the usages of society, but it is easily seen that he is infinitely intelligent.  He has a brown complexion, while eyes that overflow with fire give animation to his expression.  When he has spoken and you look at him, he appears comely; but when you try to recall him, his image is always extremely plain.  They say that he has bad health, and endures agony which from some motive of vanity he most carefully conceals.  It is this, I fancy, which gives him from time to time an air of sullenness."[110] The other lady, who saw him at the same time, speaks of “the poor devil of an author, who’s as poor as Job for you, but with wit and vanity enough for four....  They say his history is as queer as his person, and that is saying a good deal....  Madame Maupeou and I tried to guess what it was.  ‘In spite of his face,’ said she (for it is certain he is uncommonly plain), ’his eyes tell that love plays a great part in his romance.’  ‘No,’ said I, ’his nose tells me that it is vanity.’  ’Well then, ‘tis both one and the other.’"[111]

One of his patronesses took some trouble to procure him the post of secretary to the French ambassador at Venice, and in the spring of 1743 our much-wandering man started once more in quest of meat and raiment in the famous city of the Adriatic.  This was one of those steps of which there are not a few in a man’s life, that seem at the moment to rank foremost in the short line of decisive acts, and then are presently seen not to have been decisive at all, but mere interruptions conducting nowhither.  In truth the critical moments with us are mostly as points in slumber.  Even if the ancient oracles of the gods were to regain their speech once more on the earth, men would usually go to consult them on days when the answer would have least significance, and could guide them least far.  That one of the most heedless vagrants in Europe, and as it happened one of the men of most extraordinary genius also, should have got a footing in the train of the ambassador of a great government, would naturally seem to him and others as chance’s one critical stroke in his life.  In reality it was nothing.  The Count of Montaigu, his master, was one of the worst characters with whom Rousseau could for his own profit have been brought into contact.  In his professional quality he was not far from imbecile.  The folly and weakness of the government at Versailles during the reign of Lewis XV., and its indifference to competence in every department except perhaps partially in the fisc, was fairly illustrated in its absurd representative at Venice.  The secretary, whose renown has preserved his master’s name, has recorded more amply than enough the grounds of quarrel between them.  Rousseau is for once eager to assert his own efficiency, and declares that he rendered many important services for which he was repaid with ingratitude and persecution.[112] One would be glad to know what the Count of Montaigu’s version of matters was, for in truth Rousseau’s conduct in previous posts makes us wonder how it was that he who had hitherto always been unfaithful over few things, suddenly touched perfection when he became lord over many.