gives him from time to time an air of
sullenness."[110] The other lady, who saw him at the same time, speaks
of "the poor devil of an author, who's as poor as Job for you, but with
wit and vanity enough for four.... They say his history is as queer as
his person, and that is saying a good deal.... Madame Maupeou and I
tried to guess what it was. 'In spite of his face,' said she (for it is
certain he is uncommonly plain), 'his eyes tell that love plays a great
part in his romance.' 'No,' said I, 'his nose tells me that it is
vanity.' 'Well then, 'tis both one and the other.'"[111]

One of his patronesses took some trouble to procure him the post of
secretary to the French ambassador at Venice, and in the spring of 1743
our much-wandering man started once more in quest of meat and raiment in
the famous city of the Adriatic. This was one of those steps of which
there are not a few in a man's life, that seem at the moment to rank
foremost in the short line of decisive acts, and then are presently seen
not to have been decisive at all, but mere interruptions conducting
nowhither. In truth the critical moments with us are mostly as points in
slumber. Even if the ancient oracles of the gods were to regain their
speech once more on the earth, men would usually go to consult them on
days when the answer would have least significance, and could guide
them least far. That one of the most heedless vagrants in Europe, and as
it happened one of the men of most extraordinary genius also, should
have got a footing in the train of the ambassador of a great government,
would naturally seem to him and others as chance's one critical stroke
in his life. In reality it was nothing. The Count of Montaigu, his
master, was one of the worst characters with whom Rousseau could for his
own profit have been brought into contact. In his professional quality
he was not far from imbecile. The folly and weakness of the government
at Versailles during the reign of Lewis XV., and its indifference to
competence in every department except perhaps partially in the fisc, was
fairly illustrated in its absurd representative at Venice. The
secretary, whose renown has preserved his master's name, has recorded
more amply than enough the grounds of quarrel between them. Rousseau is
for once eager to assert his own efficiency, and declares that he
rendered many important services for which he was repaid with
ingratitude and persecution.[112] One would be glad to kno