‘One of my sweetest recollections,’ he said, ‘was my first journey to France as the bearer of the happy news of the battle of Maxen. My entrance upon the scene was entirely to my taste. I was received everywhere, in Paris, Versailles, and at the Trianon, by the Baron de Bezenval, the Comte de Vaudreuil, the Comte d’Adhémar, the Princesse de Lamballe, the fascinating Mme. Jules de Polignac; then at the beginning I was presented to La Harpe at Mme. du Barry’s, to D’Alembert at Mme. Geoffrin’s, to Voltaire at Mme. du Deffand’s. Mme. du Deffand was probably gifted with more natural grace and power of fascination than any woman of her time.’ After this he gave me some brilliant sketches of many of the celebrities who, during his long career, had honoured him with their friendship. Empress Catherine, whom he called ‘his living glory’; Emperor Joseph II., ‘his visible providence’; Frederick the Great, ‘his claim to immortality,’ and finally Marie-Antoinette, of whom he related many charming traits, always ‘harking back’ with the greatest delight to the Court of France, where he had met with such a distinguished welcome. ‘The love of pleasure and the attractions of society took me to Versailles,’ he said; ‘gratitude brought me back to it. My lad, judge for yourself how far I was justified in yielding to illusion, that ruler of the world. Presented to the Comte d’Artois, I naturally began by treating him like the king’s brother, and we finished up by his treating me as if I were his brother. Later on, I happened to be present at the meeting of Joseph II. and Frederick II. The latter notices my liking for great men, and he invites me to Berlin. My son Charles marries a Polish girl;[57] knowing that I am in the good books of Catherine, they imagine, perhaps, that I might make a King of Poland, and they confer the honour of Polish citizenship upon me. I arrive in Russia, and the grandeur and simplicity of Catherine win my heart. She selects me to accompany her to the Taurida, during that journey which seems to belong to fable rather than to history. In consequence of my taste for the “Iphigenias” of literature, she gives me the site of the temple where Agamemnon’s daughter officiated as priestess. Finally there is the paternal kindness of Emperor Francis I.; the maternal kindness of that grand Maria-Theresa, and the sometimes fraternal kindness of immortal Joseph II. There are the confidence and friendship of Landon and of Lasey; the familiar intercourse with Marie-Antoinette; the cordial intimacy of Catherine the Great; the goodwill of the great Frederick; my conversations with Jean-Jacques Rousseau; my stay at Ferney with Voltaire, and, fitly and gaily to wind up, after the great events of the last twenty years, the marvels and diversions of the Congress. Such in brief is my life. My memoirs would be most interesting. During the whole of that time I have seen calumny, ingratitude, and injustice assail everything I loved and admired.’