amiable, since,
to render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he should
sometimes act in such a manner as to require a small portion of
indulgence.

Another connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished,
and continues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness,
which it is so difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieur
de Conzie, a Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a fancy
to learn music, or rather to be acquainted with the person who taught it.
With great understanding and taste for polite acquirements, M. de Conzie
possessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him extremely
attractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it found a
counterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of literature and
philosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and only waited for
culture and emulation to spring up, found in him exactly what was wanting
to render them prolific. M. de Conzie had no great inclination to music,
and even this was useful to me, for the hours destined for lessons were
passed anyhow rather than musically; we breakfasted, chatted, and read
new publications, but not a word of music.

The correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of Prussia, then
made a noise in the world, and these celebrated men were frequently the
subject of our conversation, one of whom recently seated on a throne,
already indicated what he would prove himself hereafter, while the other,
as much disgraced as he is now admired, made us sincerely lament the
misfortunes that seemed to pursue him, and which are so frequently the
appendage of superior talents. The Prince of Prussia had not been happy
in his youth, and it appeared that Voltaire was formed never to be so.
The interest we took in both parties extended to all that concerned them,
and nothing that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The inclination I felt for
these performances inspired me with a desire to write elegantly, and
caused me to endeavor to imitate the colorings of that author, with whom
I was so much enchanted. Some time after, his philosophical letters
(though certainly not his best work) greatly augmented my fondness for
study; it was a rising inclination, which, from that time, has never been
extinguished.

But the moment was not yet arrived when I should give into it entirely;
my rambling disposition (rather contracted than eradicated) being kept
alive by our manner of living a