{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3913/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3913","id":"gutenberg_3913","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3913","summary":null,"tags":["Authors, French -- 18th century -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: French Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 1712-1778"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU\n\nBy Jean Jacques Rousseau\n\n(In 12 books)\n\nPrivately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society\n\nLondon, 1903\n\n\n[Illustration: cover]\n\n\n\n[Illustration: titlepage]\n\n\n\n[Illustration: frontispiece]\n\n\n\n[Illustration: rousseau]\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\n|Among the notable books of later times--we may say, without\nexaggeration, of all time--must be reckoned The Confessions of Jean\nJacques Rousseau. It deals with leading personages and transactions of\na momentous epoch, when absolutism and feudalism were rallying for\ntheir last struggle against the modern spirit, chiefly represented by\nVoltaire, the Encyclopedists, and Rousseau himself--a struggle to which,\nafter many fierce intestine quarrels and sanguinary wars throughout\nEurope and America, has succeeded the prevalence of those more tolerant\nand rational principles by which the statesmen of our own day are\nactuated.\n\nOn these matters, however, it is not our province to enlarge; nor is\nit necessary to furnish any detailed account of our author's political,\nreligious, and philosophic axioms and systems, his paradoxes and his\nerrors in logic: these have been so long and so exhaustively disputed\nover by contending factions that little is left for even the most\nassiduous gleaner in the field. The inquirer will find, in Mr. John\nMoney's excellent work, the opinions of Rousseau reviewed succinctly and\nimpartially. The 'Contrat Social', the 'Lettres Ecrites de la Montagne',\nand other treatises that once aroused fierce controversy, may therefore\nbe left in the repose to which they have long been consigned, so far as\nthe mass of mankind is concerned, though they must always form part of\nthe library of the politician and the historian. One prefers to turn to\nthe man Rousseau as he paints himself in the remarkable work before us.\n\nThat the task which he undertook in offering to show himself--as Persius\nputs it--'Intus et in cute', to posterity, exceeded his powers, is\na trite criticism; like all human enterprises, his purpose was only\nimperfectly fulfilled; but this circumstance in no way lessens the\nattractive qualities of his book, not only for the student of history\nor psychology, but for the intelligent man of the world. Its\nstartling frankness gives it a peculiar interest wanting in most other\nautobiographies.\n\nMany censors have elected to sit in judgment on the failings of this\nstrangely constituted being, and some have pronounced upon him very\nsevere sentences. Let it be said once for all that his faults and\nmistakes were generally due to causes over which he had but little\ncontrol, such as a defective education, a too acute sensitiveness, which\nengendered suspicion of his fellows, irresolution, an overstrained sense\nof honour and independence, and an obstinate refusal to take advice from\nthose who really wished to befriend him; nor should it be forgotten that\nhe was afflicted during the greater part of his life with an incurable\ndisease.\n\nLord Byron had a soul near akin to Rousseau's, whose writings naturally\nmade a deep impression on the poet's mind, and probably had an influence\non his conduct and modes of thought: In some stanzas of 'Childe Harold'\nthis sympathy is expressed with truth and power; especially is the\nweakness of the Swiss philosopher's character summed up in the following\nadmirable lines:\n\n         \"Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,\n          The apostle of affliction, he who threw\n          Enchantment over passion, and from woe\n          Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew\n          The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew\n          How to make madness beautiful, and cast\n          O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue\n          Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they passed\n          The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.\n\n         \"His life was one long war with self-sought foes,\n          Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind\n          Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose,\n          For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,\n          'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.\n          But he was frenzied,--wherefore, who may know?\n          Since cause might be which skill could never find;\n          But he was frenzied by disease or woe\n          To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.\"\n\nOne would rather, however, dwell on the brighter hues of the picture\nthan on its shadows and blemishes; let us not, then, seek to \"draw\nhis frailties from their dread abode.\" His greatest fault was his\nrenunciation of a father's duty to his offspring; but this crime he\nexpiated by a long and bitter repentance. We cannot, perhaps, very\nreadily excuse the way in which he has occasionally treated the memory\nof his mistress and benefactress. That he loved Madame de Warens--his\n'Mamma'--deeply and sincerely is undeniable, notwithstanding which he\nnow and then dwells on her improvidence and her feminine indiscretions\nwith an unnecessary and unbecoming lack of delicacy that has an\nunpleasant effect on the reader, almost seeming to justify the remark of\none of his most lenient critics--that, after all, Rousseau had the soul\nof a lackey. He possessed, however, many amiable and charming qualities,\nboth as a man and a writer, which were evident to those amidst whom\nhe lived, and will be equally so to the unprejudiced reader of the\nConfessions. He had a profound sense of justice and a real desire for\nthe improvement and advancement of the race. Owing to these excellences\nhe was beloved to the last even by persons whom he tried to repel,\nlooking upon them as members of a band of conspirators, bent upon\ndestroying his domestic peace and depriving him of the means of\nsubsistence.\n\nThose of his writings that are most nearly allied in tone and spirit to\nthe 'Confessions' are the 'Reveries d'un Promeneur Solitaire' and 'La\nNouvelle Heloise'. His correspondence throws much light on his life and\ncharacter, as do also parts of 'Emile'. It is not easy in our day to\nrealize the effect wrought upon the public mind by the advent of 'La\nNouvelle Heloise'. Julie and Saint-Preux became names to conjure with;\ntheir ill-starred amours were everywhere sighed and wept over by the\ntender-hearted fair; indeed, in composing this work, Rousseau may be\nsaid to have done for Switzerland what the author of the Waverly Novels\ndid for Scotland, turning its mountains, lakes and islands, formerly\nregarded with aversion, into a fairyland peopled with creatures whose\njoys and sorrows appealed irresistibly to every breast. Shortly after\nits publication began to flow that stream of tourists and travellers\nwhich tends to make Switzerland not only more celebrated but more\nopulent every year. It, is one of the few romances written in the\nepistolary form that do not oppress the reader with a sense of languor\nand unreality; for its creator poured into its pages a tide of passion\nunknown to his frigid and stilted predecessors, and dared to depict\nNature as she really is, not as she was misrepresented by the modish\nauthors and artists of the age. Some persons seem shy of owning an\nacquaintance with this work; indeed, it has been made the butt of\nridicule by the disciples of a decadent school. Its faults and its\nbeauties are on the surface; Rousseau's own estimate is freely expressed\nat the beginning of the eleventh book of the Confessions and elsewhere.\nIt might be wished that the preface had been differently conceived and\nworded; for the assertion made therein that the book may prove dangerous\nhas caused it to be inscribed on a sort of Index, and good folk who\nnever read a line of it blush at its name. Its \"sensibility,\" too, is\na little overdone, and has supplied the wits with opportunities for\nsatire; for example, Canning, in his 'New Morality':\n\n              \"Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined\n               In the fine foldings\n               Sweet child of sickly Fancy!--her of yore\n               From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;\n               And while 'midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,\n               Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of man,\n               Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine, steep\n               To lisp the story of his wrongs and weep.\"\n\nAs might be imagined, Voltaire had slight sympathy with our social\nreformer's notions and ways of promulgating them, and accordingly took\nup his wonted weapons--sarcasm and ridicule--against poor Jean-Jacques.\nThe quarrels of these two great men cannot be described in this place;\nbut they constitute an important chapter in the literary and social\nhistory of the time. In the work with which we are immediately\nconcerned, the author seems to avoid frequent mention of Voltaire, even\nwhere we should most expect it. However, the state of his mind when he\npenned this record of his life should be always remembered in relation\nto this as well as other occurrences.\n\nRousseau had intended to bring his autobiography down to a later date,\nbut obvious causes prevented this: hence it is believed that a summary\nof the chief events that marked his closing years will not be out of\nplace here.\n\nOn quitting the Ile de Saint-Pierre he travelled to Strasbourg, where\nhe was warmly received, and thence to Paris, arriving in that city on\nDecember 16, 1765. The Prince de Conti provided him with a lodging in\nthe Hotel Saint-Simon, within the precincts of the Temple--a place of\nsanctuary for those under the ban of authority. 'Every one was eager\nto see the illustrious proscript, who complained of being made a daily\nshow, \"like Sancho Panza in his island of Barataria.\" During his short\nstay in the capital there was circulated an ironical letter purporting\nto come from the Great Frederick, but really written by Horace Walpole.\nThis cruel, clumsy, and ill-timed joke angered Rousseau, who ascribed it\nto, Voltaire. A few sentences may be quoted:\n\n     \"My Dear Jean-Jacques,--You have renounced Geneva, your native\n     place.  You have caused your expulsion from Switzerland, a country\n     so extolled in your writings; France has issued a warrant against\n     you: so do you come to me.  My states offer you a peaceful retreat.\n     I wish you well, and will treat you well, if you will let me.  But,\n     if you persist in refusing my help, do not reckon upon my telling\n     any one that you did so.  If you are bent on tormenting your spirit\n     to find new misfortunes, choose whatever you like best.  I am a\n     king, and can procure them for you at your pleasure; and, what will\n     certainly never happen to you in respect of your enemies, I will\n     cease to persecute you as soon as you cease to take a pride in being\n     persecuted.  Your good friend,\n                                             \"FREDERICK.\"\n\n\nEarly in 1766 David Hume persuaded Rousseau to go with him to England,\nwhere the exile could find a secure shelter. In London his appearance\nexcited general attention. Edmund Burke had an interview with him and\nheld that inordinate vanity was the leading trait in his character.\nMr. Davenport, to whom he was introduced by Hume, generously offered\nRousseau a home at Wootton, in Staffordshire, near the Peak Country; the\nlatter, however, would only accept the offer on condition that he should\npay a rent of L 30 a year. He was accorded a pension of L 100 by George\nIII., but declined to draw after the first annual payment. The climate\nand scenery of Wootton being similar to those of his native country, he\nwas at first delighted with his new abode, where he lived with Therese,\nand devoted his time to herborising and inditing the first six books\nof his Confessions. Soon, however, his old hallucinations acquired\nstrength, and Rousseau convinced himself that enemies were bent upon his\ncapture, if not his death. In June, 1766, he wrote a violent letter to\nHume, calling him \"one of the worst of men.\" Literary Paris had\ncombined with Hume and the English Government to surround him--as he\nsupposed--with guards and spies; he revolved in his troubled mind all\nthe reports and rumours he had heard for months and years; Walpole's\nforged letter rankled in his bosom; and in the spring of 1767 he fled;\nfirst to Spalding, in Lincolnshire, and subsequently to Calais, where he\nlanded in May.\n\nOn his arrival in France his restless and wandering disposition forced\nhim continually to change his residence, and acquired for him the title\nof \"Voyageur Perpetuel.\" While at Trye, in Gisors, in 1767--8, he wrote\nthe second part of the Confessions. He had assumed the surname of Renou,\nand about this time he declared before two witnesses that Therese was\nhis wife--a proceeding to which he attached the sanctity of marriage.\nIn 1770 he took up his abode in Paris, where he lived continuously for\nseven years, in a street which now bears his name, and gained a living\nby copying music. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, the author of 'Paul\nand Virginia', who became acquainted with him in 1772, has left some\ninteresting particulars of Rousseau's daily mode of life at this period.\nMonsieur de Girardin having offered him an asylum at Ermemonville in the\nspring of 1778, he and Therese went thither to reside, but for no long\ntime. On the 3d of July, in the same year, this perturbed spirit at last\nfound rest, stricken by apoplexy. A rumor that he had committed suicide\nwas circulated, but the evidence of trustworthy witnesses, including a\nphysician, effectually contradicts this accusation. His remains, first\ninterred in the Ile des Peupliers, were, after the Revolution, removed\nto the Pantheon. In later times the Government of Geneva made some\nreparation for their harsh treatment of a famous citizen, and erected\nhis statue, modelled by his compatriot, Pradier, on an island in the\nRhone.\n\n              \"See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,\n               To buried merit raise the tardy bust.\"\n\nNovember, 1896.                                             S. W. ORSON.\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE CONFESSIONS\n\n                                    OF\n\n                              J. J. ROUSSEAU\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\n|I have entered upon a performance which is without example,\nwhose accomplishment will have no imitator. I mean to present my\nfellow-mortals with a man in all the integrity of nature; and this man\nshall be myself.\n\nI know my heart, and have studied mankind; I am not made like any one\nI have been acquainted with, perhaps like no one in existence; if not\nbetter, I at least claim originality, and whether Nature did wisely\nin breaking the mould with which she formed me, can only be determined\nafter having read this work.\n\nWhenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before the\nsovereign judge with this book in my hand, and loudly proclaim, thus\nhave I acted; these were my thoughts; such was I. With equal freedom and\nveracity have I related what was laudable or wicked, I have concealed no\ncrimes, added no virtues; and if I have sometimes introduced superfluous\nornament, it was merely to occupy a void occasioned by defect of memory:\nI may have supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable, but\nhave never asserted as truth, a conscious falsehood. Such as I was,\nI have declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others,\nvirtuous, generous and sublime; even as thou hast read my inmost soul:\nPower eternal! assemble round thy throne an innumerable throng of my\nfellow-mortals, let them listen to my confessions, let them blush at\nmy depravity, let them tremble at my sufferings; let each in his turn\nexpose with equal sincerity the failings, the wanderings of his heart,\nand, if he dare, aver, I was better than that man.\n\nI was born at Geneva, in 1712, son of Isaac Rousseau and Susannah\nBernard, citizens. My father's share of a moderate competency, which was\ndivided among fifteen children, being very trivial, his business of a\nwatchmaker (in which he had the reputation of great ingenuity) was his\nonly dependence. My mother's circumstances were more affluent; she was\ndaughter of a Mons. Bernard, minister, and possessed a considerable\nshare of modesty and beauty; indeed, my father found some difficulty in\nobtaining her hand.\n\nThe affection they entertained for each other was almost as early as\ntheir existence; at eight or nine years old they walked together every\nevening on the banks of the Treille, and before they were ten, could\nnot support the idea of separation. A natural sympathy of soul confined\nthose sentiments of predilection which habit at first produced; born\nwith minds susceptible of the most exquisite sensibility and tenderness,\nit was only necessary to encounter similar dispositions; that moment\nfortunately presented itself, and each surrendered a willing heart.\n\nThe obstacles that opposed served only to give a decree of vivacity\nto their affection, and the young lover, not being able to obtain his\nmistress, was overwhelmed with sorrow and despair. She advised him to\ntravel--to forget her. He consented--he travelled, but returned\nmore passionate than ever, and had the happiness to find her equally\nconstant, equally tender. After this proof of mutual affection, what\ncould they resolve?--to dedicate their future lives to love!\nthe resolution was ratified with a vow, on which Heaven shed its\nbenediction.\n\nFortunately, my mother's brother, Gabriel Bernard, fell in love with one\nof my father's sisters; she had no objection to the match, but made the\nmarriage of his sister with her brother an indispensable preliminary.\nLove soon removed every obstacle, and the two weddings were celebrated\nthe same day: thus my uncle became the husband of my aunt, and their\nchildren were doubly cousins german. Before a year was expired, both had\nthe happiness to become fathers, but were soon after obliged to submit\nto a separation.\n\nMy uncle Bernard, who was an engineer, went to serve in the empire and\nHungary, under Prince Eugene, and distinguished himself both at the\nsiege and battle of Belgrade. My father, after the birth of my only\nbrother, set off, on recommendation, for Constantinople, and was\nappointed watchmaker to the Seraglio. During his absence, the beauty,\nwit, and accomplishments of my mother attracted a number of admirers,\namong whom Mons. de la Closure, Resident of France, was the most\nassiduous in his attentions.\n\n     [They were too brilliant for her situation, the minister, her\n     father, having bestowed great pains on her education.  She was taught\n     drawing, singing, and to play on the theorbo; had learning, and\n     wrote very agreeable verses.  The following is an extempore piece\n     which she composed in the absence of her husband and brother, in a\n     conversation with some person relative to them, while walking with\n     her sister-in-law, and their two children:\n\n                    Ces deux messieurs, qui sont absens,\n                    Nous sont chers de bien des manieres;\n                    Ce sont nos amis, nos amans,\n                    Ce sont nos maris et nos freres,\n                    Et les peres de ces enfans.\n\n                    These absent ones, who just claim\n                    Our hearts, by every tender name,\n                    To whom each wish extends\n                    Our husbands and our brothers are,\n                    The fathers of this blooming pair,\n                    Our lovers and our friends.]\n\nHis passion must have been extremely violent, since after a period of\nthirty years I have seen him affected at the very mention of her name.\nMy mother had a defence more powerful even than her virtue; she tenderly\nloved my father, and conjured him to return; his inclination seconding\nhis request, he gave up every prospect of emolument, and hastened to\nGeneva.\n\nI was the unfortunate fruit of this return, being born ten months after,\nin a very weakly and infirm state; my birth cost my mother her life, and\nwas the first of my misfortunes. I am ignorant how my father supported\nher loss at that time, but I know he was ever after inconsolable. In\nme he still thought he saw her he so tenderly lamented, but could never\nforget I had been the innocent cause of his misfortune, nor did he\never embrace me, but his sighs, the convulsive pressure of his arms,\nwitnessed that a bitter regret mingled itself with his caresses, though,\nas may be supposed, they were not on this account less ardent. When he\nsaid to me, \"Jean Jacques, let us talk of your mother,\" my usual reply\nwas, \"Yes, father, but then, you know, we shall cry,\" and immediately\nthe tears started from his eyes. \"Ah!\" exclaimed he, with agitation,\n\"Give me back my wife; at least console me for her loss; fill up, dear\nboy, the void she has left in my soul. Could I love thee thus wert thou\nonly my son?\" Forty years after this loss he expired in the arms of his\nsecond wife, but the name of the first still vibrated on his lips, still\nwas her image engraved on his heart.\n\nSuch were the authors of my being: of all the gifts it had pleased\nHeaven to bestow on them, a feeling heart was the only one that\ndescended to me; this had been the source of their felicity, it was the\nfoundation of all my misfortunes.\n\nI came into the world with so few signs of life, that they entertained\nbut little hope of preserving me, with the seeds of a disorder that\nhas gathered strength with years, and from which I am now relieved at\nintervals, only to suffer a different, though more intolerable evil.\nI owed my preservation to one of my father's sisters, an amiable and\nvirtuous girl, who took the most tender care of me; she is yet living,\nnursing, at the age of four-score, a husband younger than herself,\nbut worn out with excessive drinking. Dear aunt! I freely forgive your\nhaving preserved my life, and only lament that it is not in my power to\nbestow on the decline of your days the tender solicitude and care you\nlavished on the first dawn of mine. My nurse, Jaqueline, is likewise\nliving: and in good health--the hands that opened my eyes to the light\nof this world may close them at my death. We suffer before we think; it\nis the common lot of humanity. I experienced more than my proportion of\nit. I have no knowledge of what passed prior to my fifth or sixth year;\nI recollect nothing of learning to read, I only remember what effect\nthe first considerable exercise of it produced on my mind; and from that\nmoment I date an uninterrupted knowledge of myself.\n\nEvery night, after supper, we read some part of a small collection of\nromances which had been my mother's. My father's design was only to\nimprove me in reading, and he thought these entertaining works were\ncalculated to give me a fondness for it; but we soon found ourselves so\ninterested in the adventures they contained, that we alternately read\nwhole nights together, and could not bear to give over until at the\nconclusion of a volume. Sometimes, in a morning, on hearing the swallows\nat our window, my father, quite ashamed of this weakness, would cry,\n\"Come, come, let us go to bed; I am more a child than thou art.\"\n\nI soon acquired, by this dangerous custom, not only an extreme\nfacility in reading and comprehending, but, for my age, a too intimate\nacquaintance with the passions. An infinity of sensations were familiar\nto me, without possessing any precise idea of the objects to which they\nrelated--I had conceived nothing--I had felt the whole. This confused\nsuccession of emotions did not retard the future efforts of my reason,\nthough they added an extravagant, romantic notion of human life, which\nexperience and reflection have never been able to eradicate.\n\nMy romance reading concluded with the summer of 1719, the following\nwinter was differently employed. My mother's library being quite\nexhausted, we had recourse to that part of her father's which had\ndevolved to us; here we happily found some valuable books, which was by\nno means extraordinary, having been selected by a minister that truly\ndeserved that title, in whom learning (which was the rage of the times)\nwas but a secondary commendation, his taste and good sense being\nmost conspicuous. The history of the Church and Empire by Le Sueur,\nBossuett's Discourses on Universal History, Plutarch's Lives,\nthe history of Venice by Nani, Ovid's Metamorphoses, La Bruyere,\nFontenelle's World, his Dialogues of the Dead, and a few volumes of\nMoliere, were soon ranged in my father's closet, where, during the hours\nhe was employed in his business, I daily read them, with an avidity and\ntaste uncommon, perhaps unprecedented at my age.\n\nPlutarch presently became my greatest favorite. The satisfaction I\nderived from repeated readings I gave this author, extinguished my\npassion for romances, and I shortly preferred Agesilaus, Brutus, and\nAristides, to Orondates, Artemenes, and Juba. These interesting studies,\nseconded by the conversations they frequently occasioned with my father,\nproduced that republican spirit and love of liberty, that haughty and\ninvincible turn of mind, which rendered me impatient of restraint or\nservitude, and became the torment of my life, as I continually found\nmyself in situations incompatible with these sentiments. Incessantly\noccupied with Rome and Athens, conversing, if I may so express myself\nwith their illustrious heroes; born the citizen of a republic, of a\nfather whose ruling passion was a love of his country, I was fired with\nthese examples; could fancy myself a Greek or Roman, and readily give\ninto the character of the personage whose life I read; transported by\nthe recital of any extraordinary instance of fortitude or intrepidity,\nanimation flashed from my eyes, and gave my voice additional strength\nand energy. One day, at table, while relating the fortitude of Scoevola,\nthey were terrified at seeing me start from my seat and hold my hand\nover a hot chafing--dish, to represent more forcibly the action of that\ndetermined Roman.\n\nMy brother, who was seven years older than myself, was brought up to\nmy father's profession. The extraordinary affection they lavished on\nme might be the reason he was too much neglected: this certainly was a\nfault which cannot be justified. His education and morals suffered\nby this neglect, and he acquired the habits of a libertine before he\narrived at an age to be really one. My father tried what effect placing\nhim with a master would produce, but he still persisted in the same ill\nconduct. Though I saw him so seldom that it could hardly be said we\nwere acquainted, I loved him tenderly, and believe he had as strong\nan affection for me as a youth of his dissipated turn of mind could be\nsupposed capable of. One day, I remember, when my father was correcting\nhim severely, I threw myself between them, embracing my brother, whom\nI covered with my body, receiving the strokes designed for him; I\npersisted so obstinately in my protection, that either softened by my\ncries and tears, or fearing to hurt me most, his anger subsided, and he\npardoned his fault. In the end, my brother's conduct became so bad that\nhe suddenly disappeared, and we learned some time after that he was in\nGermany, but he never wrote to us, and from that day we heard no news of\nhim: thus I became an only son.\n\nIf this poor lad was neglected, it was quite different with his brother,\nfor the children of a king could not be treated with more attention and\ntenderness than were bestowed on my infancy, being the darling of the\nfamily; and what is rather uncommon, though treated as a beloved, never\na spoiled child; was never permitted, while under paternal inspection,\nto play in the street with other children; never had any occasion\nto contradict or indulge those fantastical humors which are usually\nattributed to nature, but are in reality the effects of an injudicious\neducation. I had the faults common to my age, was talkative, a glutton,\nand sometimes a liar, made no scruple of stealing sweetmeats, fruits,\nor, indeed, any kind of eatables; but never took delight in mischievous\nwaste, in accusing others, or tormenting harmless animals. I recollect,\nindeed, that one day, while Madam Clot, a neighbor of ours, was gone to\nchurch, I made water in her kettle: the remembrance even now makes me\nsmile, for Madame Clot (though, if you please, a good sort of creature)\nwas one of the most tedious grumbling old women I ever knew. Thus have I\ngiven a brief, but faithful, history of my childish transgressions.\n\nHow could I become cruel or vicious, when I had before my eyes only\nexamples of mildness, and was surrounded by some of the best people in\nthe world? My father, my aunt, my nurse, my relations, our friends, our\nneighbors, all I had any connection with, did not obey me, it is true,\nbut loved me tenderly, and I returned their affection. I found so little\nto excite my desires, and those I had were so seldom contradicted, that\nI was hardly sensible of possessing any, and can solemnly aver I was an\nabsolute stranger to caprice until after I had experienced the authority\nof a master.\n\nThose hours that were not employed in reading or writing with my father,\nor walking with my governess, Jaqueline, I spent with my aunt; and\nwhether seeing her embroider, or hearing her sing, whether sitting or\nstanding by her side, I was ever happy. Her tenderness and unaffected\ngayety, the charms of her figure and countenance have left such\nindelible impressions on my mind, that her manner, look, and attitude\nare still before my eyes; I recollect a thousand little caressing\nquestions; could describe her clothes, her head-dress, nor have the two\ncurls of fine black hair which hung on her temples, according to the\nmode of that time, escaped my memory.