"M. de Voltaire was invited by the author to attend the representation: and whether it was to gratify M. d'Arnaud, or through pure kindness to the actors, who exerted themselves to the utmost to give effect to a very feeble and uninteresting drama, that great man appeared tolerably satisfied, and anxiously inquired the name of the person who had performed the part of the lover. He received for answer, that he was the son of a goldsmith at Paris, who played at present for his amusement, but who had a serious intention of making the stage his profession. He expressed to M. d'Arnaud a desire to be acquainted with me, and begged that he would prevail upon me to go and see him the next day but one. "The pleasure that this invitation afforded, was greater even than my surprise at receiving it. But I have never been able to describe what passed in my mind at the sight of this man, whose eyes sparkled with fire, genius, and imagination. When I spoke to him, I felt myself penetrated with respect, enthusiasm, admiration, and fear. I was almost overpowered by these several sensations, when M. de Voltaire had the goodness to put an end to my embarrassment, by opening his paternal arms, and _thanking God for having created a being who had moved and affected him in the recitation of such wretched verses_. He afterwards put several questions to me respecting my own condition, and that of my father; the manner in which I had been educated, and my future prospects in life. Having satisfied him in all these particulars, and taken my share of a dozen cups of chocolate mixed with coffee[E], I told him, boldly, that I knew no other happiness on earth than that of acting plays; that a severe and afflicting event having left me master of my actions, and enjoying a small patrimony of 750 livres a year, I had reason to hope, that by abandoning my father's business, I should lose nothing by the change, if I might hope one day to be admitted into the king's company of comedians. "'Ah, my friend!' cried M. de Voltaire, 'never form this resolution. Be ruled by me; play comedy for your amusement, but never make it your profession. It is the finest, the most rare and difficult talent that can be; but it is disgraced by blockheads, and proscribed by hypocrites. At some future day France will esteem your art, but then there will be no more Barons, Lecouvreurs, nor Dangevilles. If you will renounce your project, I will lend you 10,000 francs to form your establishment, and you shall repay me when you can. Go, my friend, return to me towards the end of the week, reflect maturely upon my advice and proposal, and give me a positive answer.'