The part to which I had been most attentive, and in which I had kept at the greatest distance from the common track, was the recitative.  Mine was accented in a manner entirely new, and accompanied the utterance of the word.  The directors dared not suffer this horrid innovation to pass, lest it should shock the ears of persons who never judge for themselves.  Another recitative was proposed by Francueil and Jelyotte, to which I consented; but refused at the same time to have anything to do with it myself.

When everything was ready and the day of performance fixed, a proposition was made me to go to Fontainebleau, that I might at least be at the last rehearsal.  I went with Mademoiselle Fel, Grimm, and I think the Abbe Raynal, in one of the stages to the court.  The rehearsal was tolerable:  I was more satisfied with it than I expected to have been.  The orchestra was numerous, composed of the orchestras of the opera and the king’s band.  Jelyotte played Colin, Mademoiselle Fel, Colette, Cuvillier the Devin:  the choruses were those of the opera.  I said but little; Jelyotte had prepared everything; I was unwilling either to approve of or censure what he had done; and notwithstanding I had assumed the air of an old Roman, I was, in the midst of so many people, as bashful as a schoolboy.

The next morning, the day of performance, I went to breakfast at the coffee-house ‘du grand commun’, where I found a great number of people.  The rehearsal of the preceding evening, and the difficulty of getting into the theatre, were the subjects of conversation.  An officer present said he entered with the greatest ease, gave a long account of what had passed, described the author, and related what he had said and done; but what astonished me most in this long narrative, given with as much assurance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syllable of truth.  It was clear to me that he who spoke so positively of the rehearsal had not been at it, because, without knowing him, he had before his eyes that author whom he said he had seen and examined so minutely.  However, what was more singular still in this scene, was its effect upon me.  The officer was a man rather in years, he had nothing of the appearance of a coxcomb; his features appeared to announce a man of merit; and his cross of Saint Louis, an officer of long standing.  He interested me:  notwithstanding his impudence.  Whilst he uttered his lies, I blushed, looked down, and was upon thorns; I, for some time, endeavored within myself to find the means of believing him to be in an involuntary error.  At length, trembling lest some person should know me, and by this means confound him, I hastily drank my chocolate, without saying a word, and, holding down my head, I passed before him, got out of the coffee-house as soon as possible, whilst the company were making their remarks upon the relation that had been given.  I was no sooner in the street than I was in a perspiration, and had anybody known and named me before I left the room, I am certain all the shame and embarrassment of a guilty person would have appeared in my countenance, proceeding from what I felt the poor man would have had to have suffered had his lie been discovered.