\n\nThough my taste, or rather passion, for music, did not show itself\nuntil a considerable time after, I am fully persuaded it is to her I am\nindebted for it. She knew a great number of songs, which she sung with\ngreat sweetness and melody. The serenity and cheerfulness which were\nconspicuous in this lovely girl, banished melancholy, and made all round\nher happy.\n\nThe charms of her voice had such an effect on me, that not only several\nof her songs have ever since remained on my memory, but some I have not\nthought of from my infancy, as I grow old, return upon my mind with a\ncharm altogether inexpressible. Would any one believe that an old dotard\nlike me, worn out with care and infirmity, should sometime surprise\nhimself weeping like a child, and in a voice querulous, and broken by\nage, muttering out one of those airs which were the favorites of\nmy infancy? There is one song in particular, whose tune I perfectly\nrecollect, but the words that compose the latter half of it constantly\nrefuse every effort to recall them, though I have a confused idea of the\nrhymes. The beginning, with what I have been able to recollect of the\nremainder, is as follows:\n\n                    Tircis, je n'ose\n                    Ecouter ton Chalumeau\n                    Sous l'Ormeau;\n                    Car on en cause\n                    Deja dans notre hameau.\n                    ----   ---- -------\n                    ------ --- un Berger\n                    s'engager\n                    sans danger,\n                    Et toujours l'epine est sons la rose.\n\n\nI have endeavored to account for the invincible charm my heart feels on\nthe recollection of this fragment, but it is altogether inexplicable.\nI only know, that before I get to the end of it, I always find my voice\ninterrupted by tenderness, and my eyes suffused with tears. I have\na hundred times formed the resolution of writing to Paris for the\nremainder of these words, if any one should chance to know them: but\nI am almost certain the pleasure I take in the recollection would be\ngreatly diminished was I assured any one but my poor aunt Susan had sung\nthem.\n\nSuch were my affections on entering this life. Thus began to form and\ndemonstrate itself, a heart, at once haughty and tender, a character\neffeminate, yet invincible; which, fluctuating between weakness and\ncourage, luxury and virtue, has ever set me in contradiction to myself;\ncausing abstinence and enjoyment, pleasure and prudence, equally to shun\nme.\n\nThis course of education was interrupted by an accident, whose\nconsequences influenced the rest of my life. My father had a quarrel\nwith M. G----, who had a captain's commission in France, and was related\nto several of the Council. This G----, who was an insolent, ungenerous\nman, happening to bleed at the nose, in order to be revenged, accused my\nfather of having drawn his sword on him in the city, and in consequence\nof this charge they were about to conduct him to prison. He insisted\n(according to the law of this republic) that the accuser should be\nconfined at the same time; and not being able to obtain this, preferred\na voluntary banishment for the remainder of his life, to giving up a\npoint by which he must sacrifice his honor and liberty.\n\nI remained under the tuition of my uncle Bernard, who was at that\ntime employed in the fortifications of Geneva. He had lost his eldest\ndaughter, but had a son about my own age, and we were sent together to\nBossey, to board with the Minister Lambercier. Here we were to learn\nLatin, with all the insignificant trash that has obtained the name of\neducation.\n\nTwo years spent in this village softened, in some degree, my Roman\nfierceness, and again reduced me to a state of childhood. At Geneva,\nwhere nothing was exacted, I loved reading, which was, indeed, my\nprincipal amusement; but, at Bossey, where application was expected, I\nwas fond of play as a relaxation. The country was so new, so charming\nin my idea, that it seemed impossible to find satiety in its enjoyments,\nand I conceived a passion for rural life, which time has not been able\nto extinguish; nor have I ever ceased to regret the pure and tranquil\npleasures I enjoyed at this place in my childhood; the remembrance\nhaving followed me through every age, even to that in which I am\nhastening again towards it.\n\nM. Lambercier was a worthy, sensible man, who, without neglecting our\ninstruction, never made our acquisitions burthensome, or tasks\ntedious. What convinces me of the rectitude of his method is, that\nnotwithstanding my extreme aversion to restraint, the recollection of\nmy studies is never attended with disgust; and, if my improvement was\ntrivial, it was obtained with ease, and has never escaped memory.\n\nThe simplicity of this rural life was of infinite advantage in opening\nmy heart to the reception of true friendship. The sentiments I had\nhitherto formed on this subject were extremely elevated, but altogether\nimaginary. The habit of living in this peaceful manner soon united me\ntenderly to my cousin Bernard; my affection was more ardent than that\nI had felt for my brother, nor has time ever been able to efface it.\nHe was a tall, lank, weakly boy, with a mind as mild as his body was\nfeeble, and who did not wrong the good opinion they were disposed to\nentertain for the son of my guardian. Our studies, amusements, and\ntasks, were the same; we were alone; each wanted a playmate; to separate\nwould in some measure, have been to annihilate us. Though we had not\nmany opportunities of demonstrating our attachment to each other, it was\ncertainly extreme; and so far from enduring the thought of separation,\nwe could not even form an idea that we should ever be able to submit to\nit. Each of a disposition to be won by kindness, and complaisant, when\nnot soured by contradiction, we agreed in every particular. If, by\nthe favor of those who governed us he had the ascendant while in\ntheir presence, I was sure to acquire it when we were alone, and this\npreserved the equilibrium so necessary in friendship. If he hesitated in\nrepeating his task, I prompted him; when my exercises were finished, I\nhelped to write his; and, in our amusements, my disposition being most\nactive, ever had the lead. In a word, our characters accorded so well,\nand the friendship that subsisted between us was so cordial, that during\nthe five years we were at Bossey and Geneva we were inseparable: we\noften fought, it is true, but there never was any occasion to separate\nus. No one of our quarrels lasted more than a quarter of an hour, and\nnever in our lives did we make any complaint of each other. It may be\nsaid, these remarks are frivolous; but, perhaps, a similiar example\namong children can hardly be produced.\n\nThe manner in which I passed my time at Bossey was so agreeable to my\ndisposition, that it only required a longer duration absolutely to have\nfixed my character, which would have had only peaceable, affectionate,\nbenevolent sentiments for its basis. I believe no individual of our\nkind ever possessed less natural vanity than myself. At intervals, by\nan extraordinary effort, I arrived at sublime ideas, but presently sunk\nagain into my original languor. To be loved by every one who knew me was\nmy most ardent wish. I was naturally mild, my cousin was equally so, and\nthose who had the care of us were of similiar dispositions. Everything\ncontributed to strengthen those propensities which nature had implanted\nin my breast, and during the two years I was neither the victim nor\nwitness of any violent emotions.\n\nI knew nothing so delightful as to see every one content, not only with\nme, but all that concerned them. When repeating our catechism at church,\nnothing could give me greater vexation, on being obliged to hesitate,\nthan to see Miss Lambercier's countenance express disapprobation and\nuneasiness. This alone was more afflicting to me than the shame\nof faltering before so many witnesses, which, notwithstanding, was\nsufficiently painful; for though not oversolicitous of praise, I was\nfeelingly alive to shame; yet I can truly affirm, the dread of being\nreprimanded by Miss Lambercier alarmed me less than the thought of\nmaking her uneasy.\n\nNeither she nor her brother were deficient in a reasonable severity, but\nas this was scarce ever exerted without just cause, I was more afflicted\nat their disapprobation than the punishment. Certainly the method\nof treating youth would be altered if the distant effects this\nindiscriminate, and frequently indiscreet method produces, were more\nconspicuous. I would willingly excuse myself from a further explanation,\ndid not the lesson this example conveys (which points out an evil as\nfrequent as it is pernicious) forbid my silence.\n\nAs Miss Lambercier felt a mother's affection, she sometimes exerted a\nmother's authority, even to inflicting on us when we deserved it, the\npunishment of infants. She had often threatened it, and this threat of\na treatment entirely new, appeared to me extremely dreadful; but I found\nthe reality much less terrible than the idea, and what is still more\nunaccountable, this punishment increased my affection for the person who\nhad inflicted it. All this affection, aided by my natural mildness, was\nscarcely sufficient to prevent my seeking, by fresh offences, a return\nof the same chastisement; for a degree of sensuality had mingled with\nthe smart and shame, which left more desire than fear of a repetition.\nI was well convinced the same discipline from her brother would have\nproduced a quite contrary effect; but from a man of his disposition this\nwas not probable, and if I abstained from meriting correction it was\nmerely from a fear of offending Miss Lambercier, for benevolence, aided\nby the passions, has ever maintained an empire over me which has given\nlaw to my heart.\n\nThis event, which, though desirable, I had not endeavored to accelerate,\narrived without my fault; I should say, without my seeking; and I\nprofited by it with a safe conscience; but this second, was also the\nlast time, for Miss Lambercier, who doubtless had some reason to imagine\nthis chastisement did not produce the desired effect, declared it was\ntoo fatiguing, and that she renounced it for the future. Till now we had\nslept in her chamber, and during the winter, even in her bed; but two\ndays after another room was prepared for us, and from that moment I had\nthe honor (which I could very well have dispensed with) of being treated\nby her as a great boy.\n\nWho would believe this childish discipline, received at eight years old,\nfrom the hands of a woman of thirty, should influence my propensities,\nmy desires, my passions, for the rest of my life, and that in quite a\ncontrary sense from what might naturally have been expected? The very\nincident that inflamed my senses, gave my desires such an extraordinary\nturn, that, confined to what I had already experienced, I sought no\nfurther, and, with blood boiling with sensuality, almost from my birth,\npreserved my purity beyond the age when the coldest constitutions lose\ntheir insensibility; long tormented, without knowing by what, I gazed on\nevery handsome woman with delight; imagination incessantly brought\ntheir charms to my remembrance, only to transform them into so many Miss\nLamberciers.\n\nIf ever education was perfectly chaste, it was certainly that I\nreceived; my three aunts were not only of exemplary prudence, but\nmaintained a degree of modest reserve which women have long since\nthought unnecessary. My father, it is true, loved pleasure, but his\ngallantry was rather of the last than the present century, and he never\nexpressed his affection for any woman he regarded in terms a virgin\ncould have blushed at; indeed, it was impossible more attention should\nbe paid to that regard we owe the morals of children than was uniformly\nobserved by every one I had any concern with. An equal degree of\nreserve in this particular was observed at M. Lambercier's, where a good\nmaid-servant was discharged for having once made use of an expression\nbefore us which was thought to contain some degree of indelicacy. I\nhad no precise idea of the ultimate effect of the passions, but the\nconception I had formed was extremely disgusting; I entertained a\nparticular aversion for courtesans, nor could I look on a rake without a\ndegree of disdain mingled with terror.\n\nThese prejudices of education, proper in themselves to retard the first\nexplosions of a combustible constitution, were strengthened, as I have\nalready hinted, by the effect the first moments of sensuality produced\nin me, for notwithstanding the troublesome ebullition of my blood, I\nwas satisfied with the species of voluptuousness I had already been\nacquainted with, and sought no further.\n\nThus I passed the age of puberty, with a constitution extremely ardent,\nwithout knowing or even wishing for any other gratification of the\npassions than what Miss Lambercier had innocently given me an idea of;\nand when I became a man, that childish taste, instead of vanishing, only\nassociated with the other. This folly, joined to a natural timidity, has\nalways prevented my being very enterprising with women, so that I have\npassed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admired,\nwithout daring to disclose my wishes.\n\nTo fall at the feet of an imperious mistress, obey her mandates, or\nimplore pardon, were for me the most exquisite enjoyments, and the more\nmy blood was inflamed by the efforts of a lively imagination the more I\nacquired the appearance of a whining lover.\n\nIt will be readily conceived that this mode of making love is not\nattended with a rapid progress or imminent danger to the virtue of\nits object; yet, though I have few favors to boast of, I have not\nbeen excluded from enjoyment, however imaginary. Thus the senses, in\nconcurrence with a mind equally timid and romantic, have preserved\nmy moral chaste, and feelings uncorrupted, with precisely the same\ninclinations, which, seconded with a moderate portion of effrontery,\nmight have plunged me into the most unwarrantable excesses.\n\nI have made the first, most difficult step, in the obscure and painful\nmaze of my Confessions. We never feel so great a degree of repugnance\nin divulging what is really criminal, as what is merely ridiculous. I\nam now assured of my resolution, for after what I have dared disclose,\nnothing can have power to deter me. The difficulty attending these\nacknowledgments will be readily conceived, when I declare, that during\nthe whole of my life, though frequently laboring under the most violent\nagitation, being hurried away with the impetuosity of a passion which\n(when in company with those I loved) deprived me of the faculty of\nsight and hearing, I could never, in the course of the most unbounded\nfamiliarity, acquire sufficient resolution to declare my folly, and\nimplore the only favor that remained to bestow.\n\nIn thus investigating the first traces of my sensible existence, I find\nelements, which, though seemingly incompatible, have united to produce\na simple and uniform effect; while others, apparently the same, have,\nby the concurrence of certain circumstances, formed such different\ncombinations, that it would never be imagined they had any affinity; who\nwould believe, for example, that one of the most vigorous springs of my\nsoul was tempered in the identical source from whence luxury and ease\nmingled with my constitution and circulated in my veins? Before I quit\nthis subject, I will add a striking instance of the different effects\nthey produced.\n\nOne day, while I was studying in a chamber contiguous to the kitchen,\nthe maid set some of Miss Lambercier's combs to dry by the fire, and on\ncoming to fetch them some time after, was surprised to find the teeth of\none of them broken off. Who could be suspected of this mischief? No one\nbut myself had entered the room: I was questioned, but denied having any\nknowledge of it. Mr. and Miss Lambercier consult, exhort, threaten, but\nall to no purpose; I obstinately persist in the denial; and, though\nthis was the first time I had been detected in a confirmed falsehood,\nappearances were so strong that they overthrew all my protestations.\nThis affair was thought serious; the mischief, the lie, the obstinacy,\nwere considered equally deserving of punishment, which was not now to\nbe administered by Miss Lambercier. My uncle Bernard was written to; he\narrived; and my poor cousin being charged with a crime no less serious,\nwe were conducted to the same execution, which was inflicted with great\nseverity. If finding a remedy in the evil itself, they had sought ever\nto allay my depraved desires, they could not have chosen a shorter\nmethod to accomplish their designs, and, I can assure my readers, I was\nfor a long time freed from the dominion of them.\n\nAs this severity could not draw from me the expected acknowledgment,\nwhich obstinacy brought on several repetitions, and reduced me to a\ndeplorable situation, yet I was immovable, and resolutely determined to\nsuffer death rather than submit. Force, at length, was obliged to\nyield to the diabolical infatuation of a child, for no better name was\nbestowed on my constancy, and I came out of this dreadful trial,\ntorn, it is true, but triumphant. Fifty years have expired since this\nadventure--the fear of punishment is no more. Well, then, I aver, in the\nface of Heaven, I was absolutely innocent: and, so far from breaking, or\neven touching the comb, never came near the fire. It will be asked, how\ndid this mischief happen? I can form no conception of it, I only know my\nown innocence.\n\nLet any one figure to himself a character whose leading traits were\ndocility and timidity, but haughty, ardent, and invincible, in its\npassions; a child, hitherto governed by the voice of reason, treated\nwith mildness, equity, and complaisance, who could not even support\nthe idea of injustice, experiencing, for the first time, so violent an\ninstance of it, inflicted by those he most loved and respected. What\nperversion of ideas! What confusion in the heart, the brain, in all my\nlittle being, intelligent and moral!--let any one, I say, if possible,\nimagine all this, for I am incapable of giving the least idea of what\npassed in my mind at that period.\n\nMy reason was not sufficiently established to enable me to put myself in\nthe place of others, and judge how much appearances condemned me, I only\nbeheld the rigor of a dreadful chastisement, inflicted for a crime I\nhad not committed; yet I can truly affirm, the smart I suffered, though\nviolent, was inconsiderable compared to what I felt from indignation,\nrage, and despair. My cousin, who was almost in similar circumstances,\nhaving been punished for an involuntary fault as guilty of a premediated\ncrime, became furious by my example. Both in the same bed, we embraced\neach other with convulsive transport; we were almost suffocated;\nand when our young hearts found sufficient relief to breathe out our\nindigination, we sat up in the bed, and with all our force, repeated a\nhundred times, Carnifex! Carnifex! Carnifex! executioner, tormentor.\n\nEven while I write this I feel my pulse quicken, and should I live a\nhundred thousand years, the agitation of that moment would still be\nfresh in my memory. The first instance of violence and oppression is so\ndeeply engraved on my soul, that every relative idea renews my emotion:\nthe sentiment of indignation, which in its origin had reference only\nto myself, has acquired such strength, and is at present so completely\ndetached from personal motives, that my heart is as much inflamed at the\nsight or relation of any act of injustice (whatever may be the object,\nor wheresoever it may be perpetrated) as if I was the immediate\nsufferer. When I read the history of a merciless tyrant, or the dark\nand the subtle machination of a knavish designing priest, I could on the\ninstant set off to stab the miscreants, though I was certain to perish\nin the attempt.\n\nI have frequently fatigued myself by running after and stoning a cock, a\ncow, a dog, or any animal I saw tormenting another, only because it was\nconscious of possessing superior strength. This may be natural to me,\nand I am inclined to believe it is, though the lively impression of the\nfirst injustice I became the victim of was too long and too powerfully\nremembered not to have added considerable force to it.\n\nThis occurrence terminated my infantine serenity; from that moment I\nceased to enjoy a pure unadulterated happiness, and on a retrospection\nof the pleasure of my childhood, I yet feel they ended here. We continue\nat Bossey some months after this event, but were like our first parents\nin the Garden of Eden after they had lost their innocence; in appearance\nour situation was the same, in effect it was totally different.\n\nAffection, respect; intimacy, confidence, no longer attached the pupils\nto their guides; we beheld them no longer as divinities, who could read\nthe secrets of our hearts; we were less ashamed of committing faults,\nmore afraid of being accused of them: we learned to dissemble, to rebel,\nto lie: all the vices common to our years began to corrupt our happy\ninnocence, mingle with our sports, and embitter our amusements. The\ncountry itself, losing those sweet and simple charms which captivate the\nheart, appeared a gloomy desert, or covered with a veil that concealed\nits beauties. We cultivated our little gardens no more: our flowers were\nneglected. We no longer scratched away the mould, and broke out into\nexclamations of delight, on discovering that the grain we had sown began\nto shoot. We were disgusted with our situation; our preceptors were\nweary of us. In a word, my uncle wrote for our return, and we left Mr.\nand Miss Lambercier without feeling any regret at the separation.\n\nNear thirty years passed away from my leaving Bossey, without once\nrecalling the place to my mind with any degree of satisfaction; but\nafter having passed the prime of life, as I decline into old age (while\nmore recent occurrences are wearing out apace) I feel these remembrances\nrevive and imprint themselves on my heart, with a force and charm that\nevery day acquires fresh strength; as if, feeling life fleet from me,\nI endeavored to catch it again by its commencement. The most trifling\nincident of those happy days delight me, for no other reason than being\nof those days. I recall every circumstance of time, place, and persons;\nI see the maid or footman busy in the chamber, a swallow entering the\nwindow, a fly settling on my hand while repeating my lessons. I see\nthe whole economy of the apartment; on the right hand Mr. Lambercier's\ncloset, with a print representing all the popes, a barometer, a large\nalmanac, the windows of the house (which stood in a hollow at the bottom\nof the garden) shaded by raspberry shrubs, whose shoots sometimes found\nentrance; I am sensible the reader has no occasion to know all this, but\nI feel a kind of necessity for relating it. Why am I not permitted\nto recount all the little anecdotes of that thrice happy age, at the\nrecollection of whose joys I ever tremble with delight? Five or six\nparticularly--let us compromise the matter--I will give up five, but\nthen I must have one, and only one, provided I may draw it out to its\nutmost length, in order to prolong my satisfaction.\n\nIf I only sought yours, I should choose that of Miss Lambercier's\nbackside, which by an unlucky fall at the bottom of the meadow, was\nexposed to the view of the King of Sardinia, who happened to be passing\nby; but that of the walnut tree on the terrace is more amusing to me,\nsince here I was an actor, whereas, in the abovementioned scene I was\nonly a spectator; and I must confess I see nothing that should occasion\nrisibility in an accident, which, however laughable in itself, alarmed\nme for a person I loved as a mother, or perhaps something more.\n\nYe curious readers, whose expectations are already on the stretch for\nthe noble history of the terrace, listen to the tragedy, and abstain\nfrom trembling, if you can, at the horrible catastrophe!\n\nAt the outside of the courtyard door, on the left hand, was a\nterrace; here they often sat after dinner; but it was subject to one\ninconvenience, being too much exposed to the rays of the sun; to obviate\nthis defect, Mr. Lambercier had a walnut tree set there, the planting\nof which was attended with great solemnity. The two boarders were\ngodfathers, and while the earth was replacing round the root, each held\nthe tree with one hand, singing songs of triumph. In order to water it\nwith more effect, they formed a kind of luson around its foot: myself\nand cousin, who were every day ardent spectators of this watering,\nconfirmed each other in the very natural idea that it was nobler to\nplant trees on the terrace than colors on a breach, and this glory we\nwere resolved to procure without dividing it with any one.\n\nIn pursuance of this resolution, we cut a slip off a willow, and planted\nit on the terrace, at about eight or ten feet distance from the august\nwalnut tree. We did not forget to make a hollow round it, but the\ndifficulty was how to procure a supply of water, which was brought from\na considerable distance, and we not permitted to fetch it: but water was\nabsolutely necessary for our willow, and we made use of every stratagem\nto obtain it.\n\nFor a few days everything succeeded so well that it began to bud, and\nthrow out small leaves, which we hourly measured convinced (tho' now\nscarce a foot from the ground) it would soon afford us a refreshing\nshade. This unfortunate willow, by engrossing our whole time, rendered\nus incapable of application to any other study, and the cause of our\ninattention not being known, we were kept closer than before. The fatal\nmoment approached when water must fail, and we were already afflicted\nwith the idea that our tree must perish with drought. At length\nnecessity, the parent of industry, suggested an invention, by which we\nmight save our tree from death, and ourselves from despair; it was to\nmake a furrow underground, which would privately conduct a part of the\nwater from the walnut tree to our willow. This undertaking was executed\nwith ardor, but did not immediately succeed--our descent was not\nskilfully planned--the water did not run, the earth falling in\nand stopping up the furrow; yet, though all went contrary, nothing\ndiscouraged us, 'omnia vincit labor improbus'. We made the bason deeper,\nto give the water a more sensible descent; we cut the bottom of a box\ninto narrow planks; increased the channel from the walnut tree to our\nwillow and laying a row flat at the bottom, set two others inclining\ntowards each other, so as to form a triangular channel; we formed a kind\nof grating with small sticks at the end next the walnut tree, to prevent\nthe earth and stones from stopping it up, and having carefully covered\nour work with well-trodden earth, in a transport of hope and fear\nattended the hour of watering. After an interval, which seemed an age\nof expectation, this hour arrived. Mr. Lambercier, as usual, assisted\nat the operation; we contrived to get between him and our tree, towards\nwhich he fortunately turned his back. They no sooner began to pour the\nfirst pail of water, than we perceived it running to the willow; this\nsight was too much for our prudence, and we involuntarily expressed our\ntransport by a shout of joy. The sudden exclamation made Mr. Lambercier\nturn about, though at that instant he was delighted to observe how\ngreedily the earth, which surrounded the root of his walnut tree,\nimbibed the water. Surprised at seeing two trenches partake of it,\nhe shouted in his turn, examines, perceives the roguery, and, sending\ninstantly for a pick axe, at one fatal blow makes two or three of our\nplanks fly, crying out meantime with all his strength, an aqueduct! an\naqueduct! His strokes redoubled, every one of which made an impression\non our hearts; in a moment the planks, the channel, the bason, even\nour favorite willow, all were ploughed up, nor was one word pronounced\nduring this terrible transaction, except the above mentioned\nexclamation. An aqueduct! repeated he, while destroying all our hopes,\nan aqueduct! an aqueduct!\n\nIt maybe supposed this adventure had a still more melancholy end for\nthe young architects; this, however, was not the case; the affair ended\nhere. Mr. Lambercier never reproached us on this account, nor was\nhis countenance clouded with a frown; we even heard him mention the\ncircumstance to his sister with loud bursts of laughter. The laugh of\nMr. Lambercier might be heard to a considerable distance. But what is\nstill more surprising after the first transport of sorrow had subsided,\nwe did not find ourselves violently afflicted; we planted a tree in\nanother spot, and frequently recollected the catastrophe of the former,\nrepeating with a significant emphasis, an aqueduct! an aqueduct! Till\nthen, at intervals, I had fits of ambition, and could fancy myself\nBrutus or Aristides, but this was the first visible effect of my vanity.\nTo have constructed an aqueduct with our own hands, to have set a slip\nof willow in competition with a flourishing tree, appeared to me a\nsupreme degree of glory! I had a juster conception of it at ten than\nCaesar entertained at thirty.\n\nThe idea of this walnut tree, with the little anecdotes it gave rise to,\nhave so well continued, or returned to my memory, that the design which\nconveyed the most pleasing sensations, during my journey to Geneva, in\nthe year 1754, was visiting Bossey, and reviewing the monuments of my\ninfantine amusement, above all, the beloved walnut tree, whose age at\nthat time must have been verging on a third of a century, but I was\nso beset with company that I could not find a moment to accomplish my\ndesign. There is little appearance now of the occasion being renewed;\nbut should I ever return to that charming spot, and find my favorite\nwalnut tree still existing, I am convinced I should water it with my\ntears.\n\nOn my return to Geneva, I passed two or three years at my uncle's,\nexpecting the determination of my friends respecting my future\nestablishment. His own son being devoted to genius, was taught drawing,\nand instructed by his father in the elements of Euclid; I partook of\nthese instructions, but was principally fond of drawing. Meantime,\nthey were irresolute, whether to make me a watchmaker, a lawyer, or a\nminister. I should have preferred being a minister, as I thought it must\nbe a charming thing to preach, but the trifling income which had been my\nmother's, and was to be divided between my brother and myself, was too\ninconsiderable to defray the expense attending the prosecution of my\nstudies. As my age did not render the choice very pressing, I remained\nwith my uncle, passing my time with very little improvement, and paying\npretty dear, though not unreasonably, for my board.