I was certain that,
in his presence, I should not recollect a word of what I had previously
meditated. "What," said I, "will become of me in this moment, and before
the whole court, if, in my confusion, any of my stupid expressions should
escape me?" This danger alarmed and terrified me. I trembled to such a
degree that at all events I was determined not to expose myself to it.

I lost, it is true, the pension which in some measure was offered me; but
I at the same time exempted myself from the yoke it would have imposed.
Adieu, truth, liberty, and courage! How should I afterwards have dared
to speak of disinterestedness and independence? Had I received the
pension I must either have become a flatterer or remained silent; and,
moreover, who would have insured to me the payment of it! What steps
should I have been under the necessity of taking! How many people must I
have solicited! I should have had more trouble and anxious cares in
preserving than in doing without it. Therefore, I thought I acted
according to my principles by refusing, and sacrificing appearances to
reality. I communicated my resolution to Grimm, who said nothing against
it. To others I alleged my ill state of health, and left the court in
the morning.

My departure made some noise, and was generally condemned. My reasons
could not be known to everybody, it was therefore easy to accuse me of
foolish pride, and thus not irritate the jealousy of such as felt they
would not have acted as I had done. The next day Jelyotte wrote me a
note, in which he stated the success of my piece, and the pleasure it had
afforded the king. "All day long," said he, "his majesty sings, with the
worst voice in his kingdom: 'J'ai perdu mon serviteur: J'ai perdu tout
mon bonheur.'" He likewise added, that in a fortnight the Devin was to
be performed a second time; which confirmed in the eyes of the public the
complete success of the first.

Two days afterwards, about nine o'clock in the evening, as I was going to
sup with Madam D'Epinay, I perceived a hackney-coach pass by the door.
Somebody within made a sign to me to approach. I did so, and got into
it, and found the person to be Diderot. He spoke of the pension with
more warmth than, upon such a subject, I should have expected from a
philosopher. He did not blame me for having been unwilling to be
presented to the king, but severely reproached me with my indifference
about the pension. He observed that