which she consented.
Behold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could think of nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my time to select the music, assemble the musicians, look to the instruments, and write out the several parts.Madam de Warrens sang;Father Cato (whom I have before mentioned, and shall have occasion to speak of again) sang likewise; a dancing-master named Roche, and his son, played on the violin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who was employed like myself in the survey, and has since married at Paris), played on the violoncello; the Abbe Palais performed on the harpsichord, and I had the honor to conduct the whole.It may be supposed all this was charming: I cannot say it equaled my concert at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly it was not far behind it.