\n\nMy uncle, like my father, was a man of pleasure, but had not learned,\nlike him, to abridge his amusements for the sake of instructing his\nfamily, consequently our education was neglected. My aunt was a devotee,\nwho loved singing psalms better than thinking of our improvement, so\nthat we were left entirely to ourselves, which liberty we never abused.\n\nEver inseparable, we were all the world to each other; and, feeling no\ninclination to frequent the company of a number of disorderly lads of\nour own age, we learned none of those habits of libertinism to which our\nidle life exposed us. Perhaps I am wrong in charging myself and cousin\nwith idleness at this time, for, in our lives, we were never less so;\nand what was extremely fortunate, so incessantly occupied with our\namusements, that we found no temptation to spend any part of our time\nin the streets. We made cages, pipes, kites, drums, houses, ships, and\nbows; spoiled the tools of my good old grandfather by endeavoring to\nmake watches in imitation of him; but our favorite amusement was\nwasting paper, in drawing, washing, coloring, etc. There came an Italian\nmountebank to Geneva, called Gamber-Corta, who had an exhibition of\npuppets, that he made play a kind of comedy. We went once to see them,\nbut could not spare time to go again, being busily employed in making\npuppets of our own and inventing comedies, which we immediately set\nabout making them perform, mimicking to the best of our abilities the\nuncouth voice of Punch; and, to complete the business, my good aunt and\nuncle Bernard had the patience to see and listen to our imitations; but\nmy uncle, having one day read an elaborate discourse to his family, we\ninstantly gave up our comedies, and began composing sermons.\n\nThese details, I confess, are not very amusing, but they serve to\ndemonstrate that the former part of our education was well directed,\nsince being, at such an early age, the absolute masters of our time,\nwe found no inclination to abuse it; and so little in want of other\ncompanions, that we constantly neglected every occasion of seeking them.\nWhen taking our walks together, we observed their diversions without\nfeeling any inclination to partake of them. Friendship so entirely\noccupied our hearts, that, pleased with each other's company the\nsimplest pastimes were sufficient to delight us.\n\nWe were soon remarked for being thus inseparable: and what rendered us\nmore conspicuous, my cousin was very tall, myself extremely short, so\nthat we exhibited a very whimsical contrast. This meagre figure, small,\nsallow countenance, heavy air, and supine gait, excited the ridicule of\nthe children, who, in the gibberish of the country, nicknamed him 'Barna\nBredanna'; and we no sooner got out of doors than our ears were assailed\nwith a repetition of \"Barna Bredanna.\" He bore this indignity with\ntolerable patience, but I was instantly for fighting. This was what\nthe young rogues aimed at. I engaged accordingly, and was beat. My poor\ncousin did all in his power to assist me, but he was weak, and a single\nstroke brought him to the ground. I then became furious, and received\nseveral smart blows, some of which were aimed at 'Barna Bredanna'. This\nquarrel so far increased the evil, that, to avoid their insults, we\ncould only show ourselves in the streets while they were employed at\nschool.\n\nI had already become a redresser of grievances; there only wanted a lady\nin the way to be a knight-errant in form. This defect was soon supplied;\nI presently had two. I frequently went to see my father at Nion, a small\ncity in the Vaudois country, where he was now settled. Being universally\nrespected, the affection entertained for him extended to me: and, during\nmy visits, the question seemed to be, who should show me most kindness.\nA Madame de Vulson, in particular, loaded me with caresses; and, to\ncomplete all, her daughter made me her gallant. I need not explain what\nkind of gallant a boy of eleven must be to a girl of two and twenty;\nthe artful hussies know how to set these puppets up in front, to conceal\nmore serious engagements. On my part I saw no inequality between myself\nand Miss Vulson, was flattered by the circumstance, and went into it\nwith my whole heart, or rather my whole head, for this passion certainly\nreached no further, though it transported me almost to madness, and\nfrequently produced scenes sufficient to make even a cynic expire with\nlaughter.\n\nI have experienced two kinds of love, equally real, which have scarce\nany affinity, yet each differing materially from tender friendship.\nMy whole life has been divided between these affections, and I have\nfrequently felt the power of both at the same instant. For example, at\nthe very time I so publically and tyrannically claimed Miss Vulson, that\nI could not suffer any other of my sex to approach her, I had short, but\npassionate, assignations with a Miss Goton, who thought proper to act\nthe schoolmistress with me. Our meetings, though absolutely childish,\nafforded me the height of happiness. I felt the whole charm of mystery,\nand repaid Miss Vulson in kind, when she least expected it, the use she\nmade of me in concealing her amours. To my great mortification,\nthis secret was soon discovered, and I presently lost my young\nschoolmistress.\n\nMiss Goton was, in fact, a singular personage. She was not handsome, yet\nthere was a certain something in her figure which could not easily be\nforgotten, and this for an old fool, I am too often convinced of. Her\neyes, in particular, neither corresponded with her age, her height, nor\nher manner; she had a lofty imposing air, which agreed extremely well\nwith the character she assumed, but the most extraordinary part of her\ncomposition was a mixture of forwardness and reserve difficult to be\nconceived; and while she took the greatest liberties with me, would\nnever permit any to be taken with her in return, treating me precisely\nlike a child. This makes me suppose she had either ceased herself to be\none, or was yet sufficiently so to behold as play the danger to which\nthis folly exposed her.\n\nI was so absolutely in the power of both these mistresses, that when in\nthe presence of either, I never thought of her who was absent; in other\nrespects, the effects they produced on me bore no affinity. I could have\npassed my whole life with Miss Vulson, without forming a wish to quit\nher; but then, my satisfaction was attended with a pleasing serenity;\nand, in numerous companies, I was particularly charmed with her. The\nsprightly sallies of her wit, the arch glance of her eye, even jealousy\nitself, strengthened my attachment, and I triumphed in the preference\nshe seemed to bestow on me, while addressed by more powerful rivals;\napplause, encouragement, and smiles, gave animation to my happiness.\nSurrounded by a throng of observers, I felt the whole force of love--I\nwas passionate, transported; in a tete-a-tete, I should have been\nconstrained, thoughtful, perhaps unhappy. If Miss Vulson was ill,\nI suffered with her; would willingly have given up my own health to\nestablish hers (and, observe I knew the want of it from experience); if\nabsent, she employed my thoughts, I felt the want of her; when present,\nher caresses came with warmth and rapture to my heart, though my senses\nwere unaffected. The familiarities she bestowed on me I could not\nhave supported the idea of her granting to another; I loved her with a\nbrother's affection only, but experienced all the jealousy of a lover.\n\nWith Miss Goton this passion might have acquired a degree of fury; I\nshould have been a Turk, a tiger, had I once imagined she bestowed her\nfavors on any but myself. The pleasure I felt on approaching Miss Vulson\nwas sufficiently ardent, though unattended with uneasy sensations;\nbut at sight of Miss Goton, I felt myself bewildered--every sense was\nabsorbed in ecstasy. I believe it would have been impossible to have\nremained long with her; I must have been suffocated with the violence\nof my palpitations. I equally dreaded giving either of them displeasure;\nwith one I was more complaisant; with the other, more submissive. I\nwould not have offended Miss Vulson for the world; but if Miss Goton\nhad commanded me to throw myself into the flames, I think I should have\ninstantly obeyed her. Happily, both for her and myself, our amours; or\nrather rendezvous, were not of long duration: and though my connection\nwith Miss Vulson was less dangerous, after a continuance of some greater\nlength, that likewise had its catastrophe; indeed the termination of a\nlove affair is good for nothing, unless it partakes of the romantic, and\ncan furnish out at least an exclamation.\n\nThough my correspondence with Miss Vulson was less animated, it was\nperhaps more endearing; we never separated without tears, and it can\nhardly be conceived what a void I felt in my heart. I could neither\nthink nor speak of anything but her. These romantic sorrows were not\naffected, though I am inclined to believe they did not absolutely centre\nin her, for I am persuaded (though I did not perceive it at that time)\nbeing deprived of amusement bore a considerable share in them.\n\nTo soften the rigor of absence, we agreed to correspond with each other,\nand the pathetic expressions these letters contained were sufficient to\nhave split a rock. In a word, I had the honor of her not being able to\nendure the pain of separation. She came to see me at Geneva.\n\nMy head was now completely turned; and during the two days she remained\nhere, I was intoxicated with delight. At her departure, I would have\nthrown myself into the water after her, and absolutely rent the air with\nmy cries. The week following she sent me sweetmeats, gloves, etc. This\ncertainly would have appeared extremely gallant, had I not been informed\nof her marriage at the same instant, and that the journey I had thought\nproper to give myself the honor of, was only to buy her wedding suit.\n\nMy indignation may easily be conceived; I shall not attempt to describe\nit. In this heroic fury, I swore never more to see the perfidious girl,\nsupposing it the greatest punishment that could be inflicted on her.\nThis, however, did not occasion her death, for twenty years after, while\non a visit to my father, being on the lake, I asked who those ladies\nwere in a boat not far from ours. \"What!\" said my father smiling,\n\"does not your heart inform you? It is your former flame, it is Madame\nChristin, or, if you please, Miss Vulson.\" I started at the almost\nforgotten name, and instantly ordered the waterman to turn off, not\njudging it worth while to be perjured, however favorable the opportunity\nfor revenge, in renewing a dispute of twenty years past, with a woman of\nforty.\n\nThus, before my future destination was determined, did I fool away the\nmost precious moments of my youth. After deliberating a long time on\nthe bent of my natural inclination, they resolved to dispose of me in a\nmanner the most repugnant to them. I was sent to Mr. Masseron, the City\nRegister, to learn (according to the expression of my uncle Bernard)\nthe thriving occupation of a scraper. This nickname was inconceivably\ndispleasing to me, and I promised myself but little satisfaction in the\nprospect of heaping up money by a mean employment. The assiduity and\nsubjection required, completed my disgust, and I never set foot in the\noffice without feeling a kind of horror, which every day gained fresh\nstrength.\n\nMr. Masseron, who was not better pleased with my abilities than I was\nwith the employment, treated me with disdain, incessantly upbraiding me\nwith being a fool and blockhead, not forgetting to repeat, that my uncle\nhad assured him I was a knowing one, though he could not find that I\nknew anything. That he had promised to furnish him with a sprightly boy,\nbut had, in truth, sent him an ass. To conclude, I was turned out of the\nregistry, with the additional ignominy of being pronounced a fool by all\nMr. Masseron's clerks, and fit only to handle a file.\n\nMy vocation thus determined, I was bound apprentice; not, however, to a\nwatchmaker, but to an engraver, and I had been so completely humiliated\nby the contempt of the register, that I submitted without a murmur. My\nmaster, whose name was M. Ducommon, was a young man of a very violent\nand boorish character, who contrived in a short time to tarnish all the\namiable qualities of my childhood, to stupefy a disposition naturally\nsprightly, and reduce my feelings, as well as my condition, to\nan absolute state of servitude. I forgot my Latin, history, and\nantiquities; I could hardly recollect whether such people as Romans ever\nexisted. When I visited my father, he no longer beheld his idol, nor\ncould the ladies recognize the gallant Jean Jacques; nay, I was so well\nconvinced that Mr. and Miss Lambercier would scarce receive me as their\npupil, that I endeavored to avoid their company, and from that time have\nnever seen them. The vilest inclinations, the basest actions, succeeded\nmy amiable amusements and even obliterated the very remembrance of them.\nI must have had, in spite of my good education, a great propensity to\ndegenerate, else the declension could not have followed with such ease\nand rapidity, for never did so promising a Caesar so quickly become a\nLaradon.\n\nThe art itself did not displease me. I had a lively taste for drawing.\nThere was nothing displeasing in the exercise of the graver; and as\nit required no very extraordinary abilities to attain perfection as\na watchcase engraver, I hoped to arrive at it. Perhaps I should\nhave accomplished my design, if unreasonable restraint, added to the\nbrutality of my master, had not rendered my business disgusting. I\nwasted his time, and employed myself in engraving medals, which served\nme and my companions as a kind of insignia for a new invented order of\nchivalry, and though this differed very little from my usual employ,\nI considered it as a relaxation. Unfortunately, my master caught me\nat this contraband labor, and a severe beating was the consequence. He\nreproached me at the same time with attempting to make counterfeit money\nbecause our medals bore the arms of the Republic, though, I can truly\naver, I had no conception of false money, and very little of the true,\nknowing better how to make a Roman As than one of our threepenny pieces.\n\nMy master's tyranny rendered insupportable that labor I should otherwise\nhave loved, and drove me to vices I naturally despised, such as\nfalsehood, idleness, and theft. Nothing ever gave me a clearer\ndemonstration of the difference between filial dependence and abject\nslavery, than the remembrance of the change produced in me at that\nperiod. Hitherto I had enjoyed a reasonable liberty; this I had suddenly\nlost. I was enterprising at my father's, free at Mr. Lambercier's,\ndiscreet at my uncle's; but, with my master, I became fearful, and from\nthat moment my mind was vitiated. Accustomed to live on terms of perfect\nequality, to be witness of no pleasures I could not command, to see no\ndish I was not to partake of, or be sensible of a desire I might not\nexpress; to be able to bring every wish of my heart to my lips--what a\ntransition!--at my master's I was scarce allowed to speak, was forced to\nquit the table without tasting what I most longed for, and the room when\nI had nothing particular to do there; was incessantly confined to my\nwork, while the liberty my master and his journeymen enjoyed, served\nonly to increase the weight of my subjection. When disputes happened to\narise, though conscious that I understood the subject better than any of\nthem, I dared not offer my opinion; in a word, everything I saw\nbecame an object of desire, for no other reason than because I was not\npermitted to enjoy anything. Farewell gayety, ease, those happy turns\nof expressions, which formerly even made my faults escape correction. I\nrecollect, with pleasure, a circumstance that happened at my father's,\nwhich even now makes me smile. Being for some fault ordered to bed\nwithout my supper, as I was passing through the kitchen, with my poor\nmorsel of bread in my hand, I saw the meat turning on the spit; my\nfather and the rest were round the fire; I must bow to every one as I\npassed. When I had gone through this ceremony, leering with a wistful\neye at the roast meat, which looked so inviting, and smelt so savory, I\ncould not abstain from making that a bow likewise, adding in a pitiful\ntone, good bye, roast meal! This unpremeditated pleasantry put them\nin such good humor, that I was permitted to stay, and partake of it.\nPerhaps the same thing might have produced a similar effect at my\nmaster's, but such a thought could never have occurred to me, or, if it\nhad, I should not have had courage to express it.\n\nThus I learned to covet, dissemble, lie, and, at length, to steal, a\npropensity I never felt the least idea of before, though since that\ntime I have never been able entirely to divest myself of it. Desire\nand inability united naturally led to this vice, which is the reason\npilfering is so common among footmen and apprentices, though the latter,\nas they grow up, and find themselves in a situation where everything is\nat their command, lose this shameful propensity. As I never experienced\nthe advantage, I never enjoyed the benefit.\n\nGood sentiments, ill-directed, frequently lead children into vice.\nNotwithstanding my continual wants and temptations, it was more than a\nyear before I could resolve to take even eatables. My first theft was\noccasioned by complaisance, but it was productive of others which had\nnot so plausible an excuse.\n\nMy master had a journeyman named Verrat, whose mother lived in the\nneighborhood, and had a garden at a considerable distance from the\nhouse, which produced excellent asparagus. This Verrat, who had no\ngreat plenty of money, took it in his head to rob her of the most\nearly production of her garden, and by the sale of it procure those\nindulgences he could not otherwise afford himself; but not being very\nnimble, he did not care to run the hazard of a surprise. After some\npreliminary flattery, which I did not comprehend the meaning of, he\nproposed this expedition to me, as an idea which had that moment struck\nhim. At first I would not listen to the proposal; but he persisted in\nhis solicitation, and as I could never resist the attacks of flattery,\nat length prevailed. In pursuance of this virtuous resolution, I every\nmorning repaired to the garden, gathered the best of the asparagus, and\ntook it to the Holard where some good old women, who guessed how I\ncame by it, wishing to diminish the price, made no secret of their\nsuspicions; this produced the desired effect, for, being alarmed, I took\nwhatever they offered, which being taken to Mr. Verrat, was presently\nmetamorphosed into a breakfast, and divided with a companion of his;\nfor, though I procured it, I never partook of their good cheer, being\nfully satisfied with an inconsiderable bribe.\n\nI executed my roguery with the greatest fidelity, seeking only to please\nmy employer; and several days passed before it came into my head, to\nrob the robber, and tithe Mr. Verrat's harvest. I never considered the\nhazard I run in these expeditions, not only of a torrent of abuse, but\nwhat I should have been still more sensible of, a hearty beating; for\nthe miscreant, who received the whole benefit, would certainly have\ndenied all knowledge of the fact, and I should only have received a\ndouble portion of punishment for daring to accuse him, since being only\nan apprentice, I stood no chance of being believed in opposition to a\njourneyman. Thus, in every situation, powerful rogues know how to save\nthemselves at the expense of the feeble.\n\nThis practice taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had\nimagined: I took care to make this discovery turn to some account,\nhelping myself to everything within my reach, that I conceived an\ninclination for. I was not absolutely ill-fed at my master's, and\ntemperance was only painful to me by comparing it with the luxury he\nenjoyed. The custom of sending young people from table precisely when\nthose things are served up which seem most tempting, is calculated to\nincrease their longing, and induces them to steal what they conceive\nto be so delicious. It may be supposed I was not backward in this\nparticular: in general my knavery succeeded pretty well, though quite\nthe reverse when I happened to be detected.\n\nI recollect an attempt to procure some apples, which was attended with\ncircumstances that make me smile and shudder even at this instant. The\nfruit was standing in the pantry, which by a lattice at a considerable\nheight received light from the kitchen. One day, being alone in the\nhouse, I climbed up to see these precious apples, which being out of my\nreach, made this pantry appear the garden of Hesperides. I fetched the\nspit--tried if it would reach them--it was too short--I lengthened it\nwith a small one which was used for game,--my master being very fond\nof hunting, darted at them several times without success; at length was\nmore fortunate; being transported to find I was bringing up an apple,\nI drew it gently to the lattice--was going to seize it when (who\ncan express my grief and astonishment!) I found it would not pass\nthrough--it was too large. I tried every expedient to accomplish my\ndesign, sought supporters to keep the spits in the same position, a\nknife to divide the apple, and a lath to hold it with; at length, I so\nfar succeeded as to effect the division, and made no doubt of drawing\nthe pieces through; but it was scarcely separated, (compassionate\nreader, sympathize with my affliction) when both pieces fell into the\npantry.\n\n[Illustration: 0028]\n\nThough I lost time by this experiment, I did not lose courage, but,\ndreading a surprise, I put off the attempt till next day, when I\nhoped to be more successful, and returned to my work as if nothing had\nhappened, without once thinking of what the two obvious witnesses I had\nleft in the pantry deposed against me.\n\nThe next day (a fine opportunity offering) I renew the trial. I fasten\nthe spits together; get on the stool; take aim; am just going to dart at\nmy prey--unfortunately the dragon did not sleep; the pantry door opens,\nmy master makes his appearance, and, looking up, exclaims, \"Bravo!\"--The\nhorror of that moment returns--the pen drops from my hand.\n\nA continual repetition of ill treatment rendered me callous; it seemed a\nkind of composition for my crimes, which authorized me to continue them,\nand, instead of looking back at the punishment, I looked forward to\nrevenge. Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all\nthe vices of one. I was convinced that to rob and be punished were\ninseparable, and constituted, if I may so express myself, a kind of\ntraffic, in which, if I perform my part of the bargain, my master\nwould take care not to be deficient in his; that preliminary settled,\nI applied myself to thieving with great tranquility, and whenever this\ninterrogatory occurred to my mind, \"What will be the consequence?\" the\nreply was ready, \"I know the worst, I shall be beat; no matter, I was\nmade for it.\"\n\nI love good eating; am sensual, but not greedy; I have such a variety of\ninclinations to gratify, that this can never predominate; and unless\nmy heart is unoccupied, which very rarely happens, I pay but little\nattention to my appetite; to purloining eatables, but extended this\npropensity to everything I wished to possess, and if I did not become a\nrobber in form, it was only because money never tempted me.\n\nMy master had a closet in the workshop, which he kept locked; this I\ncontrived to open and shut as often as I pleased, and laid his best\ntools, fine drawings, impressions, in a word, everything he wished to\nkeep from me, under contribution.\n\nThese thefts were so far innocent, that they were always employed in his\nservice, but I was transported at having the trifles in my possession,\nand imagined I stole the art with its productions. Besides what I have\nmentioned, his boxes contained threads of gold and silver, a number of\nsmall jewels, valuable medals, and money; yet, though I seldom had five\nsous in my pocket, I do not recollect ever having cast a wishful look at\nthem; on the contrary, I beheld these valuables rather with terror than\nwith delight.\n\nI am convinced the dread of taking money was, in a great measure, the\neffect of education. There was mingled with the idea of it the fear of\ninfamy, a prison, punishment, and death: had I even felt the temptation,\nthese objects would have made me tremble; whereas my failings appeared a\nspecies of waggery, and, in truth, they were little else; they could but\noccasion a good trimming, and this I was already prepared for. A sheet\nof fine drawing paper was a greater temptation than money sufficient to\nhave purchased a ream. This unreasonable caprice is connected with\none of the most striking singularities of my character, and has so far\ninfluenced my conduct, that it requires a particular explanation.\n\nMy passions are extremely violent; while under their influence, nothing\ncan equal my impetuosity; I am an absolute stranger to discretion,\nrespect, fear, or decorum; rude, saucy, violent, and intrepid: no shame\ncan stop, no danger intimidate me. My mind is frequently so engrossed by\na single object, that beyond it the whole world is not worth a thought;\nthis is the enthusiasm of a moment, the next, perhaps, I am plunged in\na state of annihilation. Take me in my moments of tranquility, I am\nindolence and timidity itself; a word to speak, the least trifle to\nperform, appear an intolerable labor; everything alarms and terrifies\nme; the very buzzing of a fly will make me shudder; I am so subdued by\nfear and shame, that I would gladly shield myself from mortal view.\n\nWhen obliged to exert myself, I am ignorant what to do! when forced\nto speak, I am at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me, I am\ninstantly out of countenance. If animated with my subject, I express\nmy thoughts with ease, but, in ordinary conversations, I can say\nnothing--absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders them\ninsupportable.\n\nI may add, that none of my predominant inclinations centre in those\npleasures which are to be purchased: money empoisons my delight; I must\nhave them unadulterated; I love those of the table, for instance, but\ncannot endure the restraints of good company, or the intemperance of\ntaverns; I can enjoy them only with a friend, for alone it is equally\nimpossible; my imagination is then so occupied with other things, that I\nfind no pleasure in eating. Women who are to be purchased have no charms\nfor me; my beating heart cannot be satisfied without affection; it is\nthe same with every other enjoyment, if not truly disinterested, they\nare absolutely insipid; in a word, I am fond of those things which are\nonly estimable to minds formed for the peculiar enjoyment of them.\n\nI never thought money so desirable as it is usually imagined; if you\nwould enjoy you must transform it; and this transformation is frequently\nattended with inconvenience; you must bargain, purchase, pay dear,\nbe badly served, and often duped. I buy an egg, am assured it is\nnew-laid--I find it stale; fruit in its utmost perfection--'tis\nabsolutely green. I love good wine, but where shall I get it? Not at\nmy wine merchant's--he will poison me to a certainty. I wish to be\nuniversally respected; how shall I compass my design? I must make\nfriends, send messages, write letters, come, go, wait, and be frequently\ndeceived. Money is the perpetual source of uneasiness; I fear it more\nthan I love good wine.\n\nA thousand times, both during and since my apprenticeship, have I gone\nout to purchase some nicety, I approach the pastry-cook's, perceive\nsome women at the counter, and imagine they are laughing at me. I pass\na fruit shop, see some fine pears, their appearance tempts me; but then\ntwo or three young people are near, or a man I am acquainted with is\nstanding at the door; I take all that pass for persons I have some\nknowledge of, and my near sight contributes to deceive me. I am\neverywhere intimidated, restrained by some obstacle, and with money in\nmy pocket return as I went, for want of resolution to purchase what I\nlong for.\n\nI should enter into the most insipid details was I to relate the\ntrouble, shame, repugnance, and inconvenience of all kinds which I have\nexperienced in parting with my money, whether in my own person, or by\nthe agency of others; as I proceed, the reader will get acquainted with\nmy disposition, and perceive all this without my troubling him with the\nrecital.\n\nThis once comprehended, one of my apparent contradictions will be easily\naccounted for, and the most sordid avarice reconciled with the greatest\ncontempt of money. It is a movable which I consider of so little value,\nthat, when destitute of it, I never wish to acquire any; and when I have\na sum I keep it by me, for want of knowing how to dispose of it to my\nsatisfaction; but let an agreeable and convenient opportunity present\nitself, and I empty my purse with the utmost freedom; not that I would\nhave the reader imagine I am extravagant from a motive of ostentation,\nquite the reverse; it was ever in subservience to my pleasures, and,\ninstead of glorying in expense, I endeavor to conceal it. I so well\nperceive that money is not made to answer my purposes, that I am almost\nashamed to have any, and, still more, to make use of it.\n\nHad I ever possessed a moderate independence, I am convinced I should\nhave had no propensity to become avaricious. I should have required no\nmore, and cheerfully lived up to my income; but my precarious situation\nhas constantly and necessarily kept me in fear. I love liberty, and I\nloathe constraint, dependence, and all their kindred annoyances. As long\nas my purse contains money it secures my independence, and exempts\nme from the trouble of seeking other money, a trouble of which I have\nalways had a perfect horror; and the dread of seeing the end of my\nindependence, makes me proportionately unwilling to part with my money.\nThe money that we possess is the instrument of liberty, that which we\nlack and strive to obtain is the instrument of slavery. Thence it is\nthat I hold fast to aught that I have, and yet covet nothing more.