I answered that he alone had the right to believe it impossible.  I then asked him whether he had to work a great deal to compose his beautiful poetry; he shewed me four or five pages which he had covered with erasures and words crossed and scratched out only because he had wished to bring fourteen lines to perfection, and he assured me that he had never been able to compose more than that number in one day.  He confirmed my knowledge of a truth which I had found out before, namely, that the very lines which most readers believe to have flowed easily from the poet’s pen are generally those which he has had the greatest difficulty in composing.

“Which of your operas,” I enquired, “do you like best?”

“’Attilio Regolo; ma questo non vuol gia dire che sia il megliore’.”

“All your works have been translated in Paris into French prose, but the publisher was ruined, for it is not possible to read them, and it proves the elevation and the power of your poetry.”

“Several years ago, another foolish publisher ruined himself by a translation into French prose of the splendid poetry of Ariosto.  I laugh at those who maintain that poetry can be translated into prose.”

“I am of your opinion.”

“And you are right.”

He told me that he had never written an arietta without composing the music of it himself, but that as a general rule he never shewed his music to anyone.

“The French,” he added, “entertain the very strange belief that it is possible to adapt poetry to music already composed.”

And he made on that subject this very philosophical remark: 

“You might just as well say to a sculptor, ’Here is a piece of marble, make a Venus, and let her expression be shewn before the features are chiselled.’”

I went to the Imperial Library, and was much surprised to meet De la Haye in the company of two Poles, and a young Venetian whom his father had entrusted to him to complete his education.  I believed him to be in Poland, and as the meeting recalled interesting recollections I was pleased to see him.  I embraced him repeatedly with real pleasure.

He told me that he was in Vienna on business, and that he would go to Venice during the summer.  We paid one another several visits, and hearing that I was rather short of money he lent me fifty ducats, which I returned a short time after.  He told me that Bavois was already lieutenant-colonel in the Venetian army, and the news afforded me great pleasure.  He had been fortunate enough to be appointed adjutant-general by M. Morosini, who, after his return from his embassy in France, had made him Commissary of the Borders.  I was delighted to hear of the happiness and success of two men who certainly could not help acknowledging me as the original cause of their good fortune.  In Vienna I acquired the certainty of De la Haye being a Jesuit, but he would not let anyone allude to the subject.