M. Mennesson would be at that time a man of about thirty-five, rather under the average height, thick-set, sturdy, well proportioned throughout his frame, almost to massiveness; his hair reddish and short, his eyes sharp, his mouth inclined to teasing. He was a clever man; often short in his manner, always obstinate; he was a fanatic, a Voltairian and a Republican, before anyone had yet thought of becoming a Republican.
The poem of la Pucelle was his favourite reading; he knew whole passages of it by heart, and would repeat them in his good-humoured moments or after dinner.
Of course he selected the most impious and licentious passages.
I am told that he has since, without renouncing Republicanism, become extravagantly religious, and that he now takes part in processions, taper in hand, whereas previously he would keep his head covered when they passed.
May God have mercy on his soul!
Two members of that legal hierarchy stand out in my memory—the head and second clerks.
The first was called Niguet. He was a young man of twenty-six or twenty-eight, the son of a lawyer, grandson of a lawyer, nephew of a lawyer; one of those individuals who come into this world possessed of the equipment of spidery handwriting, an illegible signature, and a tremendous flourish after it.
The second was a lad of about my own age. He was fat and yellow-skinned; he had a pointed nose; he studied ten years to become a lawyer, and ended by being a forest keeper.
I never heard whether he ever raised himself above the grade of a common keeper, although he had influential connections in the administration of the forest lands, and three or four thousand livres income from his mother's family.
He was called Cousin.