\n\nMy disinterestedness, then, is in reality only idleness, the pleasure of\npossessing is not in my estimation worth the trouble of acquiring:\nand my dissipation is only another form of idleness; when we have an\nopportunity of disbursing pleasantly we should make the best possible\nuse of it.\n\nI am less tempted by money than by other objects, because between\nthe moment of possessing the money and that of using it to obtain the\ndesired object there is always an interval, however short; whereas to\npossess the thing is to enjoy it. I see a thing and it tempts me; but if\nI see not the thing itself but only the means of acquiring it, I am not\ntempted. Therefore it is that I have been a pilferer, and am so even\nnow, in the way of mere trifles to which I take a fancy, and which I\nfind it easier to take than to ask for; but I never in my life recollect\nhaving taken a farthing from any one, except about fifteen years ago,\nwhen I stole seven francs and ten sous. The story is worth recounting,\nas it exhibits a concurrence of ignorance and stupidity I should\nscarcely credit, did it relate to any but myself.\n\nIt was in Paris: I was walking with M. de Franceul at the Palais Royal;\nhe pulled out his watch, he looked at it, and said to me, \"Suppose we\ngo to the opera?\"--\"With all my heart.\" We go: he takes two box tickets,\ngives me one, and enters himself with the other; I follow, find the door\ncrowded; and, looking in, see every one standing; judging, therefore,\nthat M. de Franceul might suppose me concealed by the company, I go out,\nask for my ticket, and, getting the money returned, leave the house,\nwithout considering, that by then I had reached the door every one would\nbe seated, and M. de Franceul might readily perceive I was not there.\n\nAs nothing could be more opposite to my natural inclination than this\nabominable meanness, I note it, to show there are moments of delirium\nwhen men ought not to be judged by their actions: this was not stealing\nthe money, it was only stealing the use of it, and was the more infamous\nfor wanting the excuse of a temptation.\n\nI should never end these accounts, was I to describe all the gradations\nthrough which I passed, during my apprenticeship, from the sublimity of\na hero to the baseness of a villain. Though I entered into most of the\nvices of my situation, I had no relish for its pleasures; the amusements\nof my companions were displeasing, and when too much restraint had made\nmy business wearisome, I had nothing to amuse me. This renewed my taste\nfor reading which had long been neglected. I thus committed a fresh\noffence, books made me neglect my work, and brought on additional\npunishment, while inclination, strengthened by constraint, became an\nunconquerable passion. La Tribu, a well-known librarian, furnished me\nwith all kinds; good or bad, I perused them with avidity, and without\ndiscrimination.\n\nIt will be said; \"at length, then, money became necessary\"--true; but\nthis happened at a time when a taste for study had deprived me both of\nresolution and activity; totally occupied by this new inclination,\nI only wished to read, I robbed no longer. This is another of my\npeculiarities; a mere nothing frequently calls me off from what I appear\nthe most attached to; I give in to the new idea; it becomes a passion,\nand immediately every former desire is forgotten.\n\nReading was my new hobby; my heart beat with impatience to run over the\nnew book I carried in my pocket; the first moment I was alone, I seized\nthe opportunity to draw it out, and thought no longer of rummaging my\nmaster's closet. I was even ashamed to think that I had been guilty of\nsuch meanness; and had my amusements been more expensive, I no longer\nfelt an inclination to continue it. La Tribu gave me credit, and when\nonce I had the book in my possession, I thought no more of the trifle I\nwas to pay for it; as money came it naturally passed to this woman; and\nwhen she chanced to be pressing, nothing was so conveniently at hand as\nmy own effects; to steal in advance required foresight, and robbing to\npay was no temptation.\n\nThe frequent blows I received from my master, with my private and\nill-chosen studies, rendered me reserved, unsociable, and almost\nderanged my reason. Though my taste had not preserved me from silly\nunmeaning books, by good fortune I was a stranger to licentious or\nobscene ones; not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating) had any\nscruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth she\nspoke of them with an air of mystery; this produced an effect she had\nnot foreseen, for both shame and disgust made me constantly refuse them.\nChance so well seconded my bashful disposition, that I was past the age\nof thirty before I saw any of those dangerous compositions.\n\nIn less than a year I had exhausted La Tribu's scanty library, and was\nunhappy for want of further amusement. My reading, though frequently\nbad, had worn off my childish follies, and brought back my heart to\nnobler sentiments than my condition had inspired; meantime disgusted\nwith all within my reach, and thinking everything charming that was out\nof it, my present situation appeared extremely miserable. My passions\nbegan to acquire strength, I felt their influence, without knowing\nwhither they would conduct me. I sometimes, indeed, thought of my former\nfollies, but sought no further.\n\nAt this time my imagination took a turn which helped to calm my\nincreasing emotions; it was, to contemplate those situations in the\nbooks I had read, which produced the most striking effect on my mind; to\nrecall, combine, and apply them to myself in such a manner, as to become\none of the personages my recollection presented, and be continually\nin those fancied circumstances which were most agreeable to my\ninclinations; in a word, by contriving to place myself in these\nfictitious situations, the idea of my real one was in a great measure\nobliterated.\n\nThis fondness for imaginary objects, and the facility with which I could\ngain possession of them, completed my disgust for everything around\nme, and fixed that inclination for solitude which has ever since been\npredominant. We shall have more than once occasion to remark the effects\nof a disposition, misanthropic and melancholy in appearance, but which\nproceed, in fact, from a heart too affectionate, too ardent, which,\nfor want of similar dispositions, is constrained to content itself\nwith nonentities, and be satisfied with fiction. It is sufficient, at\npresent, to have traced the origin of a propensity which has modified my\npassions, set bounds to each, and by giving too much ardor to my wishes,\nhas ever rendered me too indolent to obtain them.\n\nThus I attained my sixteenth year, uneasy, discontented with myself and\neverything that surrounded me; displeased with my occupation; without\nenjoying the pleasures common to my age, weeping without a cause,\nsighing I knew not why, and fond of my chimerical ideas for want of more\nvaluable realities.\n\nEvery Sunday, after sermon-time, my companions came to fetch me out,\nwishing me to partake of their diversions. I would willingly have been\nexcused, but when once engaged in amusement, I was more animated and\nenterprising than any of them; it was equally difficult to engage or\nrestrain me; indeed, this was ever a leading trait in my character. In\nour country walks I was ever foremost, and never thought of returning\ntill reminded by some of my companions. I was twice obliged to be from\nmy master's the whole night, the city gates having been shut before I\ncould reach them. The reader may imagine what treatment this procured\nme the following mornings; but I was promised such a reception for\nthe third, that I made a firm resolution never to expose myself to the\ndanger of it. Notwithstanding my determination, I repeated this dreaded\ntransgression, my vigilance having been rendered useless by a cursed\ncaptain, named M. Minutoli, who, when on guard, always shut the gate he\nhad charge of an hour before the usual time. I was returning home with\nmy two companions, and had got within half a league of the city, when\nI heard them beat the tattoo; I redouble my pace, I run with my utmost\nspeed, I approach the bridge, see the soldiers already at their posts,\nI call out to them in a suffocated voice--it is too late; I am twenty\npaces from the guard, the first bridge is already drawn up, and I\ntremble to see those terrible horns advanced in the air which announce\nthe fatal and inevitable destiny, which from this moment began to pursue\nme.\n\nI threw myself on the glacis in a transport of despair, while my\ncompanions, who only laughed at the accident, immediately determined\nwhat to do. My resolution, though different from theirs, was equally\nsudden; on the spot, I swore never to return to my master's, and the\nnext morning, when my companions entered the city, I bade them an\neternal adieu, conjuring them at the same time to inform my cousin\nBernard of my resolution, and the place where he might see me for the\nlast time.\n\nFrom the commencement of my apprenticeship I had seldom seen him;\nat first, indeed, we saw each other on Sundays, but each acquiring\ndifferent habits, our meetings were less frequent. I am persuaded his\nmother contributed greatly towards this change; he was to consider\nhimself as a person of consequence, I was a pitiful apprentice;\nnotwithstanding our relationship, equality no longer subsisted between\nus, and it was degrading himself to frequent my company. As he had\na natural good heart his mother's lessons did not take an immediate\neffect, and for some time he continued to visit me.\n\nHaving learned my resolution, he hastened to the spot I had appointed,\nnot, however, to dissuade me from it, but to render my flight agreeable,\nby some trifling presents, as my own resources would not have carried\nme far. He gave me among other things, a small sword, which I was\nvery proud of, and took with me as far as Turin, where absolute want\nconstrained me to dispose of it. The more I reflect on his behavior\nat this critical moment, the more I am persuaded he followed the\ninstructions of his mother, and perhaps his father likewise: for, had\nhe been left to his own feelings, he would have endeavored to retain,\nor have been tempted to accompany me; on the contrary, he encouraged the\ndesign, and when he saw me resolutely determined to pursue it, without\nseeming much affected, left me to my fate. We never saw or wrote to each\nother from that time; I cannot but regret this loss, for his heart was\nessentially good, and we seemed formed for a more lasting friendship.\n\nBefore I abandon myself to the fatality of my destiny, let me\ncontemplate for a moment the prospect that awaited me had I fallen into\nthe hands of a better master. Nothing could have been more agreeable to\nmy disposition, or more likely to confer happiness, than the peaceful\ncondition of a good artificer, in so respectable a line as engravers are\nconsidered at Geneva. I could have obtained an easy subsistence, if not\na fortune; this would have bounded my ambition; I should have had\nmeans to indulge in moderate pleasures, and should have continued in\nmy natural sphere, without meeting with any temptation to go beyond\nit. Having an imagination sufficiently fertile to embellish with its\nchimeras every situation, and powerful enough to transport me from\none to another, it was immaterial in which I was fixed: that was best\nadapted to me, which, requiring the least care or exertion, left the\nmind most at liberty; and this happiness I should have enjoyed. In\nmy native country, in the bosom of my religion, family and friends,\nI should have passed a calm and peaceful life, in the uniformity of a\npleasing occupation, and among connections dear to my heart. I should\nhave been a good Christian, a good citizen, a good friend, a good man. I\nshould have relished my condition, perhaps have been an honor to it, and\nafter having passed a life of happy obscurity, surrounded by my family,\nI should have died at peace. Soon it may be forgotten, but while\nremembered it would have been with tenderness and regret.\n\nInstead of this--what a picture am I about to draw!--Alas! why should\nI anticipate the miseries I have endured? The reader will have but too\nmuch of the melancholy subject.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\n|The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more\nterrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeared\ndelightful. To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,\nin the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of\nmy business to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and\ndanger: to expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all\nthe temptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,\nmisfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable\nevils than those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn,\nthe natural consequence of my hazardous enterprise. How different was\nthe idea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess\nwas the sole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty,\nI thought everything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast\ntheatre of the world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I\nexpected to find amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to\nserve, and mistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and\nthe whole universe would be interested in my concerns; not but I\ncould have been content with something less; a charming society, with\nsufficient means, might have satisfied me. My moderation was such, that\nthe sphere in which I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but\nthen it was to possess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself\nthe principal object. A single castle, for instance, might have bounded\nmy ambition; could I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the\ndaughter's lover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I\nmight have been tolerably content, and sought no further.\n\nIn expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in the\nenvirons of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, who\nreceived me with more kindness than I should have met with in town;\nthey welcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live on\ncharity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance of\nsuperiority to furnish out the idea.\n\nI rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, at\nabout two leagues distance from Geneva. The vicar was called M. de\nPontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught\nmy attention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of\nthe gentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this\nM. de Pontverre, and was received with great civility.\n\nHe spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holy\nmother church, and then invited me to dinner. I had little to object\nto arguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined to\nbelieve that priests, who gave such excellent dinners, might be as\ngood as our ministers. Notwithstanding M. de Pontverre's pedigree, I\ncertainly possessed most learning; but I rather sought to be a good\ncompanion than an expert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which I\nthought delicious, argued so powerfully on his side, that I should\nhave blushed at silencing so kind a host; I, therefore, yielded him the\nvictory, or rather declined the contest. Any one who had observed my\nprecaution, would certainly have pronounced me a dissembler, though, in\nfact, I was only courteous.\n\nFlattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice in young people;\n'tis oftener a virtue. When treated with kindness, it is natural to\nfeel an attachment for the person who confers the obligation; we do\nnot acquiesce because we wish to deceive, but from dread of giving\nuneasiness, or because we wish to avoid the ingratitude of rendering\nevil for good. What interest had M. de Pontverre in entertaining,\ntreating with respect, and endeavoring to convince me? None but mine;\nmy young heart told me this, and I was penetrated with gratitude and\nrespect for the generous priest; I was sensible of my superiority, but\nscorned to repay his hospitality by taking advantage of it. I had no\nconception of hypocrisy in this forbearance, or thought of changing my\nreligion, nay, so far was the idea from being familiar to me, that\nI looked on it with a degree of horror which seemed to exclude the\npossibility of such an event; I only wished to avoid giving offence to\nthose I was sensible caressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivate\ntheir good opinion, and meantime leave them the hope of success\nby seeming less on my guard than I really was. My conduct in this\nparticular resembled the coquetry of some very honest women, who, to\nobtain their wishes, without permitting or promising anything, sometimes\nencourage hopes they never mean to realize.\n\nReason, piety, and love of order, certainly demanded that instead of\nbeing encouraged in my folly, I should have been dissuaded from the ruin\nI was courting, and sent back to my family; and this conduct any one\nthat was actuated by genuine virtue would have pursued; but it should be\nobserved that though M. de Pontverre was a religious man, he was not a\nvirtuous one, but a bigot, who knew no virtue except worshipping images\nand telling his beads, in a word, a kind of missionary, who thought the\nheight of merit consisted in writing libels against the ministers of\nGeneva. Far from wishing to send me back, he endeavored to favor\nmy escape, and put it out of my power to return even had I been so\ndisposed. It was a thousand to one but he was sending me to perish with\nhunger, or become a villain; but all this was foreign to his purpose;\nhe saw a soul snatched from heresy, and restored to the bosom of the\nchurch: whether I was an honest man or a knave was very immaterial,\nprovided I went to mass.\n\nThis ridiculous mode of thinking is not peculiar to Catholics; it is the\nvoice of every dogmatical persuasion where merit consists in belief, and\nnot in virtue.\n\n\"You are called by the Almighty,\" said M. de Pontverre; \"go to Annecy,\nwhere you will find a good and charitable lady, whom the bounty of the\nking enables to turn souls from those errors she has happily renounced.\"\nHe spoke of a Madam de Warens, a new convert, to whom the priests\ncontrived to send those wretches who were disposed to sell their faith,\nand with these she was in a manner constrained to share a pension of two\nthousand francs bestowed on her by the King of Sardinia. I felt myself\nextremely humiliated at being supposed to want the assistance of a\ngood and charitable lady. I had no objection to be accommodated with\neverything I stood in need of, but did not wish to receive it on the\nfooting of charity and to owe this obligation to a devotee was still\nworse; notwithstanding my scruples the persuasions of M. de Pontverre,\nthe dread of perishing with hunger, the pleasures I promised myself from\nthe journey, and hope of obtaining some desirable situation, determined\nme; and I set out though reluctantly, for Annecy. I could easily have\nreached it in a day, but being in no great haste to arrive there, it\ntook me three. My head was filled with the ideas of adventures, and I\napproached every country-seat I saw in my way, in expectation of having\nthem realized. I had too much timidity to knock at the doors, or even\nenter if I saw them open, but I did what I dared--which was to sing\nunder those windows that I thought had the most favorable appearance;\nand was very much disconcerted to find I wasted my breath to no purpose,\nand that neither old nor young ladies were attracted by the melody of\nmy voice, or the wit of my poetry, though some songs my companions had\ntaught me I thought excellent and that I sung them incomparably. At\nlength I arrived at Annecy, and saw Madam de Warens.\n\nAs this period of my life, in a great measure, determined my character,\nI could not resolve to pass it lightly over. I was in the middle of my\nsixteenth year, and though I could not be called handsome, was well\nmade for my height; I had a good foot, a well turned leg, and animated\ncountenance; a well proportioned mouth, black hair and eyebrows, and\nmy eyes, though small and rather too far in my head, sparkling with\nvivacity, darted that innate fire which inflamed my blood; unfortunately\nfor me, I knew nothing of all this, never having bestowed a single\nthought on my person till it was too late to be of any service to me.\nThe timidity common to my age was heightened by a natural benevolence,\nwhich made me dread the idea of giving pain. Though my mind had received\nsome cultivation, having seen nothing of the world, I was an absolute\nstranger to polite address, and my mental acquisitions, so far from\nsupplying this defect, only served to increase my embarrassment, by\nmaking me sensible of every deficiency.\n\nDepending little, therefore, on external appearances, I had recourse to\nother expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling all\nthe flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books with the phrases\nof an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the attention, and insure the\ngood will of Madam de Warens. I enclosed M. de Pontverre's letter in\nmy own and waited on the lady with a heart palpitating with fear and\nexpectation. It was Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I was informed she\nwas that moment gone to church; I hasten after her, overtake, and speak\nto her.--The place is yet fresh in my memory--how can it be otherwise?\noften have I moistened it with my tears and covered it with kisses.--Why\ncannot I enclose with gold the happy spot, and render it the object\nof universal veneration? Whoever wishes to honor monuments of human\nsalvation would only approach it on their knees.\n\nIt was a passage at the back of the house, bordered on the left hand by\na little rivulet, which separated it from the garden, and, on the right,\nby the court yard wall; at the end was a private door which opened into\nthe church of the Cordeliers. Madam de Warens was just passing this\ndoor; but on hearing my voice, instantly turned about. What an effect\ndid the sight of her produce! I expected to see a devout, forbidding old\nwoman; M. de Pontverre's pious and worthy lady could be no other in my\nconception; instead of which, I see a face beaming with charms, fine\nblue eyes full of sweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzled the\nsight, the form of an enchanting neck, nothing escaped the eager eye of\nthe young proselyte; for that instant I was hers!--a religion preached\nby such missionaries must lead to paradise!\n\nMy letter was presented with a trembling hand; she took it with a\nsmile--opened it, glanced an eye over M. de Pontverre's and again\nreturned to mine, which she read through and would have read again,\nhad not the footman that instant informed her that service was\nbeginning--\"Child,\" said she, in a tone of voice which made every\nnerve vibrate, \"you are wandering about at an early age--it is really a\npity!\"--and without waiting for an answer, added--\"Go to my house, bid\nthem give you something for breakfast, after mass, I will speak to you.\"\n\nLouisa-Eleanora de Warens was of the noble and ancient family of La Tour\nde Pit, of Vevay, a city in the country of the Vaudois. She was married\nvery young to a M. de Warens, of the house of Loys, eldest son of M. de\nVillardin, of Lausanne; there were no children by this marriage, which\nwas far from being a happy one. Some domestic uneasiness made Madam de\nWarens take the resolution of crossing the Lake, and throwing herself at\nthe feet of Victor Amadeus, who was then at Evian; thus abandoning\nher husband, family, and country by a giddiness similar to mine, which\nprecipitation she, too, has found sufficient time and reason to lament.\n\nThe king, who was fond of appearing a zealous promoter of the Catholic\nfaith, took her under his protection, and complimented her with a\npension of fifteen hundred livres of Piedmont, which was a considerable\nappointment for a prince who never had the character of being generous;\nbut finding his liberality made some conjecture he had an affection for\nthe lady, he sent her to Annecy escorted by a detachment of his guards,\nwhere, under the direction of Michael Gabriel de Bernex, titular\nbishop of Geneva, she abjured her former religion at the Convent of the\nVisitation.\n\nI came to Annecy just six years after this event; Madam de Warens\nwas then eight-and-twenty, being born with the century. Her beauty,\nconsisting more in the expressive animation of the countenance, than a\nset of features, was in its meridian; her manner soothing and tender; an\nangelic smile played about her mouth, which was small and delicate; she\nwore her hair (which was of an ash color, and uncommonly beautiful) with\nan air of negligence that made her appear still more interesting;\nshe was short, and rather thick for her height, though by no means\ndisagreeably so; but there could not be a more lovely face, a finer\nneck, or hands and arms more exquisitely formed.\n\nHer education had been derived from such a variety of sources, that it\nformed an extraordinary assemblage. Like me, she had lost her mother at\nher birth, and had received instruction as it chanced to present itself;\nshe had learned something of her governess, something of her father, a\nlittle of her masters, but copiously from her lovers; particularly a\nM. de Tavel, who, possessing both taste and information, endeavored to\nadorn with them the mind of her he loved. These various instructions,\nnot being properly arranged, tended to impede each other, and she\ndid not acquire that degree of improvement her natural good sense was\ncapable of receiving; she knew something of philosophy and physic, but\nnot enough to eradicate the fondness she had imbibed from her father for\nempiricism and alchemy; she made elixirs, tinctures, balsams, pretended\nto secrets, and prepared magestry; while quacks and pretenders,\nprofiting by her weakness, destroyed her property among furnaces, drugs\nand minerals, diminishing those charms and accomplishments which might\nhave been the delight of the most elegant circles. But though these\ninterested wretches took advantage of her ill-applied education to\nobscure her natural good sense, her excellent heart retained its purity;\nher amiable mildness, sensibility for the unfortunate, inexhaustible\nbounty, and open, cheerful frankness, knew no variation; even at the\napproach of old age, when attacked by various calamities, rendered more\ncutting by indigence, the serenity of her disposition preserved to the\nend of her life the pleasing gayety of her happiest days.\n\nHer errors proceeded from an inexhaustible fund of activity, which\ndemanded perpetual employment. She found no satisfaction in the\ncustomary intrigues of her sex, but, being formed for vast designs,\nsought the direction of important enterprises and discoveries. In her\nplace Madam de Longueville would have been a mere trifler, in Madam de\nLongueville's situation she would have governed the state. Her talents\ndid not accord with her fortune; what would have gained her distinction\nin a more elevated sphere, became her ruin. In enterprises which suited\nher disposition, she arranged the plan in her imagination, which was\never carried of its utmost extent, and the means she employed being\nproportioned rather to her ideas than abilities, she failed by the\nmismanagement of those upon whom she depended, and was ruined where\nanother would scarce have been a loser. This active disposition, which\ninvolved her in so many difficulties, was at least productive of one\nbenefit as it prevented her from passing the remainder of her life in\nthe monastic asylum she had chosen, which she had some thought of. The\nsimple and uniform life of a nun, and the little cabals and gossipings\nof their parlor, were not adapted to a mind vigorous and active, which,\nevery day forming new systems, had occasions for liberty to attempt\ntheir completion.\n\nThe good bishop of Bernex, with less wit than Francis of Sales,\nresembled him in many particulars, and Madam de Warens, whom he loved\nto call his daughter, and who was like Madam de Chantel in several\nrespects, might have increased the resemblance by retiring like her\nfrom the world, had she not been disgusted with the idle trifling of\na convent. It was not want of zeal prevented this amiable woman from\ngiving those proofs of devotion which might have been expected from a\nnew convert, under the immediate direction of a prelate. Whatever might\nhave influenced her to change her religion, she was certainly sincere\nin that she had embraced; she might find sufficient occasion to repent\nhaving abjured her former faith, but no inclination to return to it. She\nnot only died a good Catholic, but truly lived one; nay, I dare affirm\n(and I think I have had the opportunity to read the secrets of her\nheart) that it was only her aversion to singularity that prevented her\nacting the devotee in public; in a word, her piety was too sincere to\ngive way to any affectation of it. But this is not the place to enlarge\non her principles: I shall find other occasions to speak of them.\n\nLet those who deny the existence of a sympathy of souls, explain, if\nthey know how, why the first glance, the first word of Madam de Warens\ninspired me, not only with a lively attachment, but with the most\nunbounded confidence, which has since known no abatement. Say this was\nlove (which will at least appear doubtful to those who read the sequel\nof our attachment) how could this passion be attended with sentiments\nwhich scarce ever accompany its commencement, such as peace, serenity,\nsecurity, and confidence. How, when making application to an amiable and\npolished woman, whose situation in life was so superior to mine, so far\nabove any I had yet approached, on whom, in a great measure, depended\nmy future fortune by the degree of interest she might take in it; how,\nI say with so many reasons to depress me, did I feel myself as free, as\nmuch at my ease, as if I had been perfectly secure of pleasing her! Why\ndid I not experience a moment of embarrassment, timidity or restraint?