I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the Comedic Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me that M. du Tillot had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.
“He would not get me anything to do,” said Poinsinet, “because a French poet is rather at a discount in Italy.”
“Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?”
“Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was going to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to give him a thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome.”
“His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on his lady-mother with you.”
“I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she will invite you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk to you.”
“How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve Apollo?”
“He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no room, and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will read you my play, the ‘Cercle’, which has been accepted. I am sure it will be successful?”
The ‘Cercle’ was a short prose play, in which the poet satirised the jargon of Dr. Herrenschwand, brother of the doctor I had consulted at Soleure. The play proved to be a great success.
I took Poinsinet home to supper, and the poor nursling of the muses ate for four. In the morning he came to tell me that the Countess of Lismore expected me to supper.