—That thought, otherwise just, does not apply to Mademoiselle de La Chaux.
During her recovery we sorted out her schedule. She had more than enough spirit, imagination, taste and knowledge to be admitted into the Académie des Inscriptions. She had listened to us wax metaphysical for so long that the most abstract matters had become familiar to her. Her first literary endeavor was the translation of Hume´s Essays on Human Understanding. I proofread it, and to tell you the truth she had left me with very little to rectify. This translation was printed in Holland and was well received by the public.
My Letter on the Blind and the Dumb appeared at almost the same time. She raised some very perceptive objections which gave rise to an addition dedicated to her[6]. I have done worse things than make this addition.
Mademoiselle de La Chaux´s happiness had been somewhat restored. The doctor cooked for us occasionally and these dinners were not too sorrowful. Since Gardeil´s estrangement, Le Camus´ passion had made marvelous strides. One day, at the table during dessert, as he was expressing it with all the honesty, sensitivity and naïveté of a child, she said to him, with a sincerity that pleased me greatly but which will perhaps displease others: `Doctor, it would be impossible to heighten the respect I have for you. Your kindnesses fulfill me, and I would be as gloomy as the monster of Hyacinthe Street were I not steeped in the fiercest gratitude. You tell me of your passion with such grace and sensitivity that I would be, I think, angry if you were to stop. Just the idea of losing your company or of being deprived of your friendship is enough to make me miserable. You are a good man, if there ever was one. Your goodness and sweetness of character is incomparable. I do not believe that a heart can fall into better hands. I appeal to my own from morning till night in your favor, but appeal in vain to that which does not desire it. I am not making any more progress. Meanwhile you will suffer, and so I feel a vicious pain. I do not know anyone more worthy of the happiness that you seek, and I do not know what I would not do to make you happy. Anything is possible, without exception. I mean, doctor, I would… yes, I would go so far as to sleep… so far as to include that. Do you want to sleep with me? You only have to say so. That is all I can do for you. But you want to be loved, and I do not know a way.´
The doctor listened to her, took her by the hand and kissed it, wet it with tears. And I, I did not know whether I should laugh or cry. Mademoiselle de La Chaux knew the doctor well. The next day I said to her, `But Mademoiselle, if the doctor had said the word?´ She answered, `I would have kept my promise, but that would never have happened; my offers were not of the sort that would be accepted by a man like him…´ `Why not? It seems to me that if I were in his position I would have simply hoped that the rest would follow.´ `Yes, but if you were in his position, Mademoiselle de La Chaux would not have made you the same proposition.´
The Hume translation had not made her very much money. The Dutch will print anything provided they do not pay for it.
—Lucky for us. Given all the restrictions we place on thought in our country, if they even once decided to pay the authors they would bring the entire book industry to their doorstep.
—We advised her to write a light read, one that would bring her more profit than respect. She worked for four or five months, at which point she brought me a short historical fiction entitled "The Three Favorites." It had a deftness of style, finesse and earnestness, but - without her having realized it for she was incapable of any malice - it was scattered with a multitude of details applicable to the King´s mistress, the Marquise of Pompadour; and I did not conceal from her the fact that whatever the sacrifice, whether it be in softening or removing these sections, it would be almost impossible for her work to appear without compromising her, and that the unhappiness of spoiling such a good thing would not guarantee her another.
She sensed the truth in my observation and became only more distressed. The good doctor predicted all her needs, but she accepted his charity with all the more reservation, as she felt herself less disposed to the sort of gratitude that he hoped to receive from her. Besides, the doctor[7] was not wealthy then, and he was not particularly in a position to become wealthy. From time to time she took her manuscript from its folder and said to me sadly, `Well! There is no way to make anything of this. It will have to remain there.´ I gave her some singular advice: send the work as is, without toning it down or altering it, to Madame de Pompadour herself, with a postscript explaining the delivery. This idea pleased her. She wrote a charming letter on all counts, but most importantly with a tone of sincerity to which it would be impossible to say no. Two or three months passed with no word and she had deemed the attempt fruitless, until a Saint-Louis cross came to her home with a letter from the marquise. The work was given the praise it merited, she was thanked for her sacrifice, a market was acknowledged, no offense was taken, and the author was invited to come to Versailles, where she would find a gracious woman disposed to give the help that depended on her. As he was leaving Mademoiselle de La Chaux´s home the envoy left a roll of fifty louis smoothly on her mantelpiece.
The doctor and I urged her to take advantage of Madame de Pompadour´s good will, but we were working with a girl whose modesty and shyness matched her merit. How to present oneself there in rags? The doctor raised this concern immediately. After clothing there were other excuses, and then still more. The voyage to Versailles was deferred from day to day until it was almost inappropriate to go through with it. It had already been some time since we had spoken to her about it when the same emissary returned with a second letter filled with the kindest reproaches and another bonus offered with the same gentleness as the first. This generous act of Madame de Pompadour has never been discovered. I spoke of it to M. Collin, her confidant and distributor of her secret favors. He had not heard of it, and I like to think that it is not the only one that her tomb contains.