\nNaturally bashful, easily confused, having seen nothing of the world,\ncould I, the first time, the first moment I beheld her, adopt caressing\nlanguage, and a familiar tone, as readily as after ten years' intimacy\nhad rendered these freedoms natural? Is it possible to possess love,\nI will not say without desires, for I certainly had them, but without\ninquietude, without jealousy? Can we avoid feeling an anxious wish at\nleast to know whether our affection is returned? Yet such a question\nnever entered my imagination; I should as soon have inquired, do I love\nmyself; nor did she ever express a greater degree of curiosity; there\nwas, certainly, something extraordinary in my attachment to this\ncharming woman and it will be found in the sequel, that some\nextravagances, which cannot be foreseen, attended it.\n\nWhat could be done for me, was the present question, and in order to\ndiscuss the point with greater freedom, she made me dine with her.\nThis was the first meal in my life where I had experienced a want of\nappetite, and her woman, who waited, observed it was the first time\nshe had seen a traveller of my age and appearance deficient in that\nparticular: this remark, which did me no injury in the opinion of her\nmistress, fell hard on an overgrown clown, who was my fellow guest, and\ndevoured sufficient to have served at least six moderate feeders. For\nme, I was too much charmed to think of eating; my heart began to imbibe\na delicious sensation, which engrossed my whole being, and left no room\nfor other objects.\n\nMadam de Warens wished to hear the particulars of my little history--all\nthe vivacity I had lost during my servitude returned and assisted the\nrecital. In proportion to the interest this excellent woman took in my\nstory, did she lament the fate to which I had exposed myself; compassion\nwas painted on her features, and expressed by every action. She could\nnot exhort me to return to Geneva, being too well aware that her words\nand actions were strictly scrutinized, and that such advice would be\nthought high treason against Catholicism, but she spoke so feelingly of\nthe affliction I must give my father, that it was easy to perceive\nshe would have approved my returning to console him. Alas! she little\nthought how powerfully this pleaded against herself; the more eloquently\npersuasive she appeared, the less could I resolve to tear myself from\nher. I knew that returning to Geneva would be putting an insuperable\nbarrier between us, unless I repeated the expedient which had brought me\nhere, and it was certainly better to preserve than expose myself to the\ndanger of a relapse; besides all this, my conduct was predetermined, I\nwas resolved not to return. Madam de Warens, seeing her endeavors would\nbe fruitless, became less explicit, and only added, with an air of\ncommiseration, \"Poor child! thou must go where Providence directs thee,\nbut one day thou wilt think of me.\"--I believe she had no conception at\nthat time how fatally her prediction would be verified.\n\nThe difficulty still remained how I was to gain a subsistence? I have\nalready observed that I knew too little of engraving for that to furnish\nmy resource, and had I been more expert, Savoy was too poor a country\nto give much encouragement to the arts. The above-mentioned glutton, who\nate for us as well as himself, being obliged to pause in order to gain\nsome relaxation from the fatigue of it, imparted a piece of advice,\nwhich, according to him, came express from Heaven; though to judge by\nits effects it appeared to have been dictated from a direct contrary\nquarter: this was that I should go to Turin, where, in a hospital\ninstituted for the instruction of catechumens, I should find food, both\nspiritual and temporal, be reconciled to the bosom of the church, and\nmeet with some charitable Christians, who would make it a point to\nprocure me a situation that would turn to my advantage. \"In regard to\nthe expenses of the journey,\" continued our advisor, \"his grace, my lord\nbishop, will not be backward, when once madam has proposed this holy\nwork, to offer his charitable donation, and madam, the baroness,\nwhose charity is so well known,\" once more addressing himself to the\ncontinuation of his meal, \"will certainly contribute.\"\n\nI was by no means pleased with all these charities; I said nothing, but\nmy heart was ready to burst with vexation. Madam de Warens, who did not\nseem to think so highly of this expedient as the projector pretended\nto do, contented herself by saying, everyone should endeavor to promote\ngood actions, and that she would mention it to his lordship; but the\nmeddling devil, who had some private interest in this affair, and\nquestioned whether she would urge it to his satisfaction, took care to\nacquaint the almoners with my story, and so far influenced those good\npriests, that when Madam de Warens, who disliked the journey on my\naccount, mentioned it to the bishop, she found it so far concluded on,\nthat he immediately put into her hands the money designed for my little\nviaticum. She dared not advance anything against it; I was approaching\nan age when a woman like her could not, with any propriety, appear\nanxious to retain me.\n\nMy departure being thus determined by those who undertook the management\nof my concerns, I had only to submit; and I did it without much\nrepugnance. Though Turin was at a greater distance from Madam de Warens\nthan Geneva, yet being the capital of the country I was now in, it\nseemed to have more connection with Annecy than a city under a different\ngovernment and of a contrary religion; besides, as I undertook this\njourney in obedience to her, I considered myself as living under her\ndirection, which was more flattering than barely to continue in the\nneighborhood; to sum up all, the idea of a long journey coincided\nwith my insurmountable passion for rambling, which already began\nto demonstrate itself. To pass the mountains, to my eye appeared\ndelightful; how charming the reflection of elevating myself above my\ncompanions by the whole height of the Alps! To see the world is an\nalmost irresistible temptation to a Genevan, accordingly I gave my\nconsent.\n\nHe who suggested the journey was to set off in two days with his wife. I\nwas recommended to their care; they were likewise made my purse-bearers,\nwhich had been augmented by Madam de Warens, who, not contented with\nthese kindnesses, added secretly a pecuniary reinforcement, attended\nwith the most ample instructions, and we departed on the Wednesday\nbefore Easter.\n\nThe day following, my father arrived at Annecy, accompanied by his\nfriend, a Mr. Rival, who was likewise a watchmaker; he was a man of\nsense and letters, who wrote better verses than La Motte, and spoke\nalmost as well; what is still more to his praise, he was a man of the\nstrictest integrity, but whose taste for literature only served to make\none of his sons a comedian. Having traced me to the house of Madam de\nWarens, they contented themselves with lamenting, like her, my fate,\ninstead of overtaking me, which, (as they were on horseback and I on\nfoot) they might have accomplished with the greatest ease.\n\nMy uncle Bernard did the same thing, he arrived at Consignon, received\ninformation that I was gone to Annecy, and immediately returned back\nto Geneva; thus my nearest relations seemed to have conspired with my\nadverse stars to consign me to misery and ruin. By a similar negligence,\nmy brother was so entirely lost, that it was never known what was become\nof him.\n\nMy father was not only a man of honor but of the strictest probity, and\nendured with that magnanimity which frequently produces the most shining\nvirtues: I may add, he was a good father, particularly to me whom he\ntenderly loved; but he likewise loved his pleasures, and since we had\nbeen separated other connections had weakened his paternal affections.\nHe had married again at Nion, and though his second wife was too old\nto expect children, she had relations; my father was united to another\nfamily, surrounded by other objects, and a variety of cares prevented\nmy returning to his remembrance. He was in the decline of life and had\nnothing to support the inconveniences of old age; my mother's property\ndevolved to me and my brother, but, during our absence, the interest\nof it was enjoyed by my father: I do not mean to infer that this\nconsideration had an immediate effect on his conduct, but it had an\nimperceptible one, and prevented him making use of that exertion to\nregain me which he would otherwise have employed; and this, I think,\nwas the reason that having traced me as far as Annecy, he stopped short,\nwithout proceeding to Chambery, where he was almost certain I should be\nfound; and likewise accounts why, on visiting him several times since\nmy flight, he always received me with great kindness, but never made any\nefforts to retain me.\n\nThis conduct in a father, whose affection and virtue I was so well\nconvinced of, has given birth to reflections on the regulation of my own\nconduct which have greatly contributed to preserve the integrity of my\nheart. It has taught me this great lesson of morality, perhaps the only\none that can have any conspicuous influence on our actions, that we\nshould ever carefully avoid putting our interests in competition with\nour duty, or promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others;\ncertain that in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtue\nmay be, sooner or later it will give way and we shall imperceptibly\nbecome unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions.\n\nThis maxim, strongly imprinted on my mind, and reduced, though rather\ntoo late, to practice, has given my conduct an appearance of folly and\nwhimsicality, not only in public, but still more among my acquaintances:\nit has been said, I affected originality, and sought to act different\nfrom other people; the truth is, I neither endeavor to conform or be\nsingular, I desire only to act virtuously and avoid situations, which,\nby setting my interest in opposition to that of another person's, might\ninspire me with a secret, though involuntary wish to his disadvantage.\n\nTwo years ago, My Lord Marshal would have put my name in his will, which\nI took every method to prevent, assuring him I would not for the world\nknow myself in the will of any one, much less in his; he gave up the\nidea; but insisted in return, that I should accept an annuity on his\nlife; this I consented to. It will be said, I find my account in the\nalteration; perhaps I may; but oh, my benefactor! my father, I am now\nsensible that, should I have the misfortune to survive thee, I should\nhave everything to lose, nothing to gain.\n\nThis, in my idea, in true philosophy, the surest bulwark of human\nrectitude; every day do I receive fresh conviction of its profound\nsolidity. I have endeavored to recommend it in all my latter writings,\nbut the multitude read too superficially to have made the remark. If I\nsurvive my present undertaking, and am able to begin another, I mean, in\na continuation of Emilius, to give such a lively and marking example\nof this maxim as cannot fail to strike attention. But I have made\nreflections enough for a traveller, it is time to continue my journey.\n\nIt turned out more agreeable than I expected: my clownish conductor was\nnot so morose as he appeared to be. He was a middle-aged man, wore his\nblack, grizzly hair, in a queue, had a martial air, a strong voice, was\ntolerably cheerful, and to make up for not having been taught any trade,\ncould turn his hand to every one. Having proposed to establish some\nkind of manufactory at Annecy, he had consulted Madam de Warens, who\nimmediately gave into the project, and he was now going to Turin to lay\nthe plan before the minister and get his approbation, for which journey\nhe took care to be well rewarded.\n\nThis drole had the art of ingratiating himself with the priests, whom he\never appeared eager to serve; he adopted a certain jargon which he had\nlearned by frequenting their company, and thought himself a notable\npreacher; he could even repeat one passage from the Bible in Latin, and\nit answered his purpose as well as if he had known a thousand, for he\nrepeated it a thousand times a day. He was seldom at a loss for money\nwhen he knew what purse contained it; yet, was rather artful than\nknavish, and when dealing out in an affected tone his unmeaning\ndiscourses, resembled Peter the Hermit, preaching up the crusade with a\nsabre at his side.\n\nMadam Sabran, his wife, was a tolerable, good sort of woman; more\npeaceable by day than by night; as I slept in the same chamber I was\nfrequently disturbed by her wakefulness, and should have been more\nso had I comprehended the cause of it; but I was in the chapter of\ndullness, which left to nature the whole care of my own instruction.\n\nI went on gayly with my pious guide and his hopeful companion,\nno sinister accident impeding our journey. I was in the happiest\ncircumstances both of mind and body that I ever recollect having\nexperienced; young, full of health and security, placing unbounded\nconfidence in myself and others; in that short but charming moment of\nhuman life, whose expansive energy carries, if I may so express myself,\nour being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all\nnature with an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and\nrising enjoyment of our existence.\n\nMy pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object on\nwhich imagination could fix. I looked on myself as the work, the pupil,\nthe friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warens; the obliging things she\nhad said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest she\nseemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks,\nwhich seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired\nit, every consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and\nfurnished the most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my\nfuture condition arose to embitter. In sending me to Turin, I thought\nthey engaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of\nevery care I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes,\nand brilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented\nitself seemed to insure my approaching felicity. I imagined that every\nhouse was filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with\nsports and revelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish\nwantoned in these streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along\nthe flowery banks! The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while\ntheir shade afforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy\nlovers; the mountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure,\nsimplicity and joy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither,\nand everything I saw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture.\nThe grandeur, variety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure\nrendered the charm reasonable, in which vanity came in for its share;\nto go so young to Italy, view such an extent of country, and pursue the\nroute of Hannibal over the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add\nto all this our frequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and\nplenty to satisfy it; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing;\nat Mr. Sabran's table what I eat could scarce be missed. In the whole\ncourse of my life I cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt\nfrom care, than the seven or eight days I was passing from Annecy\nto Turin. As we were obliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather\nappeared an agreeable jaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still\nremains the most pleasing impressions of it on my mind, and the idea of\na pedestrian excursion, particularly among the mountains, has from this\ntime seemed delightful.\n\nIt was only in my happiest days that I travelled on foot, and ever with\nthe most unbounded satisfaction; afterwards, occupied with business and\nencumbered with baggage, I was forced to act the gentleman and employ a\ncarriage, where care, embarrassment, and restraint, were sure to be\nmy companions, and instead of being delighted with the journey, I only\nwished to arrive at the place of destination.\n\nI was a long time at Paris, wishing to meet with two companions of\nsimilar dispositions, who would each agree to appropriate fifty guineas\nof his property and a year of his time to making the tour of Italy\non foot, with no other attendance than a young fellow to carry our\nnecessaries; I have met with many who seemed enchanted with the project,\nbut considered it only as a visionary scheme, which served well enough\nto talk of, without any design of putting it in execution. One day,\nspeaking with enthusiasm of this project to Diderot and Grimm, they gave\ninto the proposal with such warmth that I thought the matter concluded\non; but it only turned out a journey on paper, in which Grimm thought\nnothing so pleasing as making Diderot commit a number of impieties, and\nshutting me up in the Inquisition for them, instead of him.\n\nMy regret at arriving so soon at Turin was compensated by the pleasure\nof viewing a large city, and the hope of figuring there in a conspicuous\ncharacter, for my brain already began to be intoxicated with the fumes\nof ambition; my present situation appeared infinitely above that of\nan apprentice, and I was far from foreseeing how soon I should be much\nbelow it.\n\nBefore I proceed, I ought to offer an excuse, or justification to\nthe reader for the great number of unentertaining particulars I am\nnecessitated to repeat. In pursuance of the resolution I have formed to\nenter on this public exhibition of myself, it is necessary that nothing\nshould bear the appearance of obscurity or concealment. I should be\ncontinually under the eye of the reader, he should be enabled to follow\nme In all the wanderings of my heart, through every intricacy of my\nadventures; he must find no void or chasm in my relation, nor lose sight\nof me an instant, lest he should find occasion to say, what was he doing\nat this time; and suspect me of not having dared to reveal the whole.\nI give sufficient scope to malignity in what I say; it is unnecessary I\nshould furnish still more by my silence.\n\nMy money was all gone, even that I had secretly received from Madam\nde Warens: I had been so indiscreet as to divulge this secret, and my\nconductors had taken care to profit by it. Madam Sabran found means\nto deprive me of everything I had, even to a ribbon embroidered with\nsilver, with which Madam de Warens had adorned the hilt of my sword;\nthis I regretted more than all the rest; indeed the sword itself would\nhave gone the same way, had I been less obstinately bent on retaining\nit. They had, it is true, supported me during the journey, but left\nme nothing at the end of it, and I arrived at Turin, without money,\nclothes, or linen, being precisely in the situation to owe to my merit\nalone the whole honor of that fortune I was about to acquire.\n\nI took care in the first place to deliver the letters I was charged\nwith, and was presently conducted to the hospital of the catechumens, to\nbe instructed in that religion, for which, in return, I was to receive\nsubsistence. On entering, I passed an iron-barred gate, which was\nimmediately double-locked on me; this beginning was by no means\ncalculated to give me a favorable opinion of my situation. I was then\nconducted to a large apartment, whose furniture consisted of a wooden\naltar at the farther end, on which was a large crucifix, and round\nit several indifferent chairs, of the same materials. In this hall of\naudience were assembled four or five ill-looking banditti, my comrades\nin instruction, who would rather have been taken for trusty servants\nof the devil than candidates for the kingdom of heaven. Two of these\nfellows were Sclavonians, but gave out they were African Jews, and\n(as they assured me) had run through Spain and Italy, embracing the\nChristian faith, and being baptised wherever they thought it worth their\nlabor.\n\nSoon after they opened another iron gate, which divided a large balcony\nthat overlooked a court yard, and by this avenue entered our sister\ncatechumens, who, like me, were going to be regenerated, not by baptism\nbut a solemn abjuration. A viler set of idle, dirty, abandoned harlots,\nnever disgraced any persuasion; one among them, however, appeared pretty\nand interesting; she might be about my own age, perhaps a year or two\nolder, and had a pair of roguish eyes, which frequently encountered\nmine; this was enough to inspire me with the desire of becoming\nacquainted with her, but she had been so strongly recommended to the\ncare of the old governess of this respectable sisterhood, and was so\nnarrowly watched by the pious missionary, who labored for her conversion\nwith more zeal than diligence, that during the two months we remained\ntogether in this house (where she had already been three) I found it\nabsolutely impossible to exchange a word with her. She must have been\nextremely stupid, though she had not the appearance of it, for never was\na longer course of instruction; the holy man could never bring her to\na state of mind fit for abjuration; meantime she became weary of her\ncloister, declaring that, Christian or not, she would stay there no\nlonger; and they were obliged to take her at her word, lest she should\ngrow refractory, and insist on departing as great a sinner as she came.\n\nThis hopeful community were assembled in honor of the new-comer; when\nour guides made us a short exhortation: I was conjured to be obedient\nto the grace that Heaven had bestowed on me; the rest were admonished\nto assist me with their prayers, and give me edification by their good\nexample. Our virgins then retired to another apartment, and I was left\nto contemplate, at leisure, that wherein I found myself.\n\nThe next morning we were again assembled for instruction: I now began\nto reflect, for the first time, on the step I was about to take, and the\ncircumstances which had led me to it.\n\nI repeat, and shall perhaps repeat again, an assertion I have already\nadvanced, and of whose truth I every day receive fresh conviction, which\nis, that if ever child received a reasonable and virtuous education, it\nwas myself. Born in a family of unexceptionable morals, every lesson\nI received was replete with maxims of prudence and virtue. My father\n(though fond of gallantry) not only possessed distinguished probity, but\nmuch religion; in the world he appeared a man of pleasure, in his family\nhe was a Christian, and implanted early in my mind those sentiments he\nfelt the force of. My three aunts were women of virtue and piety; the\ntwo eldest were professed devotees, and the third, who united all the\ngraces of wit and good sense, was, perhaps, more truly religious than\neither, though with less ostentation. From the bosom of this amiable\nfamily I was transplanted to M. Lambercier's, a man dedicated to the\nministry, who believed the doctrine he taught, and acted up to its\nprecepts. He and his sister matured by their instructions those\nprinciples of judicious piety I had already imbibed, and the means\nemployed by these worthy people were so well adapted to the effect\nthey meant to produce, that so far from being fatigued, I scarce ever\nlistened to their admonitions without finding myself sensibly affected,\nand forming resolutions to live virtuously, from which, except in\nmoments of forgetfulness, I seldom swerved. At my uncle's, religion was\nfar more tiresome, because they made it an employment; with my master I\nthought no more of it, though my sentiments continued the same: I had no\ncompanions to vitiate my morals: I became idle, careless, and obstinate,\nbut my principles were not impaired.\n\nI possessed as much religion, therefore, as a child could be supposed\ncapable of acquiring. Why should I now disguise my thoughts? I am\npersuaded I had more. In my childhood, I was not a child; I felt, I\nthought as a man: as I advanced in years, I mingled with the ordinary\nclass; in my infancy I was distinguished from it. I shall doubtless\nincur ridicule by thus modestly holding myself up for a prodigy--I am\ncontent. Let those who find themselves disposed to it, laugh their fill;\nafterward, let them find a child that at six years old is delighted,\ninterested, affected with romances, even to the shedding floods of\ntears; I shall then feel my ridiculous vanity, and acknowledge myself in\nan error.\n\nThus when I said we should not converse with children on religion, if we\nwished them ever to possess any; when I asserted they were incapable of\ncommunion with the Supreme Being, even in our confined degree, I drew my\nconclusions from general observation; I knew they were not applicable\nto particular instances: find J. J. Rousseau of six years old, converse\nwith them on religious subjects at seven, and I will be answerable that\nthe experiment will be attended with no danger.\n\nIt is understood, I believe, that a child, or even a man, is likely to\nbe most sincere while persevering in that religion in whose belief\nhe was born and educated; we frequently detract from, seldom make\nany additions to it: dogmatical faith is the effect of education. In\naddition to this general principle which attached me to the religion of\nmy forefathers, I had that particular aversion our city entertains for\nCatholicism, which is represented there as the most monstrous idolatry,\nand whose clergy are painted in the blackest colors. This sentiment was\nso firmly imprinted on my mind, that I never dared to look into their\nchurches--I could not bear to meet a priest in his surplice, and never\ndid I hear the bells of a procession sound without shuddering with\nhorror; these sensations soon wore off in great cities, but frequently\nreturned in country parishes, which bore more similarity to the spot\nwhere I first experienced them; meantime this dislike was singularly\ncontrasted by the remembrance of those caresses which priests in the\nneighborhood of Geneva are fond of bestowing on the children of that\ncity. If the bells of the viaticum alarmed me, the chiming for mass\nor vespers called me to a breakfast, a collation, to the pleasure of\nregaling on fresh butter, fruits, or milk; the good cheer of M. de\nPontverre had produced a considerable effect on me; my former abhorrence\nbegan to diminish, and looking on popery through the medium of amusement\nand good living, I easily reconciled myself to the idea of enduring,\nthough I never entertained but a very transient and distant idea of\nmaking a solemn profession of it.\n\nAt this moment such a transaction appeared in all its horrors; I\nshuddered at the engagement I had entered into, and its inevitable\nconsequences. The future neophytes with which I was surrounded were not\ncalculated to sustain my courage by their example, and I could not help\nconsidering the holy work I was about to perform as the action of a\nvillain. Though young, I was sufficiently convinced, that whatever\nreligion might be the true one, I was about to sell mine; and even\nshould I chance to chose the best, I lied to the Holy Ghost, and\nmerited the disdain of every good man. The more I considered, the more\nI despised myself, and trembled at the fate which had led me into such a\npredicament, as if my present situation had not been of my own seeking.\nThere were moments when these compunctions were so strong that had I\nfound the door open but for an instant, I should certainly have made\nmy escape; but this was impossible, nor was the resolution of any long\nduration, being combated by too many secret motives to stand any chance\nof gaining the victory.\n\nMy fixed determination not to return to Geneva, the shame that would\nattend it, the difficulty of repassing the mountains, at a distance from\nmy country, without friends, and without resources, everything concurred\nto make me consider my remorse of conscience, as a too late repentance.\nI affected to reproach myself for what I had done, to seek excuses for\nthat I intended to do, and by aggravating the errors of the past, looked\non the future as an inevitable consequence. I did not say, nothing is\nyet done, and you may be innocent if you please; but I said, tremble at\nthe crime thou hast committed, which hath reduced thee to the necessity\nof filling up the measure of thine iniquities.\n\nIt required more resolution than was natural to my age to revoke those\nexpectations which I had given them reason to entertain, break those\nchains with which I was enthralled, and resolutely declare I would\ncontinue in the religion of my forefathers, whatever might be the\nconsequence. The affair was already too far advanced, and spite of all\nmy efforts they would have made a point of bringing it to a conclusion.\n\nThe sophism which ruined me has had a similar affect on the greater part\nof mankind, who lament the want of resolution when the opportunity for\nexercising it is over. The practice of virtue is only difficult from our\nown negligence; were we always discreet, we should seldom have occasion\nfor any painful exertion of it; we are captivated by desires we might\nreadily surmount, give into temptations that might easily be resisted,\nand insensibly get into embarrassing, perilous situations, from which we\ncannot extricate ourselves but with the utmost difficulty; intimidated\nby the effort, we fall into the abyss, saying to the Almighty, why\nhast thou made us such weak creatures? But, notwithstanding our vain\npretexts, He replies, by our consciences, I formed ye too weak to get\nout of the gulf, because I gave ye sufficient strength not to have\nfallen into it.\n\nI was not absolutely resolved to become a Catholic, but, as it was not\nnecessary to declare my intentions immediately, I gradually accustomed\nmyself to the idea; hoping, meantime, that some unforeseen event would\nextricate me from my embarrassment. In order to gain time, I resolved to\nmake the best defence I possibly could in favor of my own opinion; but\nmy vanity soon rendered this resolution unnecessary, for on finding\nI frequently embarrassed those who had the care of my instruction, I\nwished to heighten my triumph by giving them a complete overthrow. I\nzealously pursued my plan, not without the ridiculous hope of being able\nto convert my convertors; for I was simple enough to believe, that could\nI convince them of their errors, they would become Protestants; they did\nnot find, therefore, that facility in the work which they had expected,\nas I differed both in regard to will and knowledge from the opinion they\nhad entertained of me.