Literary occupations caused another interruption not less prejudicial to my daily employment.  My discourse had no sooner appeared than the defenders of letters fell upon me as if they had agreed with each to do it.  My indignation was so raised at seeing so many blockheads, who did not understand the question, attempt to decide upon it imperiously, that in my answer I gave some of them the worst of it.  One M. Gautier, of Nancy, the first who fell under the lash of my pen, was very roughly treated in a letter to M. Grimm.  The second was King Stanislaus, himself, who did not disdain to enter the lists with me.  The honor he did me, obliged me to change my manner in combating his opinions; I made use of a graver style, but not less nervous; and without failing in respect to the author, I completely refuted his work.  I knew a Jesuit, Father de Menou, had been concerned in it.  I depended on my judgment to distinguish what was written by the prince, from the production of the monk, and falling without mercy upon all the jesuitical phrases, I remarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I thought could come from nobody but the priest.  This composition, which, for what reason I knew not, has been less spoken of than any of my other writings, is the only one of its kind.  I seized the opportunity which offered of showing to the public in what manner an individual may defend the cause of truth even against a sovereign.  It is difficult to adopt a more dignified and respectful manner than that in which I answered him.  I had the happiness to have to do with an adversary to whom, without adulation, I could show every mark of the esteem of which my heart was full; and this I did with success and a proper dignity.  My friends, concerned for my safety, imagined they already saw me in the Bastile.  This apprehension never once entered my head, and I was right in not being afraid.  The good prince, after reading my answer, said:  “I have enough of at; I will not return to the charge.”  I have, since that time received from him different marks of esteem and benevolence, some of which I shall have occasion to speak of; and what I had written was read in France, and throughout Europe, without meeting the least censure.

In a little time I had another adversary whom I had not expected; this was the same M. Bordes, of Lyons, who ten years before had shown me much friendship, and from whom I had received several services.  I had not forgotten him, but had neglected him from idleness, and had not sent him my writings for want of an opportunity, without seeking for it, to get them conveyed to his hands.  I was therefore in the wrong, and he attacked me; this, however, he did politely, and I answered in the same manner.  He replied more decidedly.  This produced my last answer; after which I heard no more from him upon the subject; but he became my most violent enemy, took the advantage of the time of my misfortunes, to publish against me the most indecent libels, and made a journey to London on purpose to do me an injury.