The description of his intellect is the object of our curiosity.  “I am as ambitious as any person can be; but I would not sacrifice my honour to my ambition.  I am so sensible to contempt, that I bear a mortal and implacable hatred against those who contemn me, and I know I could never reconcile myself with them; but I spare no attentions for those I love; I would give them my fortune and my life.  I sometimes lie; but generally in affairs of gallantry, where I voluntarily confirm falsehoods by oaths, without reflection, for swearing with me is a habit.  I am told that my mind is brilliant, and that I have a certain manner in turning a thought which is quite my own.  I am agreeable in conversation, though I confess I am often troublesome; for I maintain paradoxes to display my genius, which savour too much of scholastic subterfuges.  I speak too often and too long; and as I have some reading, and a copious memory, I am fond of showing whatever I know.  My judgment is not so solid as my wit is lively.  I am often melancholy and unhappy; and this sombrous disposition proceeds from my numerous disappointments in life.  My verse is preferred to my prose; and it has been of some use to me in pleasing the fair sex; poetry is most adapted to persuade women; but otherwise it has been of no service to me, and has, I fear, rendered me unfit for many advantageous occupations, in which I might have drudged.  The esteem of the fair has, however, charmed away my complaints.  This good fortune has been obtained by me, at the cost of many cares, and an unsubdued patience; for I am one of those who, in affairs of love, will suffer an entire year, to taste the pleasures of one day.”

This character of Cantenac has some local features; for an English poet would hardly console himself with so much gaiety.  The Frenchman’s attachment to the ladies seems to be equivalent to the advantageous occupations he had lost.  But as the miseries of a literary man, without conspicuous talents, are always the same at Paris as in London, there are some parts of this character of Cantenac which appear to describe them with truth.  Cantenac was a man of honour; as warm in his resentment as his gratitude; but deluded by literary vanity, he became a writer in prose and verse, and while he saw the prospects of life closing on him, probably considered that the age was unjust.  A melancholy example for certain volatile and fervent spirits, who, by becoming authors, either submit their felicity to the caprices of others, or annihilate the obscure comforts of life, and, like him, having “been told that their mind is brilliant, and that they have a certain manner in turning a thought,” become writers, and complain that they are “often melancholy, owing to their numerous disappointments.”  Happy, however, if the obscure, yet too sensible writer, can suffer an entire year, for the enjoyment of a single day!  But for this, a man must have been born in France.

* * * * *