\n\nProtestants, in general, are better instructed in the principles of\ntheir religion than Catholics; the reason is obvious; the doctrine of\nthe former requires discussion, of the latter a blind submission;\nthe Catholic must content himself with the decisions of others, the\nProtestant must learn to decide for himself; they were not ignorant of\nthis, but neither my age nor appearance promised much difficulty to\nmen so accustomed to disputation. They knew, likewise, that I had not\nreceived my first communion, nor the instructions which accompany it;\nbut, on the other hand, they had no idea of the information I received\nat M. Lambercier's, or that I had learned the history of the church\nand empire almost by heart at my father's; and though, since that time,\nnearly forgot, when warmed by the dispute (very unfortunately for these\ngentlemen), it again returned to my memory.\n\nA little old priest, but tolerably venerable, held the first conference;\nat which we were all convened. On the part of my comrades, it was rather\na catechism than a controversy, and he found more pains in giving them\ninstruction than answering their objections; but when it came to my\nturn, it was a different matter; I stopped him at every article, and did\nnot spare a single remark that I thought would create a difficulty: this\nrendered the conference long and extremely tiresome to the assistants.\nMy old priest talked a great deal, was very warm, frequently rambled\nfrom the subject, and extricated himself from difficulties by saying he\nwas not sufficiently versed in the French language.\n\nThe next day, lest my indiscreet objections should injure the minds of\nthose who were better disposed, I was led into a separate chamber and\nput under the care of a younger priest, a fine speaker; that is, one who\nwas fond of long perplexed sentences, and proud of his own abilities, if\never doctor was. I did not, however, suffer myself to be intimidated\nby his overbearing looks: and being sensible that I could maintain my\nground, I combated his assertions, exposed his mistakes, and laid about\nme in the best manner I was able. He thought to silence me at once with\nSt. Augustine, St. Gregory, and the rest of the fathers, but found, to\nhis ineffable surprise, that I could handle these almost as dexterously\nas himself; not that I had ever read them, or he either, perhaps, but I\nretained a number of passages taken from my Le Sueur, and when he bore\nhard on me with one citation, without standing to dispute, I parried\nit with another, which method embarrassed him extremely. At length,\nhowever, he got the better of me for two very potent reasons; in the\nfirst place, he was of the strongest side; young as I was, I thought it\nmight be dangerous to drive him to extremities, for I plainly saw the\nold priest was neither satisfied with me nor my erudition. In the next\nplace, he had studied, I had not; this gave a degree of method to\nhis arguments which I could not follow; and whenever he found himself\npressed by an unforeseen objection he put it off to the next conference,\npretending I rambled from the question in dispute. Sometimes he even\nrejected all my quotations, maintaining they were false, and, offering\nto fetch the book, defied me to find them. He knew he ran very little\nrisk, and that, with all my borrowed learning, I was not sufficiently\naccustomed to books, and too poor a Latinist to find a passage in a\nlarge volume, had I been ever so well assured it was there. I even\nsuspected him of having been guilty of a perfidy with which he accused\nour ministers, and that he fabricated passages sometimes in order to\nevade an objection that incommoded him.\n\nMeanwhile the hospital became every day more disagreeable to me,\nand seeing but one way to get out of it, I endeavored to hasten my\nabjuration with as much eagerness as I had hitherto sought to retard it.\n\nThe two Africans had been baptised with great ceremony, they were\nhabited in white from head to foot to signify the purity of their\nregenerated souls. My turn came a month after; for all this time was\nthought necessary by my directors, that they might have the honor of a\ndifficult conversion, and every dogma of their faith was recapitulated,\nin order to triumph the more completely over my new docility.\n\nAt length, sufficiently instructed and disposed to the will of my\nmasters, I was led in procession to the metropolitan church of St. John,\nto make a solemn abjuration, and undergo a ceremony made use of on these\noccasions, which, though not baptism, is very similar, and serves to\npersuade the people that Protestants are not Christians. I was clothed\nin a kind of gray robe, decorated with white Brandenburgs. Two men,\none behind, the other before me, carried copper basins which they kept\nstriking with a key, and in which those who were charitably disposed put\ntheir alms, according as they found themselves influenced by religion or\ngood will for the new convert; in a word, nothing of Catholic pageantry\nwas omitted that could render the solemnity edifying to the populace, or\nhumiliating to me. The white dress might have been serviceable, but as\nI had not the honor to be either Moor or Jew, they did not think fit to\ncompliment me with it.\n\nThe affair did not end here, I must now go to the Inquisition to be\nabsolved from the dreadful sin of heresy, and return to the bosom of the\nchurch with the same ceremony to which Henry the Fourth was subjected\nby his ambassador. The air and manner of the right reverend Father\nInquisitor was by no means calculated to dissipate the secret horror\nthat seized my spirits on entering this holy mansion. After several\nquestions relative to my faith, situation, and family, he asked me\nbluntly if my mother was damned? Terror repressed the first gust of\nindignation; this gave me time to recollect myself, and I answered, I\nhope not, for God might have enlightened her last moments. The monk\nmade no reply, but his silence was attended with a look by no means\nexpressive of approbation.\n\nAll these ceremonies ended, the very moment I flattered myself I\nshould be plentifully provided for, they exhorted me to continue a\ngood Christian, and live in obedience to the grace I had received; then\nwishing me good fortune, with rather more than twenty francs of small\nmoney in my pocket, the produce of the above-mentioned collection,\nturned me out, shut the door on me, and I saw no more of them!\n\nThus, in a moment, all my flattering expectations were at an end; and\nnothing remained from my interested conversion but the remembrance of\nhaving been made both a dupe and an apostate. It is easy to imagine\nwhat a sudden revolution was produced in my ideas, when every brilliant\nexpectation of making a fortune terminated by seeing myself plunged in\nthe completest misery. In the morning I was deliberating what palace\nI should inhabit, before night I was reduced to seek my lodging in the\nstreet. It may be supposed that I gave myself up to the most violent\ntransports of despair, rendered more bitter by a consciousness that\nmy own folly had reduced me to these extremities; but the truth is,\nI experienced none of these disagreeable sensations. I had passed\ntwo months in absolute confinement; this was new to me; I was now\nemancipated, and the sentiment I felt most forcibly, was joy at my\nrecovered liberty. After a slavery which had appeared tedious, I was\nagain master of my time and actions, in a great city, abundant in\nresources, crowded with people of fortune, to whom my merit and talents\ncould not fail to recommend me. I had sufficient time before me to\nexpect this good fortune, for my twenty livres seemed an inexhaustible\ntreasure, which I might dispose of without rendering an account of to\nanyone. It was the first time I had found myself so rich, and far from\ngiving way to melancholy reflections, I only adopted other hopes, in\nwhich self-love was by no means a loser. Never did I feel so great a\ndegree of confidence and security; I looked on my fortune as already\nmade and was pleased to think I should have no one but myself to thank\nfor the acquisition of it.\n\nThe first thing I did was to satisfy my curiosity by rambling all over\nthe city, and I seemed to consider it as a confirmation of my liberty;\nI went to see the soldiers mount guard, and was delighted with their\nmilitary accouterment; I followed processions, and was pleased with the\nsolemn music of the priests; I next went to see the king's palace,\nwhich I approached with awe, but seeing others enter, I followed their\nexample, and no one prevented me; perhaps I owed this favor to the small\nparcel I carried under my arm; be that as it may, I conceived a high\nopinion of my consequence from this circumstance, and already thought\nmyself an inhabitant there. The weather was hot; I had walked about till\nI was both fatigued and hungry; wishing for some refreshment, I went\ninto a milk-house; they brought me some cream-cheese curds and whey,\nand two slices of that excellent Piedmont bread, which I prefer to any\nother; and for five or six sous I had one of the most delicious meals I\never recollect to have made.\n\nIt was time to seek a lodging: as I already knew enough of the\nPiedmontese language to make myself understood, this was a work of no\ngreat difficulty; and I had so much prudence, that I wished to adapt it\nrather to the state of my purse than the bent of my inclinations. In\nthe course of my inquiries, I was informed that a soldier's wife, in\nPo-street, furnished lodgings to servants out of place at only one sou a\nnight, and finding one of her poor beds disengaged, I took possession of\nit. She was young and newly married, though she already had five or six\nchildren. Mother, children and lodgers, all slept in the same chamber,\nand it continued thus while I remained there. She was good-natured,\nswore like a carman, and wore neither cap nor handkerchief; but she had\na gentle heart, was officious; and to me both kind and serviceable.\n\nFor several days I gave myself up to the pleasures of independence\nand curiosity; I continued wandering about the city and its environs,\nexamining every object that seemed curious or new; and, indeed, most\nthings had that appearance to a young novice. I never omitted visiting\nthe court, and assisted regularly every morning at the king's mass. I\nthought it a great honor to be in the same chapel with this prince\nand his retinue; but my passion for music, which now began to make its\nappearance, was a greater incentive than the splendor of the court,\nwhich, soon seen and always the same, presently lost its attraction.\nThe King of Sardinia had at that time the best music in Europe; Somis,\nDesjardins, and the Bezuzzi shone there alternately; all these were\nnot necessary to fascinate a youth whom the sound of the most simple\ninstrument, provided it was just, transported with joy. Magnificence\nonly produced a stupid admiration, without any violent desire to partake\nof it, my thoughts were principally employed in observing whether any\nyoung princess was present that merited my homage, and whom I could make\nthe heroine of a romance.\n\nMeantime, I was on the point of beginning one; in a less elevated\nsphere, it is true, but where could I have brought it to a conclusion, I\nshould have found pleasures a thousand times more delicious.\n\nThough I lived with the strictest economy, my purse insensibly grew\nlighter. This economy was, however, less the effect of prudence than\nthat love of simplicity, which, even to this day, the use of the most\nexpensive tables has not been able to vitiate. Nothing in my idea,\neither at that time or since, could exceed a rustic repast; give me\nmilk, vegetables, eggs, and brown bread, with tolerable wine and I shall\nalways think myself sumptuously regaled; a good appetite will furnish\nout the rest, if the maitre d' hotel, with a number of unnecessary\nfootmen, do not satiate me with their important attentions. Five or six\nsous would then procure me a more agreeable meal than as many livres\nwould have done since; I was abstemious, therefore, for want of a\ntemptation to be otherwise: though I do not know but I am wrong to call\nthis abstinence, for with my pears, new cheese, bread and some glasses\nof Montferrat wine, which you might have cut with a knife, I was the\ngreatest of epicures. Notwithstanding my expenses were very moderate,\nit was possible to see the end of twenty livres; I was every day\nmore convinced of this, and, spite of the giddiness of youth, my\napprehensions for the future amounted almost to terror. All my castles\nin the air were vanished, and I became sensible of the necessity of\nseeking some occupation that would procure me a subsistence.\n\nEven this was a work of difficulty; I thought of my engraving, but knew\ntoo little of it to be employed as a journeyman, nor do masters abound\nin Turin; I resolved, therefore, till something better presented itself,\nto go from shop to shop, offering to engrave ciphers, or coats of arms,\non pieces of plate, etc., and hoped to get employment by working at a\nlow price; or taking what they chose to give me. Even this expedient did\nnot answer my expectations; almost all my applications were ineffectual,\nthe little I procured being hardly sufficient to produce a few scanty\nmeals.\n\nWalking one morning pretty early in the 'Contra nova', I saw a young\ntradeswoman behind a counter, whose looks were so charmingly attractive,\nthat, notwithstanding my timidity with the ladies, I entered the shop\nwithout hesitation, offered my services as usual: and had the happiness\nto have it accepted. She made me sit down and recite my little history,\npitied my forlorn situation; bade me be cheerful, and endeavored to\nmake me so by an assurance that every good Christian would give me\nassistance; then (while she had occasion for) she went up stairs and\nfetched me something for breakfast. This seemed a promising beginning,\nnor was what followed less flattering: she was satisfied with my work,\nand, when I had a little recovered myself, still more with my discourse.\nShe was rather elegantly dressed and notwithstanding her gentle looks\nthis appearance of gayety had disconcerted me; but her good-nature, the\ncompassionate tone of her voice, with her gentle and caressing manner,\nsoon set me at ease with myself; I saw my endeavors to please were\ncrowned with success, and this assurance made me succeed the more.\nThough an Italian, and too pretty to be entirely devoid of coquetry,\nshe had so much modesty, and I so great a share of timidity, that our\nadventure was not likely to be brought to a very speedy conclusion, nor\ndid they give us time to make any good of it. I cannot recall the few\nshort moments I passed with this lovely woman without being sensible of\nan inexpressible charm, and can yet say, it was there I tasted in their\nutmost perfection the most delightful, as well as the purest pleasures\nof love.\n\nShe was a lively pleasing brunette, and the good nature that was painted\non her lovely face rendered her vivacity more interesting. She was\ncalled Madam Basile: her husband, who was considerably older than\nherself, consigned her, during his absence, to the care of a clerk,\ntoo disagreeable to be thought dangerous; but who, notwithstanding, had\npretensions that he seldom showed any signs of, except of ill-humors, a\ngood share of which he bestowed on me; though I was pleased to hear\nhim play the flute, on which he was a tolerable musician. This second\nEgistus was sure to grumble whenever he saw me go into his mistress'\napartment, treating me with a degree of disdain which she took care to\nrepay him with interest; seeming pleased to caress me in his presence,\non purpose to torment him. This kind of revenge, though perfectly to my\ntaste, would have been still more charming in a 'tete a tete', but\nshe did not proceed so far; at least, there was a difference in the\nexpression of her kindness. Whether she thought me too young, that it\nwas my place to make advances, or that she was seriously resolved to\nbe virtuous, she had at such times a kind of reserve, which, though not\nabsolutely discouraging, kept my passion within bounds.\n\nI did not feel the same real and tender respect for her as I did for\nMadam de Warens: I was embarrassed, agitated, feared to look, and hardly\ndared to breathe in her presence, yet to have left her would have been\nworse than death: How fondly did my eyes devour whatever they could gaze\non without being perceived! the flowers on her gown, the point of her\npretty foot, the interval of a round white arm that appeared between her\nglove and ruffle, the least part of her neck, each object increased the\nforce of all the rest, and added to the infatuation. Gazing thus on\nwhat was to be seen, and even more than was to be seen, my sight became\nconfused, my chest seemed contracted, respiration was every moment more\npainful. I had the utmost difficulty to hide my agitation, to prevent my\nsighs from being heard, and this difficulty was increased by the silence\nin which we were frequently plunged. Happily, Madam Basile, busy at her\nwork, saw nothing of all this, or seemed not to see it: yet I sometimes\nobserved a kind of sympathy, especially at the frequent rising of her\nhandkerchief, and this dangerous sight almost mastered every effort, but\nwhen on the point of giving way to my transports, she spoke a few\nwords to me with an air of tranquility, and in an instant the agitation\nsubsided.\n\nI saw her several times in this manner without a word, a gesture, or\neven a look, too expressive, making the least intelligence between\nus. The situation was both my torment and delight, for hardly in the\nsimplicity of my heart, could I imagine the cause of my uneasiness. I\nshould suppose these 'tete a tete' could not be displeasing to her,\nat least, she sought frequent occasions to renew them; this was a very\ndisinterested labor, certainly, as appeared by the use she made, or ever\nsuffered me to make of them.\n\nBeing, one day, wearied with the clerk's discourse, she had retired to\nher chamber; I made haste to finish what I had to do in the back shop,\nand followed her; the door was half open, and I entered without being\nperceived. She was embroidering near a window on the opposite side of\nthe room; she could not see me; and the carts in the streets made too\nmuch noise for me to be heard. She was always well dressed, but this\nday her attire bordered on coquetry. Her attitude was graceful, her head\nleaning gently forward, discovered a small circle of her neck; her\nhair, elegantly dressed, was ornamented with flowers; her figure was\nuniversally charming, and I had an uninterrupted opportunity to admire\nit. I was absolutely in a state of ecstasy, and, involuntary, sinking on\nmy knees, I passionately extended my arms towards her, certain she could\nnot hear, and having no conception that she could see me; but there was\na chimney glass at the end of the room that betrayed all my proceedings.\nI am ignorant what effect this transport produced on her; she did not\nspeak; she did not look on me; but, partly turning her head, with the\nmovement of her finger only, she pointed to the mat that was at her\nfeet--To start up, with an articulate cry of joy, and occupy the place\nshe had indicated, was the work of a moment; but it will hardly be\nbelieved I dared attempt no more, not even to speak, raise my eyes\nto hers, or rest an instant on her knees, though in an attitude which\nseemed to render such a support necessary. I was dumb, immovable, but\nfar enough from a state of tranquility; agitation, joy, gratitude,\nardent indefinite wishes, restrained by the fear of giving displeasure,\nwhich my unpractised heart too much dreaded, were sufficiently\ndiscernible. She neither appeared more tranquil, nor less intimidated\nthan myself--uneasy at my present situation; confounded at having\nbrought me there, beginning to tremble for the effects of a sign which\nshe had made without reflecting on the consequences, neither giving\nencouragement, nor expressing disapprobation, with her eyes fixed on her\nwork, she endeavored to appear unconscious of everything that passed;\nbut all my stupidity could not hinder me from concluding that she\npartook of my embarrassment, perhaps, my transports, and was only\nhindered by a bashfulness like mine, without even that supposition\ngiving me power to surmount it. Five or six years older than myself,\nevery advance, according to my idea, should have been made by her, and,\nsince she did nothing to encourage mine, I concluded they would offend\nher. Even at this time, I am inclined to believe I thought right; she\ncertainly had wit enough to perceive that a novice like me had occasion,\nnot only for encouragement but instruction.\n\nI am ignorant how this animated, though dumb scene would have ended, or\nhow long I should have continued immovable in this ridiculous, though\ndelicious, situation, had we not been interrupted--in the height of my\nagitation, I heard the kitchen door open, which joined Madam Basile's\nchamber; who, being alarmed, said, with a quick voice and action, \"Get\nup! Here's Rosina!\" Rising hastily I seized one of her hands, which she\nheld out to me, and gave it two eager kisses; at the second I felt this\ncharming hand press gently on my lips. Never in my life did I enjoy so\nsweet a moment; but the occasion I had lost returned no more, this being\nthe conclusion of our amours.\n\nThis may be the reason why her image yet remains imprinted on my heart\nin such charming colors, which have even acquired fresh lustre since I\nbecame acquainted with the world and women. Had she been mistress of\nthe least degree of experience, she would have taken other measures to\nanimate so youthful a lover; but if her heart was weak, it was\nvirtuous; and only suffered itself to be borne away by a powerful though\ninvoluntary inclination. This was, apparently, her first infidelity,\nand I should, perhaps, have found more difficulty in vanquishing her\nscruples than my own; but, without proceeding so far, I experienced in\nher company the most inexpressible delights. Never did I taste with any\nother woman pleasures equal to those two minutes which I passed at\nthe feet of Madam Basile without even daring to touch her gown. I\nam convinced no satisfaction can be compared to that we feel with a\nvirtuous woman we esteem; all is transport!--A sign with the finger,\na hand lightly pressed against my lips, were the only favors I ever\nreceived from Madam Basile, yet the bare remembrance of these trifling\ncondescensions continues to transport me.\n\nIt was in vain I watched the two following days for another tete a tete;\nit was impossible to find an opportunity; nor could I perceive on her\npart any desire to forward it; her behavior was not colder, but more\ndistant than usual, and I believe she avoided my looks for fear of not\nbeing able sufficiently to govern her own. The cursed clerk was more\nvexatious than ever; he even became a wit, telling me, with a satirical\nsneer, that I should unquestionably make my way among the ladies.\nI trembled lest I should have been guilty of some indiscretion, and\nlooking at myself as already engaged in an intrigue, endeavored to cover\nwith an air of mystery an inclination which hitherto certainly had\nno great need of it; this made me more circumspect in my choice\nof opportunities, and by resolving only to seize such as should be\nabsolutely free from the danger of a surprise, I met none.\n\nAnother romantic folly, which I could never overcome, and which, joined\nto my natural timidity, tended directly to contradict the clerk's\npredictions, is, I always loved too sincerely, too perfectly, I may say,\nto find happiness easily attainable. Never were passions at the same\ntime more lively and pure than mine; never was love more tender, more\ntrue, or more disinterested; freely would I have sacrificed my own\nhappiness to that of the object of my affection; her reputation was\ndearer than my life, and I could promise myself no happiness for which I\nwould have exposed her peace of mind for a moment. This disposition has\never made me employ so much care, use so many precautions, such secrecy\nin my adventures, that all of them have failed; in a word, my want of\nsuccess with the women has ever proceeded from having loved them too\nwell.\n\nTo return to our Egistus, the fluter; it was remarkable that in becoming\nmore insupportable, the traitor put on the appearance of complaisance.\nFrom the first day Madam Basile had taken me under her protection, she\nhad endeavored to make me serviceable in the warehouse; and finding I\nunderstood arithmetic tolerably well, she proposed his teaching me to\nkeep the books; a proposition that was but indifferently received by\nthis humorist, who might, perhaps, be fearful of being supplanted. As\nthis failed, my whole employ, besides what engraving I had to do, was\nto transcribe some bills and accounts, to write several books over fair,\nand translate commercial letters from Italian into French. All at once\nhe thought fit to accept the before rejected proposal, saying, he would\nteach me bookkeeping by double-entry, and put me in a situation to\noffer my services to M. Basile on his return; but there was something so\nfalse, malicious, and ironical, in his air and manner, that it was by\nno means calculated to inspire me with confidence. Madam Basile, replied\narchly, that I was much obliged to him for his kind offer, but she hoped\nfortune would be more favorable to my merits, for it would be a great\nmisfortune, with so much sense, that I should only be a pitiful clerk.\n\nShe often said, she would procure me some acquaintance that might be\nuseful; she doubtless felt the necessity of parting with me, and\nhad prudently resolved on it. Our mute declaration had been made on\nThursday, the Sunday following she gave a dinner. A Jacobin of good\nappearance was among the guests, to whom she did me the honor to present\nme. The monk treated me very affectionately, congratulated me on my late\nconversion, mentioned several particulars of my story, which plainly\nshowed he had been made acquainted with it, then, tapping me familiarly\non the cheek, bade me be good, to keep up my spirits, and come to see\nhim at his convent, where he should have more opportunity to talk with\nme. I judged him to be a person of some consequence by the deference\nthat was paid him; and by the paternal tone he assumed with Madam\nBasile, to be her confessor. I likewise remember that his decent\nfamiliarity was attended with an appearance of esteem, and even respect\nfor his fair penitent, which then made less impression on me than at\npresent. Had I possessed more experience how should I have congratulated\nmyself on having touched the heart of a young woman respected by her\nconfessor!\n\nThe table not being large enough to accommodate all the company, a\nsmall one was prepared, where I had the satisfaction of dining with our\nagreeable clerk; but I lost nothing with regard to attention and\ngood cheer, for several plates were sent to the side-table which were\ncertainly not intended for him.\n\nThus far all went well; the ladies were in good spirits, and the\ngentlemen very gallant, while Madam Basile did the honors of the table\nwith peculiar grace. In the midst of the dinner we heard a chaise stop\nat the door, and presently some one coming up stairs--it was M. Basile.\nMethinks I now see him entering, in his scarlet coat with gold buttons--\nfrom that day I have held the color in abhorrence. M. Basile was a tall\nhandsome man, of good address: he entered with a consequential look\nand an air of taking his family unawares, though none but friends were\npresent. His wife ran to meet him, threw her arms about his neck,\nand gave him a thousand caresses, which he received with the utmost\nindifference; and without making any return saluted the company and took\nhis place at table. They were just beginning to speak of his journey,\nwhen casting his eye on the small table he asked in a sharp tone,\nwhat lad that was? Madam Basile answered ingenuously. He then inquired\nwhether I lodged in the house; and was answered in the negative. \"Why\nnot?\" replied he, rudely, \"since he stays here all day, he might as well\nremain all night too.\" The monk now interfered, with a serious and true\neulogium on Madam Basile: in a few words he made mine also, adding, that\nso far from blaming, he ought to further the pious charity of his wife,\nsince it was evident she had not passed the bounds of discretion. The\nhusband answered with an air of petulance, which (restrained by\nthe presence of the monk) he endeavored to stifle; it was, however,\nsufficient to let me understand he had already received information of\nme, and that our worthy clerk had rendered me an ill office.\n\nWe had hardly risen from table, when the latter came in triumph from his\nemployer, to inform me, I must leave the house that instant, and never\nmore during my life dare to set foot there. He took care to aggravate\nthis commission by everything that could render it cruel and insulting.\nI departed without a word, my heart overwhelmed with sorrow, less for\nbeing obliged to quit this amiable woman, than at the thought of leaving\nher to the brutality of such a husband. He was certainly right to wish\nher faithful; but though prudent and wellborn, she was an Italian, that\nis to say, tender and vindictive; which made me think, he was extremely\nimprudent in using means the most likely in the world to draw on himself\nthe very evil he so much dreaded.\n\nSuch was the success of my first adventure. I walked several times up\nand down the street, wishing to get a sight of what my heart incessantly\nregretted; but I could only discover her husband, or the vigilant clerk,\nwho, perceiving me, made a sign with the ell they used in the shop,\nwhich was more expressive than alluring: finding, therefore, that I was\nso completely watched, my courage failed, and I went no more. I\nwished, at least, to find out the patron she had provided me, but,\nunfortunately, I did not know his name. I ranged several times round the\nconvent, endeavoring in vain to meet with him. At length, other events\nbanished the delightful remembrance of Madam Basile; and in a short\ntime I so far forgot her, that I remained as simple, as much a novice\nas ever, nor did my penchant for pretty women even receive any sensible\naugmentation.