In his youth he had been engaged in busy scenes with Cardinal Alberoni, and had lived with Voltaire, and Madame du Châtelet, and, indeed, with all the wits and philosophers then in fashion. He was also employed in the education of the Prince, afterwards Duke, of Parma. The friendship that existed between him and Père le Sueur was extraordinary. They agreed perfectly, because they had the same general views and the same goodness of principle, with diametrically opposite dispositions. Le Sueur had all the judgment, patience, and exactness necessary for the great work they had in hand, and Jacquier all the genius, fire, and penetration. In this social intercourse this opposition of qualities kept them from interfering with each other’s way of life, and the loss of such a friend as Le Sueur was never repaired to the survivor. I did not know Père Jacquier till some years after this trying event, which, I believe, threw him more than ever into general society. As I have already remarked, he was then an old man, but his imagination was as vivid, and his heart as warm, as ever.
Strangers, politicians, men of letters, men of fashion, were all alike desirous to become acquainted with Père Jacquier. There was no pedantry, no vanity, in his mode of conversing, but if he thought himself neglected he was very unhappy; not offended, but like a child whom its parents have left at home. On this account Cardinal de Bernis used to say of him: “Le Père Jacquier a l’esprit d’un homme, et le cœur d’un enfant.” We used to see him almost every day, and he was so good as to take much pains with me in my studies. It so happened that an English naval officer came to Rome with a friend for a few weeks, and my mother was anxious that they should see everything most worthy of notice. This often engaged us so that we were not always at home at the hours Père Jacquier used to call. My mother found out that he was much vexed, and ordered me to write a note to him, to say that we had two friends who were very desirous to make his acquaintance, and would perhaps have some favour to ask of him. This set all right immediately: he became very intimate with them, and paid them every possible attention. He was a thoroughly good Christian, but by no means a bigot, and his intimacy with the philosophers made some people suspect his religious principles. But, for my part, I never heard a word from him which could be thought reprehensible by the severest moralist or most scrupulous Christian; and when some secret enemy wrote to the Bishop of his diocese, to complain of his frequenting the society of Voltaire and Madame du Châtelet, that prelate answered, “he wished those personages were always in such good company.” In fact, Père Jacquier had seen enough of the philosophers to be able to estimate them at their just value. His heart was too warm to sympathise with their cold selfishness and hypocritical philanthropy, and his mind too enlightened to adopt the errors of their systematic infidelity. He would say it is impossible to investigate the earth and the skies without adoring the Creator, or to feel the weakness of our nature without being a Christian.