That I may not return to the subject, I will conclude what I have to say of M.de Montaigu.I had told him in our quarrels that a secretary was not what he wanted, but an attorney's clerk.He took the hint, and the person whom he procured to succeed me was a real attorney, who in less than a year robbed him of twenty or thirty thousand livres.He discharged him, and sent him to prison, dismissed his gentleman with disgrace, and, in wretchedness, got himself everywhere into quarrels, received affronts which a footman would not have put up with, and, after numerous follies, was recalled, and sent from the capital.It is very probable that among the reprimands he received at court, his affair with me was not forgotten.At least, a little time after his return he sent his maitre d'hotel, to settle my account, and give me some money.I was in want of it at that moment;my debts at Venice, debts of honor, if ever there were any, lay heavy upon my mind.I made use of the means which offered to discharge them, as well as the note of Zanetto Nani.I received what was offered me, paid all my debts, and remained as before, without a farthing in my pocket, but relieved from a weight which had become insupportable.From that time I never heard speak of M.de Montaigu until his death, with which I became acquainted by means of the Gazette.The peace of God be with that poor man! He was as fit for the functions of an ambassador as in my infancy I had been for those of Grapignan.* However, it was in his power to have honorably supported himself by my services, and at the same time to have rapidly advanced me in a career to which the Comte de Gauvon had destined me in my youth, and of the functions of which I had in a more advanced age rendered myself capable.
* Term of disparagement for an attorney.- La Rousse.
The justice and inutility of my complaints left in my mind seeds of indignation against our foolish civil institutions, by which the welfare of the public and real justice are always sacrificed to I know not what appearance of order, and which does nothing more, than add the sanction of public authority to the oppression of the weak, and the iniquity of the powerful.Two things prevented these seeds from putting forth at that time as they afterwards did: one was, myself being in question in the affair, and private interest, whence nothing great or noble ever proceeded, could not draw from my heart the divine soarings, which the most pure love, only of that which is just.and sublime, can produce.The other was the charm of friendship which tempered and calmed my wrath by the ascendancy of a more pleasing sentiment.I had become acquainted at Venice with a Biscayan, a friend of my friend Carrio's, and worthy of being that of every honest man.This amiable young man, born with every talent and virtue, had just made the tour of Italy to gain a taste for the fine arts, and, imagining he had nothing more to acquire, intended to return by the most direct road to his own country.I told him the arts were nothing more than a relaxation to a genius like his, fit to cultivate the sciences; and to give him a taste for these, Iadvised him to make a journey to Paris and reside there for six months.He took my advice, and went to Paris.He was there and expected me when I arrived.His lodging was too considerable for him, and he offered me the half of it, which I instantly accepted.Ifound him absorbed in the study of the sublimest sciences.Nothing was above his reach.He digested everything with a prodigious rapidity.
How cordially did he thank me for having procured him this food for his mind, which was tormented by a thirst after knowledge, without his being aware of it! What a treasure of light and virtue I found in the vigorous mind of this young man! I felt he was the friend Iwanted.We soon became intimate.Our tastes were not the same, and we constantly disputed.Both opinionated, we never could agree about anything.Nevertheless we could not separate; and, notwithstanding our reciprocal and incessant contradiction, we neither of us wished the other to be different from what he was.
Ignacio Emmanuel de Altuna was one of those rare beings whom only Spain produces, and of whom she produces too few for her glory.He had not the violent national passions common in his own country.The idea of vengeance could no more enter his head, than the desire of it could proceed from his heart.His mind was too great to be vindictive, and I have frequently heard him say, with the greatest coolness, that no mortal could offend him.He was gallant, without being tender.He played with women as with so many pretty children.He amused himself with the mistresses of his friends, but I never knew him to have one of his own, nor the least desire for it.The emanations from the virtue with which his heart was stored never permitted the fire of the passions to excite sensual desires.
After his travels he married, died young, and left children; and, I am as convinced as of my existence, that his wife was the first and only woman with whom he ever tasted of the pleasures of love.