\n\nHer liberality had, however, increased my little wardrobe, though she\nhad done this with precaution and prudence, regarding neatness more than\ndecoration, and to make me comfortable rather than brilliant. The coat I\nhad brought from Geneva was yet wearable, she only added a hat and some\nlinen. I had no ruffles, nor would she give me any, not but I felt a\ngreat inclination for them. She was satisfied with having put it in my\npower to keep myself clean, though a charge to do this was unnecessary\nwhile I was to appear before her.\n\nA few days after this catastrophe; my hostess, who, as I have already\nobserved, was very friendly, with great satisfaction informed me she\nhad heard of a situation, and that a lady of rank desired to see me. I\nimmediately thought myself in the road to great adventures; that being\nthe point to which all my ideas tended: this, however, did not prove so\nbrilliant as I had conceived it. I waited on the lady with the servant\nwho had mentioned me: she asked a number of questions, and my answers\nnot displeasing her, I immediately entered into her service not, indeed,\nin the quality of favorite, but as a footman. I was clothed like\nthe rest of her people, the only difference being, they wore a\nshoulder-knot, which I had not, and, as there was no lace on her\nlivery, it appeared merely a tradesman's suit. This was the unforeseen\nconclusion of all my great expectancies!\n\nThe Countess of Vercellis, with whom I now lived, was a widow without\nchildren; her husband was a Piedmontese, but I always believed her to\nbe a Savoyard, as I could have no conception that a native of Piedmont\ncould speak such good French, and with so pure an accent. She was a\nmiddle-aged woman, of a noble appearance and cultivated understanding,\nbeing fond of French literature, in which she was well versed. Her\nletters had the expression, and almost the elegance of Madam de\nSavigne's; some of them might have been taken for hers. My principal\nemploy, which was by no means displeasing to me, was to write from her\ndictating; a cancer in the breast, from which she suffered extremely,\nnot permitting her to write herself.\n\nMadam de Vercellis not only possessed a good understanding, but a strong\nand elevated soul. I was with her during her last illness, and saw her\nsuffer and die, without showing an instant of weakness, or the least\neffort of constraint; still retaining her feminine manners, without\nentertaining an idea that such fortitude gave her any claim to\nphilosophy; a word which was not yet in fashion, nor comprehended by\nher in the sense it is held at present. This strength of disposition\nsometimes extended almost to apathy, ever appearing to feel as little\nfor others as herself; and when she relieved the unfortunate, it was\nrather for the sake of acting right, than from a principle of real\ncommiseration. I have frequently experienced this insensibility, in some\nmeasure, during the three months I remained with her. It would have been\nnatural to have had an esteem for a young man of some abilities, who\nwas incessantly under her observation, and that she should think, as\nshe felt her dissolution approaching, that after her death he would have\noccasion for assistance and support: but whether she judged me unworthy\nof particular attention, or that those who narrowly watched all her\nmotions, gave her no opportunity to think of any but themselves, she did\nnothing for me.\n\nI very well recollect that she showed some curiosity to know my story,\nfrequently questioning me, and appearing pleased when I showed her the\nletters I wrote to Madam de Warens, or explained my sentiments; but as\nshe never discovered her own, she certainly did not take the right means\nto come at them. My heart, naturally communicative, loved to display its\nfeelings, whenever I encountered a similar disposition; but dry, cold\ninterrogatories, without any sign of blame or approbation on my answers,\ngave me no confidence. Not being able to determine whether my discourse\nwas agreeable or displeasing, I was ever in fear, and thought less of\nexpressing my ideas, than of being careful not to say anything that\nmight seem to my disadvantage. I have since remarked that this dry\nmethod of questioning themselves into people's characters is a common\ntrick among women who pride themselves on superior understanding. These\nimagine, that by concealing their own sentiments, they shall the more\neasily penetrate into those of others; being ignorant that this method\ndestroys the confidence so necessary to make us reveal them. A man, on\nbeing questioned, is immediately on his guard: and if once he supposes\nthat, without any interest in his concerns, you only wish to set him\na-talking, either he entertains you with lies, is silent, or, examining\nevery word before he utters it, rather chooses to pass for a fool, than\nto be the dupe of your curiosity. In short, it is ever a bad method to\nattempt to read the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our own.\n\nMadam de Vercellis never addressed a word to me which seemed to express\naffection, pity, or benevolence. She interrogated me coldly, and\nmy answers were uttered with so much timidity, that she doubtless\nentertained but a mean opinion of my intellects, for latterly she\nnever asked me any questions, nor said anything but what was absolutely\nnecessary for her service. She drew her judgment less from what I really\nwas, than from what she had made me, and by considering me as a footman\nprevented my appearing otherwise.\n\nI am inclined to think I suffered at that time by the same interested\ngame of concealed manoeuvre, which has counteracted me throughout my\nlife, and given me a very natural aversion for everything that has\nthe least appearance of it. Madam de Vercellis having no children,\nher nephew, the Count de la Roque, was her heir, and paid his court\nassiduously, as did her principal domestics, who, seeing her end\napproaching, endeavored to take care of themselves; in short, so many\nwere busy about her, that she could hardly have found time to think of\nme. At the head of her household was a M. Lorenzy, an artful genius,\nwith a still more artful wife; who had so far insinuated herself into\nthe good graces of her mistress, that she was rather on the footing of\na friend than a servant. She had introduced a niece of hers as lady's\nmaid: her name was Mademoiselle Pontal; a cunning gypsy, that gave\nherself all the airs of a waiting-woman, and assisted her aunt so well\nin besetting the countess, that she only saw with their eyes, and acted\nthrough their hands. I had not the happiness to please this worthy\ntriumvirate; I obeyed, but did not wait on them, not conceiving that\nmy duty to our general mistress required me to be a servant to her\nservants. Besides this, I was a person that gave them some inquietude;\nthey saw I was not in my proper situation, and feared the countess would\ndiscover it likewise, and by placing me in it, decrease their portions;\nfor such sort of people, too greedy to be just, look on every legacy\ngiven to others as a diminution of their own wealth; they endeavored,\ntherefore, to keep me as much out of her sight as possible. She loved\nto write letters, in her situation, but they contrived to give her a\ndistaste to it; persuading her, by the aid of the doctor, that it was\ntoo fatiguing; and, under pretence that I did not understand how to wait\non her, they employed two great lubberly chairmen for that purpose; in\na word, they managed the affair so well, that for eight days before she\nmade her will, I had not been permitted to enter the chamber. Afterwards\nI went in as usual, and was even more assiduous than any one, being\nafflicted at the sufferings of the unhappy lady, whom I truly respected\nand beloved for the calmness and fortitude with which she bore her\nillness, and often did I shed tears of real sorrow without being\nperceived by any one.\n\nAt length we lost her--I saw her expire. She had lived like a woman of\nsense and virtue, her death was that of a philosopher. I can truly say,\nshe rendered the Catholic religion amiable to me by the serenity with\nwhich she fulfilled its dictates, without any mixture of negligence\nor affectation. She was naturally serious, but towards the end of her\nillness she possessed a kind of gayety, too regular to be assumed, which\nserved as a counterpoise to the melancholy of her situation. She only\nkept her bed two days, continuing to discourse cheerfully with those\nabout her to the very last.\n\nShe had bequeathed a year's wages to all the under servants, but, not\nbeing on the household list, I had nothing: the Count de la Roque,\nhowever, ordered me thirty livres, and the new coat I had on, which M.\nLorenzy would certainly have taken from me. He even promised to procure\nme a place; giving me permission to wait on him as often as I pleased.\nAccordingly, I went two or three times, without being able to speak to\nhim, and as I was easily repulsed, returned no more; whether I did wrong\nwill be seen hereafter.\n\nWould I had finished what I have to say of my living at Madam de\nVercellis's. Though my situation apparently remained the same, I did\nnot leave her house as I had entered it: I carried with me the long and\npainful remembrance of a crime; an insupportable weight of remorse which\nyet hangs on my conscience, and whose bitter recollection, far from\nweakening, during a period of forty years, seems to gather strength as I\ngrow old. Who would believe, that a childish fault should be productive\nof such melancholy consequences? But it is for the more than probable\neffects that my heart cannot be consoled. I have, perhaps, caused an\namiable, honest, estimable girl, who surely merited a better fate than\nmyself, to perish with shame and misery.\n\nThough it is very difficult to break up housekeeping without confusion,\nand the loss of some property; yet such was the fidelity of the\ndomestics, and the vigilance of M. and Madam Lorenzy, that no article\nof the inventory was found wanting; in short, nothing was missing but\na pink and silver ribbon, which had been worn, and belonged to\nMademoiselle Pontal. Though several things of more value were in my\nreach, this ribbon alone tempted me, and accordingly I stole it. As I\ntook no great pains to conceal the bauble, it was soon discovered;\nthey immediately insisted on knowing from whence I had taken it; this\nperplexed me--I hesitated, and at length said, with confusion, that\nMarion gave it me.\n\nMarion was a young Mauriennese, and had been cook to Madam de Vercellis\never since she left off giving entertainments, for being sensible she\nhad more need of good broths than fine ragouts, she had discharged her\nformer one. Marion was not only pretty, but had that freshness of color\nonly to be found among the mountains, and, above all, an air of modesty\nand sweetness, which made it impossible to see her without affection;\nshe was besides a good girl, virtuous, and of such strict fidelity,\nthat everyone was surprised at hearing her named. They had not less\nconfidence in me, and judged it necessary to certify which of us was the\nthief. Marion was sent for; a great number of people were present, among\nwhom was the Count de la Roque: she arrives; they show her the ribbon;\nI accuse her boldly: she remains confused and speechless, casting a look\non me that would have disarmed a demon, but which my barbarous heart\nresisted. At length, she denied it with firmness, but without anger,\nexhorting me to return to myself, and not injure an innocent girl\nwho had never wronged me. With infernal impudence, I confirmed my\naccusation, and to her face maintained she had given me the ribbon:\non which, the poor girl, bursting into tears, said these words--\"Ah,\nRousseau! I thought you a good disposition--you render me very unhappy,\nbut I would not be in your situation.\" She continued to defend herself\nwith as much innocence as firmness, but without uttering the least\ninvective against me. Her moderation, compared to my positive tone, did\nher an injury; as it did not appear natural to suppose, on one side such\ndiabolical assurance; on the other, such angelic mildness. The affair\ncould not be absolutely decided, but the presumption was in my favor;\nand the Count de la Roque, in sending us both away, contented himself\nwith saying, \"The conscience of the guilty would revenge the innocent.\"\nHis prediction was true, and is being daily verified.\n\nI am ignorant what became of the victim of my calumny, but there is\nlittle probability of her having been able to place herself agreeably\nafter this, as she labored under an imputation cruel to her character in\nevery respect. The theft was a trifle, yet it was a theft, and, what\nwas worse, employed to seduce a boy; while the lie and obstinacy left\nnothing to hope from a person in whom so many vices were united. I do\nnot even look on the misery and disgrace in which I plunged her as the\ngreatest evil: who knows, at her age, whither contempt and disregarded\ninnocence might have led her?--Alas! if remorse for having made her\nunhappy is insupportable, what must I have suffered at the thought of\nrendering her even worse than myself. The cruel remembrance of this\ntransaction, sometimes so troubles and disorders me, that, in my\ndisturbed slumbers, I imagine I see this poor girl enter and reproach me\nwith my crime, as though I had committed it but yesterday. While in\neasy tranquil circumstances, I was less miserable on this account,\nbut, during a troubled agitated life, it has robbed me of the sweet\nconsolation of persecuted innocence, and made me wofully experience,\nwhat, I think, I have remarked in some of my works, that remorse\nsleeps in the calm sunshine of prosperity, but wakes amid the storms of\nadversity. I could never take on me to discharge my heart of this weight\nin the bosom of a friend; nor could the closest intimacy ever encourage\nme to it, even with Madam de Warens: all I could do, was to own I had\nto accuse myself of an atrocious crime, but never said in what it\nconsisted. The weight, therefore, has remained heavy on my conscience\nto this day; and I can truly own the desire of relieving myself, in some\nmeasure, from it, contributed greatly to the resolution of writing my\nConfessions.\n\nI have proceeded truly in that I have just made, and it will certainly\nbe thought I have not sought to palliate the turpitude of my offence;\nbut I should not fulfill the purpose of this undertaking, did I not, at\nthe same time, divulge my interior disposition, and excuse myself as far\nas is conformable with truth.\n\nNever was wickedness further from my thoughts, than in that cruel\nmoment; and when I accused the unhappy girl, it is strange, but strictly\ntrue, that my friendship for her was the immediate cause of it. She was\npresent to my thoughts; I formed my excuse from the first object that\npresented itself: I accused her with doing what I meant to have done,\nand as I designed to have given her the ribbon, asserted she had given\nit to me. When she appeared, my heart was agonized, but the presence\nof so many people was more powerful than my compunction. I did not fear\npunishment, but I dreaded shame: I dreaded it more than death, more than\nthe crime, more than all the world. I would have buried, hid myself\nin the centre of the earth: invincible shame bore down every other\nsentiment; shame alone caused all my impudence, and in proportion as I\nbecame criminal, the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid. I felt no\ndread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face,\ndeclared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of this\novercame every other sensation. Had I been left to myself, I should\ninfallibly have declared the truth. Or if M. de la Roque had taken me\naside, and said--\"Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty own\nit,\"--I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet;\nbut they intimidated, instead of encouraging me. I was hardly out of\nmy childhood, or rather, was yet in it. It is also just to make some\nallowance for my age. In youth, dark, premeditated villainy is more\ncriminal than in a riper age, but weaknesses are much less so; my fault\nwas truly nothing more; and I am less afflicted at the deed itself than\nfor its consequences. It had one good effect, however, in preserving me\nthrough the rest of my life from any criminal action, from the terrible\nimpression that has remained from the only one I ever committed; and I\nthink my aversion for lying proceeds in a great measure from regret\nat having been guilty of so black a one. If it is a crime that can be\nexpiated, as I dare believe, forty years of uprightness and honor\non various difficult occasions, with the many misfortunes that have\noverwhelmed my latter years, may have completed it. Poor Marion has\nfound so many avengers in this world, that however great my offence\ntowards her, I do not fear to bear the guilt with me. Thus have I\ndisclosed what I had to say on this painful subject; may I be permitted\nnever to mention it again.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\n\n|Leaving the service of Madam de Vercellis nearly as I had entered it,\nI returned to my former hostess, and remained there five or six weeks;\nduring which time health, youth, and laziness, frequently rendered my\ntemperament importunate. I was restless, absent, and thoughtful: I wept\nand sighed for a happiness I had no idea of, though at the same time\nhighly sensible of some deficiency. This situation is indescribable, few\nmen can even form any conception of it, because, in general, they have\nprevented that plenitude of life, at once tormenting and delicious. My\nthoughts were incessantly occupied with girls and women, but in a\nmanner peculiar to myself: these ideas kept my senses in a perpetual and\ndisagreeable activity, though, fortunately, they did not point out the\nmeans of deliverance. I would have given my life to have met with a Miss\nGoton, but the time was past in which the play of infancy predominated;\nincrease of years had introduced shame, the inseparable companion of\na conscious deviation from rectitude, which so confirmed my natural\ntimidity as to render it invincible; and never, either at that time or\nsince, could I prevail on myself to offer a proposition favorable to my\nwishes (unless in a manner constrained to it by previous advances) even\nwith those whose scruples I had no cause to dread.\n\nMy stay at Madam de Vercellis's had procured me some acquaintance, which\nI thought might be serviceable to me, and therefore wished to retain.\nAmong others, I sometimes visited a Savoyard abbe, M. Gaime, who was\ntutor to the Count of Melarede's children. He was young, and not much\nknown, but possessed an excellent cultivated understanding, with great\nprobity, and was, altogether, one of the best men I ever knew. He was\nincapable of doing me the service I then stood most in need of, not\nhaving sufficient interest to procure me a situation, but from him\nI reaped advantages far more precious, which have been useful to me\nthrough life, lessons of pure morality, and maxims of sound judgment.\n\nIn the successive order of my inclinations and ideas, I had ever been\ntoo high or too low. Achilles or Thersites; sometimes a hero, at others\na villain. M. Gaime took pains to make me properly acquainted with\nmyself, without sparing or giving me too much discouragement. He spoke\nin advantageous terms of my disposition and talents, adding, that\nhe foresaw obstacles which would prevent my profiting by them; thus,\naccording to him, they were to serve less as steps by which I should\nmount to fortune, than as resources which might enable me to exist\nwithout one. He gave me a true picture of human life, of which,\nhitherto, I had formed but a very erroneous idea, teaching me, that a\nman of understanding, though destined to experience adverse fortune,\nmight, by skilful management, arrive at happiness; that there was no\ntrue felicity without virtue, which was practicable in every situation.\nHe greatly diminished my admiration of grandeur, by proving that those\nin a superior situation are neither better nor happier than those they\ncommand. One of his maxims has frequently returned to my memory: it was,\nthat if we could truly read the hearts of others we should feel more\ninclination to descend than rise: this reflection, the truth of which\nis striking without extravagance, I have found of great utility, in the\nvarious exigences of my life, as it tended to make me satisfied with\nmy condition. He gave me the first just conception of relative duties,\nwhich my high-flown imagination had ever pictured in extremes, making\nme sensible that the enthusiasm of sublime virtues is of little use in\nsociety; that while endeavoring to rise too high we are in danger of\nfalling; and that a virtuous and uniform discharge of little duties\nrequires as great a degree of fortitude as actions which are called\nheroic, and would at the same time procure more honor and happiness.\nThat it was infinitely more desirable to possess the lasting esteem of\nthose about us, than at intervals to attract admiration.\n\nIn properly arranging the various duties between man and man, it was\nnecessary to ascend to principles; the step I had recently taken, and\nof which my present situation was the consequence, naturally led us to\nspeak of religion. It will easily be conceived that the honest M. Gaime\nwas, in a great measure, the original of the Savoyard Vicar; prudence\nonly obliging him to deliver his sentiments, on certain points, with\nmore caution and reserve, and explain himself with less freedom; but his\nsentiments and councils were the same, not even excepting his advice to\nreturn to my country; all was precisely as I have since given it to the\npubic. Dwelling no longer, therefore, on conversations which everyone\nmay see the substance of, I shall only add, that these wise instructions\n(though they did not produce an immediate effect) were as so many seeds\nof virtue and religion in my heart which were never rooted out, and only\nrequired the fostering cares of friendship to bring to maturity.\n\nThough my conversation was not very sincere, I was affected by his\ndiscourses, and far from being weary, was pleased with them on account\nof their clearness and simplicity, but above all because his heart\nseemed interested in what he said. My disposition is naturally tender,\nI have ever been less attached to people for the good they have really\ndone me than for that they designed to do, and my feelings in this\nparticular have seldom misled me: thus I truly esteemed M. Gaime. I\nwas in a manner his second disciple, which even at that time was of\ninestimable service in turning me from a propensity to vice into which\nmy idleness was leading me.\n\nOne day, when I least expected it, I was sent for by the Count de la\nRoque. Having frequently called at his house, without being able to\nspeak with him, I grew weary, and supposing he had either forgot me or\nretained some unfavorable impression of me, returned no more: but I was\nmistaken in both these conjectures. He had more than once witnessed the\npleasure I took in fulfilling my duty to his aunt: he had even mentioned\nit to her, and afterwards spoke of it, when I no longer thought of it\nmyself.\n\nHe received me graciously, saying that instead of amusing me with\nuseless promises, he had sought to place me to advantage; that he had\nsucceeded, and would put me in a way to better my situation, but\nthe rest must depend on myself. That the family into which he should\nintroduce me being both powerful and esteemed, I should need no other\npatrons; and though at first on the footing of a servant, I might\nbe assured, that if my conduct and sentiments were found above that\nstation, I should not long remain in it. The end of this discourse\ncruelly disappointed the brilliant hopes the beginning had inspired.\n\"What! forever a footman?\" said I to myself, with a bitterness which\nconfidence presently effaced, for I felt myself too superior to that\nsituation to fear long remaining there.\n\nHe took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, and\nChief of the illustrious House of Solar. The air of dignity conspicuous\nin this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which\nhe received me yet more interesting. He questioned me with evident\ninterest, and I replied with sincerity. He then told the Count de la\nRoque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which he\nbelieved I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time must\nshow the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, \"Child, almost\nall situations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours,\nhowever, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, and\nendeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment;\nfor the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of.\" Immediately\nafter he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whom\nhe presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son. I was elated\nwith this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude,\nthat so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of a\nfootman. In fact, I was not treated like one. I dined at the steward's\ntable; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth)\nhaving commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered\nthat I should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house.\nMeantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of a\nfootman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without being\nappointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters,\nwhich were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Count\nde Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time. This trial of my\ndiscretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous,\nand not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might have\ncontracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into.\nFortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained the\nlessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and I\nsometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition of\nthem. I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, had\nno conception of my business. Nothing could be more prudent than the\nadvice he gave me respecting my conduct. My beginning was admirable;\nso much attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone. The Abby\nGaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, and\nthat relaxation should be considered as neglect. \"Your setting out,\"\nsaid he, \"is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor\ngradually to increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish\nthem.\"\n\nAs they paid but little attention to my trifling talents, and supposed\nI possessed no more than nature had given me, there was no appearance\n(notwithstanding the promises of Count de Gauvon) of my meeting with\nany particular consideration. Some objects of more consequence had\nintervened. The Marquis de Breil, son of the Count de Gauvon, was then\nambassador at Vienna; some circumstances had occurred at that court\nwhich for some weeks kept the family in continual agitation, and left\nthem no time to think of me. Meantime I had relaxed but little in my\nattentions, though one object in the family did me both good and harm,\nmaking me more secure from exterior dissipation, but less attentive to\nmy duty.\n\nMademoiselle de Breil was about my own age, tolerably handsome, and\nvery fair complexioned, with black hair, which notwithstanding, gave\nher features that air of softness so natural to the flaxen, and which my\nheart could never resist. The court dress, so favorable to youth, showed\nher fine neck and shape to advantage, and the mourning, which was then\nworn, seemed to add to her beauty. It will be said, a domestic should\nnot take notice of these things; I was certainly to blame, yet I\nperceived all this, nor was I the only one; the maitre d' hotel and\nvalet de chambre spoke of her sometimes at table with a vulgarity that\npained me extremely. My head, however, was not sufficiently turned\nto allow of my being entirely in love; I did not forget myself, or\nmy situation. I loved to see Mademoiselle de Breil; to hear her utter\nanything that marked wit, sense, or good humor: my ambition, confined to\na desire of waiting on her, never exceeded its just rights. At table I\nwas ever attentive to make the most of them; if her footman quitted\nher chair, I instantly supplied his place; in default of this, I stood\nfacing her, seeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and\nwatching the moment to change her plate. What would I not have given to\nhear her command, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me!\nbut no, I had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not\neven perceive I was there. Her brother, who frequently spoke to me\nwhile at table, having one day said something which I did not consider\nobliging, I made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her\nattention; she cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient\nto fill me with transport. The next day, a second occasion presented\nitself, which I fortunately made use of. A great dinner was given; and I\nsaw, with astonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting\nat table, with a sword by his side, and hat on his head. By chance, the\ndiscourse turned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with\nthe arms, worked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'. As the\nPiedmontese are not in general very perfect in the French language, they\nfound fault with the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there\nshould be no 't'. The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when\nhappening to cast his eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring\nto say anything; he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion. I then\nsaid, I did not think the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French\nword, not derived from the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from\nthe verb 'ferit', he strikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not\nappear to mean, some threat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'. The\nwhole company fixed their eyes on me, then on each other, without\nspeaking a word; never was a greater degree of astonishment; but what\nmost flattered me, was an air of satisfaction which I perceived on the\ncountenance of Mademoiselle de Breil. This scornful lady deigned to cast\non me a second look at least as valuable as the former, and turning to\nher grandfather, appeared to wait with impatience for the praise\nthat was due to me, and which he fully bestowed, with such apparent\nsatisfaction, that it was eagerly chorused by the whole table. This\ninterval was short, but delightful in many respects; it was one of those\nmoments so rarely met with, which place things in their natural order,\nand revenge depressed merit for the injuries of fortune. Some minutes\nafter Mademoiselle de Breil again raised her eyes, desiring me with\na voice of timid affability to give her some drink. It will easily be\nsupposed I did not let her wait, but advancing towards her, I was seized\nwith such a trembling, that having filled the glass too full, I spilled\nsome of the water on her plate, and even on herself. Her brother asked\nme, giddily, why I trembled thus? This question increased my confusion,\nwhile the face of Mademoiselle de Breil was suffused with a crimson\nblush.