obtained without my
assistance. As we lived in a quarter of the town very distant from each
other, we all assembled once a week at the Palais Royal, and went to dine
at the Hotel du Panier Fleuri. These little weekly dinners must have
been extremely pleasing to Diderot; for he who failed in almost all his
appointments never missed one of these. At our little meeting I formed
the plan of a periodical paper, entitled 'le Persifleur'--[The Jeerer]
--which Diderot and I were alternately to write. I sketched out the first
sheet, and this brought me acquainted with D'Alembert, to whom Diderot
had mentioned it. Unforeseen events frustrated our intention, and the
project was carried no further.

These two authors had just undertaken the 'Dictionnaire Encyclopedique',
which at first was intended to be nothing more than a kind of translation
of Chambers, something like that of the Medical Dictionary of James,
which Diderot had just finished. Diderot was desirous I should do
something in this second undertaking, and proposed to me the musical
part, which I accepted. This I executed in great haste, and consequently
very ill, in the three months he had given me, as well as all the authors
who were engaged in the work. But I was the only person in readiness at
the time prescribed. I gave him my manuscript, which I had copied by a
laquais, belonging to M. de Francueil of the name of Dupont, who wrote
very well. I paid him ten crowns out of my own pocket, and these have
never been reimbursed me. Diderot had promised me a retribution on the
part of the booksellers, of which he has never since spoken to me nor I
to him.

This undertaking of the 'Encyclopedie' was interrupted by his
imprisonment. The 'Pensees Philosophiquiest' drew upon him some
temporary inconvenience which had no disagreeable consequences. He did
not come off so easily on account of the 'Lettre sur les Aveugles',
--[Letter concerning blind persons.]--in which there was nothing
reprehensible, but some personal attacks with which Madam du Pre St.
Maur, and M. de Raumur were displeased: for this he was confined in the
dungeon of Vincennes. Nothing can describe the anguish I felt on account
of the misfortunes of my friend. My wretched imagination, which always
sees everything in the worst light, was terrified. I imagined him to be
confined for the remainder of his life. I was almost distracted with the
thought. I wrote to Madam de Pompadour, beseeching h