\n\nHere ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile,\nand others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate in\nthe conclusion of my amours. In vain I placed myself in the antechamber\nof Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from her\ndaughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I the\nconfidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, that\none day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing and\ncovering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare\nto quit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of a\nfootman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness.\nTo complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to\nplease Madam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, my\nservices; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly,\n\"If I had nothing to do?\" I was obliged, therefore, to renounce this\ndear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other\nthings intervening, I presently thought no more of it.\n\nThe disdain of Madam de Breil was fully compensated by the kindness of\nher father-in-law, who at length began to think of me. The evening after\nthe entertainment, I have already mentioned, he had a conversation\nwith me that lasted half an hour, which appeared to satisfy him, and\nabsolutely enchanted me. This good man had less sense than Madam de\nVercellis, but possessed more feeling; I therefore succeeded much better\nwith him. He bade me attach myself to his son, the Abbe Gauvon, who\nhad an esteem for me, which, if I took care to cultivate, might be\nserviceable in furnishing me with what was necessary to complete their\nviews for my future establishment. The next morning I flew to M. the\nAbbe, who did not receive me as a servant, but made me sit by his\nfireside, and questioned me with great affability. He soon found that\nmy education, which had attempted many things, had completed none; but\nobserving that I understood something of Latin, he undertook to teach me\nmore, and appointed me to attend him every morning. Thus, by one of the\nwhimsicalities which have marked the whole course of my life, at once\nabove and below my natural situation, I was pupil and footman in\nthe same house: and though in servitude, had a preceptor whose birth\nentitled him to supply that place only to the children of kings.\n\nThe Abbe de Gauvon was a younger son, and designed by his family for a\nbishopric, for which reason his studies had been pursued further than\nis usual with people of quality. He had been sent to the university of\nSienna, where he had resided some years, and from whence he had brought\na good portion of cruscantism, designing to be that at Turin which the\nAbbe de Dangeau was formerly at Paris. Being disgusted with theology,\nhe gave in to the belle-lettres, which is very frequent in Italy, with\nthose who have entered the career of prelacy. He had studied the poets,\nand wrote tolerable Latin and Italian verses; in a word, his taste\nwas calculated to form mine, and give some order to that chaos of\ninsignificant trash with which my brain was encumbered; but whether\nmy prating had misled him, or that he could not support the trouble of\nteaching the elementary parts of Latin, he put me at first too high; and\nI had scarcely translated a few fables of Phoedrus before he put me\ninto Virgil, where I could hardly understand anything. It will be seen\nhereafter that I was destined frequently to learn Latin, but never to\nattain it. I labored with assiduity, and the abbe bestowed his attention\nwith a degree of kindness, the remembrance of which, even at this time,\nboth interests and softens me. I passed the greater part of the morning\nwith him as much for my own instruction as his service; not that he ever\npermitted me to perform any menial office, but to copy, or write from\nhis dictating; and my employment of secretary was more useful than that\nof scholar, and by this means I not only learned the Italian in its\nutmost purity, but also acquired a taste for literature, and some\ndiscernment of composition, which could not have been at La Tribu's, and\nwhich was useful to me when I afterwards wrote alone.\n\nAt this period of my life, without being romantic, I might reasonably\nhave indulged the hope of preferment. The abbe, thoroughly pleased with\nme, expressed his satisfaction to everyone, while his father had such\na singular affection for me, that I was assured by the Count de Favria,\nthat he had spoken of me to the king; even Madam de Breil had laid aside\nher disdainful looks; in short I was a general favorite, which gave\ngreat jealousy to the other servants, who seeing me honored by the\ninstructions of their master's son, were persuaded I should not remain\ntheir equal.\n\nAs far as I could judge by some words dropped at random, and which I\nreflected on afterwards, it appeared to me, that the House of Solar,\nwishing to run the career of embassies, and hoping perhaps in time to\narrive at the ministry, wished to provide themselves with a person of\nmerit and talents, who depending entirely on them, might obtain their\nconfidence, and be of essential service. This project of the Count\nde Gauvon was judicious, magnanimous, and truly worthy of a powerful\nnobleman, equally provident and generous; but besides my not seeing, at\nthat time, its full extent, it was far too rational for my brain, and\nrequired too much confinement.\n\nMy ridiculous ambition sought for fortune in the midst of brilliant\nadventures, and not finding one woman in all this scheme, it appeared\ntedious, painful and melancholy; though I should rather have thought\nit more honorable on this account, as the species of merit generally\npatronized by women is certainly less worthy that I was supposed to\npossess.\n\nEverything succeeded to my wish: I had obtained, almost forced, the\nesteem of all; the trial was over, and I was universally considered as\na young man with flattering prospects, who was not at present in his\nproper sphere, but was expected soon to reach it; but my place was not\nassigned me by man, and I was to reach it by very difficult paths. I now\ncome to one of those characteristic traits, which are so natural to\nme, and which, indeed, the reader might have observed without this\nreflection.\n\nThere were at Turin several new converts of my own stamp, whom I neither\nliked nor wish to see; but I had met with some Genevese who were not of\nthis description, and among others a M. Mussard, nicknamed Wryneck,\na miniature painter, and a distant relation. This M. Mussard, having\nlearned my situation at the Count de Gauvon's, came to see me, with\nanother Genevese, named Bacle, who had been my comrade during my\napprenticeship. This Bacle was a very sprightly, amusing young fellow,\nfull of lively sallies, which at his time of life appeared extremely\nagreeable. At once, then, behold me delighted with M. Bacle; charmed to\nsuch a degree that I found it impossible to quit him. He was shortly to\ndepart for Geneva; what a loss had I to sustain! I felt the whole force\nof it, and resolving to make the best use of this precious interval,\nI determined not to leave him, or, rather, he never quitted me, for\nmy head was not yet sufficiently turned to think of quitting the house\nwithout leave, but it was soon perceived that he engrossed my whole\ntime, and he was accordingly forbid the house. This so incensed me, that\nforgetting everything but my friend Bacle, I went neither to the\nabbe nor the count, and was no longer to be found at home. I paid no\nattention to repeated reprimands, and at length was threatened with\ndismissal. This threat was my ruin, as it suggested the idea that it\nwas not absolutely necessary that Bacle should depart alone. From\nthat moment I could think of no other pleasure, no other situation or\nhappiness than taking this journey. To render the felicity still more\ncomplete, at the end of it (though at an immense distance) I pictured to\nmyself Madam de Warens; for as to returning to Geneva, it never entered\ninto my imagination. The hills, fields, brooks and villages, incessantly\nsucceeded each other with new charms, and this delightful jaunt seemed\nworthy to absorb my whole existence. Memory recalled, with inexpressible\npleasure, how charming the country had appeared in coming to Turin; what\nthen must it be, when, to the pleasure of independence, should be added\nthe company of a good-humored comrade of my own age and disposition,\nwithout any constraint or obligation, but free to go or stay as we\npleased? Would it not be madness to sacrifice the prospect of so much\nfelicity to projects of ambition, slow and difficult in their execution,\nand uncertain in their event? But even supposing them realized, and in\ntheir utmost splendor, they were not worth one quarter of an hour of the\nsweet pleasure and liberty of youth.\n\nFull of these wise conclusions, I conducted myself so improperly, that\n(not indeed without some trouble) I got myself dismissed; for on my\nreturn one night the maitre de hotel gave me warning on the part of the\ncount. This was exactly what I wanted; for feeling, spite of myself,\nthe extravagance of my conduct, I wished to excuse it by the addition\nof injustice and ingratitude, by throwing the blame on others, and\nsheltering myself under the idea of necessity.\n\nI was told the Count de Favria wished to speak with me the next morning\nbefore my departure; but, being sensible that my head was so far turned\nas to render it possible for me to disobey the injunction, the maitre de\nhotel declined paying the money designed me, and which certainly I\nhad very ill earned, till after this visit; for my kind patrons being\nunwilling to place me in the situation of a footman, I had not any fixed\nwages.\n\nThe Count de Favria, though young and giddy, talked to me on this\noccasion in the most sensible and serious manner: I might add, if it\nwould not be thought vain, with the utmost tenderness. He reminded me,\nin the most flattering terms, of the cares of his uncle, and intentions\nof his grandfather; after having drawn in lively colors what I was\nsacrificing to ruin, he offered to make my peace, without stipulating\nany conditions, but that I should no more see the worthless fellow who\nhad seduced me.\n\nIt was so apparent that he did not say all this of himself, that\nnotwithstanding my blind stupidity, I powerfully felt the kindness of\nmy good old master, but the dear journey was too firmly printed on\nmy imagination for any consideration to balance the charm. Bereft of\nunderstanding, firm to my purpose, I hardened myself against conviction,\nand arrogantly answered, that as they had thought fit to give me\nwarning, I had resolved to take it, and conceived it was now too late to\nretract, since, whatever might happen to me, I was fully resolved not\nto be driven a second time from the same house. The count, justly\nirritated, bestowed on me some names which I deserved, and putting me\nout of his apartment by the shoulders, shut the door on me. I departed\ntriumphant, as if I had gained the greatest victory, and fearful of\nsustaining a second combat even had the ingratitude to leave the house\nwithout thanking the abbe for his kindness.\n\nTo form a just conception of my delirium at that moment, the excess to\nwhich my heart is subject to be heated by the most trifling incidents,\nand the ardor with which my imagination seizes on the most attractive\nobjects should be conceived. At these times, plans the most ridiculous,\nchildish, and void of sense, flatter my favorite idea, and persuade me\nthat it is reasonable to sacrifice everything to the possession of\nit. Would it be believed, that when near nineteen, any one could be so\nstupid as to build his hopes of future subsistence on an empty phial?\nFor example:\n\nThe Abbe de Gauvon had made me a present, some weeks before, of a very\npretty heron fountain, with which I was highly delighted. Playing with\nthis toy, and speaking of our departure, the sage Bacle and myself\nthought it might be of infinite advantage, and enable us to lengthen our\njourney. What in the world was so curious as a heron fountain? This\nidea was the foundation on which we built our future fortune: we were to\nassemble the country people in every village we might pass through, and\ndelight them with the sight of it, when feasting and good cheer would be\nsure to pour on us abundantly; for we were both firmly persuaded, that\nprovisions could cost nothing to those who grew and gathered them, and\nif they did not stuff travellers, it was downright ill-nature.\n\nWe pictured in all parts entertainments and weddings, reckoning that\nwithout any expense but wind from our lungs, and the water of our\nfountain, we should be maintained through Piedmont, Savoy, France, and\nindeed, all the world over. There was no end to our projected travels,\nand we immediately directed our course northward, rather for the\npleasure of crossing the Alps, than from a supposed necessity of being\nobliged to stop at any place.\n\nSuch was the plan on which I set out, abandoning without regret, my\npreceptors, studies, and hopes, with the almost certain attainment of a\nfortune, to lead the life of a real vagabond. Farewell to the capital;\nadieu to the court, ambition, love, the fair, and all the great\nadventures into which hope had led me during the preceding year!\nI departed with my fountain and my friend Bacle, a purse lightly\nfurnished, but a heart over-flowing with pleasure, and only thinking how\nto enjoy the extensive felicity which I supposed my project encircled.\n\nThis extravagant journey was performed almost as agreeably as I had\nexpected, though not exactly on the same plan; not but our fountain\nhighly amused the hostess and servants for some minutes at all the\nale-houses where we halted, yet we found it equally necessary to pay\non our departure; but that gave us no concern, as we never thought of\ndepending on it entirely until our money should be expended. An accident\nspared us that trouble, our fountain was broken near Bramant, and in\ngood time, for we both felt (though without daring to own it to each\nother) that we began to be weary of it. This misfortune rendered\nus gayer than ever; we laughed heartily at our giddiness in having\nforgotten that our clothes and shoes would wear out, or trusting to\nrenew them by the play of our fountain. We continued our journey as\nmerrily as we had begun it, only drawing faster towards that termination\nwhere our drained purses made it necessary for us to arrive.\n\nAt Chambery I became pensive; not for the folly I had committed,\nfor never did any one think less of the past, but on account of the\nreception I should meet with from Madam de Warens; for I looked on her\nhouse as my paternal home. I had written her an account of my\nreception at the Count de Gauvon's; she knew my expectancies, and, in\ncongratulating me on my good fortune, had added some wise lessons on the\nreturn I ought to make for the kindness with which they treated me.\nShe looked on my fortune as already made, if not destroyed by my own\nnegligence; what then would she say on my arrival? for it never entered\nmy mind that she might shut the door against me, but I dreaded the\nuneasiness I might give her; I dreaded her reproaches, to me more\nwounding than want; I resolved to bear all in silence, and, if possible\nto appease her. I now saw nothing but Madam de Warens in the whole\nuniverse, and to live in disgrace with her was impossible.\n\nI was most concerned about my companion, whom I did not wish to offend,\nand feared I should not easily get rid of. I prefaced this separation by\nan affected coldness during the last day's journey. The drole understood\nme perfectly; in fact, he was rather giddy than deficient in point of\nsense--I expected he would have been hurt at my inconstancy, but I was\nquite mistaken; nothing affected my friend Bacle, for hardly had we set\nfoot in town, on our arrival in Annecy, before he said, \"You are now at\nhome,\"--embraced--bade me adieu--turned on his heel, and disappeared;\nnor have I ever heard of him since.\n\nHow did my heart beat as I approached the habitation of Madam de Warens!\nmy legs trembled under me, my eyes were clouded with a mist, I neither\nsaw, heard, nor recollected any one, and was obliged frequently to stop\nthat I might draw breath, and recall my bewildered senses. Was it fear\nof not obtaining that succor I stood in need of, which agitated me to\nthis degree? At the age I then was, does the fear of perishing with\nhunger give such alarms? No: I declare with as much truth as pride, that\nit was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of my\nlife, to expand or contract my heart. In the course of a painful life,\nmemorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum,\nand without bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, both\nopulence and misery. In want I might have begged or stolen, as others\nhave done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to such\nnecessities. Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed so\nmany tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, make\nme heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids. My soul, in despite of fortune,\nhas only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend on\nher; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could make\nlife pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals.\n\nThe first glance of Madam de Warens banished all my fears--my heart\nleaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and in\ntransports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand. I\nam ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me. I\ndiscovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow. \"Poor\nchild!\" said she, in an affectionate tone, \"art thou here again? I knew\nyou were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, that it\ndid not turn out so bad as I apprehended.\" She then made me recount my\nhistory; it was not long, and I did it faithfully: suppressing only some\ntrifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing nor excusing\nmyself.\n\nThe question was, where I could lodge: she consulted her maid on this\npoint--I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when I\nheard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy;\nand saw the little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined\napartment with much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put\nup at Madam de Wolmar's. To complete all, I had the satisfaction to\nfind that this favor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they\nthought me attentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warens say,\n\"They may talk as they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I\nam determined not to abandon him.\"\n\nBehold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date the\nhappiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare\nme for them. Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly\nto enjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect of\norganization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without a\ncertain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the\nmost acute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having been\nacquainted with his own temperament. This was my case till that time,\nand such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam de\nWarens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her long\nenough to contract that pleasing habit of affectionate sentiments with\nwhich she inspired me. I dare affirm, that those who only love, do not\nfeel the most charming sensations we are capable of: I am acquainted\nwith another sentiment, less impetuous, but a thousand times more\ndelightful; sometimes joined with love, but frequently separated from\nit. This feeling is not simply friendship; it is more enchanting, more\ntender; nor do I imagine it can exist between persons of the same sex;\nat least I have been truly a friend, if ever a man was, and yet never\nexperienced it in that kind. This distinction is not sufficiently clear,\nbut will become so hereafter: sentiments are only distinguishable by\ntheir effects.\n\nMadam de Warens inhabited an old house, but large enough to have\na handsome spare apartment, which she made her drawing-room. I now\noccupied this chamber, which was in the passage I have before mentioned\nas the place of our first meeting. Beyond the brook and gardens was\na prospect of the country, which was by no means uninteresting to the\nyoung inhabitant, being the first time, since my residence at Bossey,\nthat I had seen anything before my windows but walls, roofs, or the\ndirty street. How pleasing then was this novelty! it helped to increase\nthe tenderness of my disposition, for I looked on this charming\nlandscape as the gift of my dear patroness, who I could almost fancy had\nplaced it there on purpose for me. Peaceably seated, my eyes pursued her\namidst the flowers and the verdure; her charms seemed to me confounded\nwith those of the spring; my heart, till now contracted, here found\nmeans to expand itself, and my sighs exhaled freely in this charming\nretreat.\n\nThe magnificence I had been accustomed to at Turin was not to be found\nat Madam de Warens', but in lieu of it there was neatness, regularity,\nand a patriarchal abundance, which is seldom attached to pompous\nostentation. She had very little plate, no china, no game in her\nkitchen, or foreign wines in her cellar, but both were well furnished,\nand at every one's service; and her coffee, though served in earthenware\ncups, was excellent. Whoever came to her house was invited to dine\nthere, and never did laborer, messenger, or traveller, depart without\nrefreshment. Her family consisted of a pretty chambermaid from Fribourg,\nnamed Merceret; a valet from her own country called Claude Anet (of\nwhom I shall speak hereafter), a cook, and two hired chairmen when she\nvisited, which seldom happened. This was a great deal to be done out\nof two thousand livres a year; yet, with good management, it might have\nbeen sufficient in a country where land is extremely good, and money\nvery scarce. Unfortunately, economy was never her favorite virtue; she\ncontracted debts--paid them--thus her money passed from hand to hand\nlike a weaver's shuttle, and quickly disappeared.\n\nThe arrangement of her housekeeping was exactly what I should have\nchosen, and I shared it with satisfaction. I was least pleased with the\nnecessity of remaining too long at table. Madam de Warens was so much\nincommoded with the first smell of soup or meat, as almost to occasion\nfainting; from this she slowly recovered, talking meantime, and never\nattempting to eat for the first half hour. I could have dined thrice in\nthe time, and had ever finished my meal long before she began; I then\nate again for company; and though by this means I usually dined twice,\nfelt no inconvenience from it. In short, I was perfectly at my ease,\nand the happier as my situation required no care. Not being at this\ntime instructed in the state of her finances, I supposed her means\nwere adequate to her expense; and though I afterwards found the same\nabundance, yet when instructed in her real situation, finding\nher pension ever anticipated, prevented me from enjoying the same\ntranquility. Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment; in vain\nI saw the approach of misfortunes, I was never the more likely to avoid\nthem.\n\nFrom the first moment of our meeting, the softest familiarity was\nestablished between us: and in the same degree it continued during the\nrest of her life. Child was my name, Mamma was hers, and child and mamma\nwe have ever continued, even after a number of years had almost effaced\nthe apparent difference of age between us. I think those names convey\nan exact idea of our behavior, the simplicity of our manners, and above\nall, the similarity of our dispositions. To me she was the tenderest of\nmothers, ever preferring my welfare to her own pleasure; and if my own\nsatisfaction found some interest in my attachment to her, it was not to\nchange its nature, but only to render it more exquisite, and infatuate\nme with the charm of having a mother young and handsome, whom I was\ndelighted to caress: I say literally, to caress, for never did it\nenter into her imagination to deny me the tenderest maternal kisses and\nendearments, or into my heart to abuse them. It will be said, at length\nour connection was of a different kind: I confess it; but have patience,\nthat will come in its turn.\n\nThe sudden sight of her, on our first interview, was the only truly\npassionate moment she ever inspired me with; and even that was\nprincipally the work of surprise. With her I had neither transports nor\ndesires, but remained in a ravishing calm, sensible of a happiness I\ncould not define, and thus could I have passed my whole life, or even\neternity, without feeling an instant of uneasiness.\n\nShe was the only person with whom I never experienced that want of\nconversation, which to me is so painful to endure. Our tete-a-tetes\nwere rather an inexhaustible chat than conversation, which could only\nconclude from interruption. So far from finding discourse difficult, I\nrather thought it a hardship to be silent; unless, when contemplating\nher projects, she sunk into a reverie; when I silently let her meditate,\nand gazing on her, was the happiest of men. I had another singular\nfancy, which was that without pretending to the favor of a tete-a-tete,\nI was perpetually seeking occasion to form them, enjoying such\nopportunities with rapture; and when importunate visitors broke in upon\nus, no matter whether it was man or woman, I went out murmuring, not\nbeing able to remain a secondary object in her company; then, counting\nthe minutes in her antechamber, I used to curse these eternal visitors,\nthinking it inconceivable how they could find so much to say, because I\nhad still more.\n\nIf ever I felt the full force of my attachment, it was when I did not\nsee her. When in her presence, I was only content; when absent, my\nuneasiness reached almost to melancholy, and a wish to live with her\ngave me emotions of tenderness even to tears. Never shall I forget one\ngreat holiday, while she was at vespers, when I took a walk out of the\ncity, my heart full of her image, and the ardent wish to pass my life\nwith her. I could easily enough see that at present this was impossible;\nthat the happiness I enjoyed would be of short duration, and this idea\ngave to my contemplations a tincture of melancholy, which, however, was\nnot gloomy, but tempered with a flattering hope. The ringing of bells,\nwhich ever particularly affects me, the singing of birds, the fineness\nof the day, the beauty of the landscape, the scattered country houses,\namong which in idea I placed our future dwelling, altogether struck me\nwith an impression so lively, tender, melancholy, and powerful, that I\nsaw myself in ecstasy transported into that happy time and abode, where\nmy heart, possessing all the felicity it could desire, might taste it\nwith raptures inexpressible.\n\nI never recollect to have enjoyed the future with such force of\nillusions as at that time; and what has particularly struck me in\nthe recollection of this reverie, is that when realized, I found my\nsituation exactly as I had imagined it. If ever waking dream had an\nappearance of a prophetic vision, it was assuredly this; I was only\ndeceived in its imaginary duration, for days, years, and life itself,\npassed ideally in perfect tranquility, while the reality lasted but a\nmoment. Alas! my most durable happiness was but as a dream, which I had\nno sooner had a glimpse of, than I instantly awoke.\n\nI know not when I should have done, if I was to enter into a detail\nof all the follies that affection for my dear Madam de Warens made\nme commit. When absent from her, how often have I kissed the bed on a\nsupposition that she had slept there; the curtains and all the furniture\nof my chamber, on recollecting they were hers, and that her charming\nhands had touched them; nay, the floor itself, when I considered she had\nwalked there. Sometimes even in her presence, extravagancies escaped me,\nwhich only the most violent passions seemed capable of inspiring; in a\nword, there was but one essential difference to distinguish me from\nan absolute lover, and that particular renders my situation almost\ninconceivable.\n\nI had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no\none of my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted\nwith women. My ardent constitution had found resources in those means\nby which youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity at\nthe expense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself. My local\nsituation should likewise be considered--living with a pretty woman,\ncherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her during\nthe whole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled her\nincessantly to my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I knew she\nhad slept. What a situation! Who can read this without supposing me on\nthe brink of the grave? But quite the contrary; that which might have\nruined me, acted as a preservative, at least for a time. Intoxicated\nwith the charm of living with her, with the ardent desire of passing my\nlife there, absent or present I saw in her a tender mother, an amiable\nsister, a respected friend, but nothing more; meantime, her image filled\nmy heart, and left room far no other object. The extreme tenderness with\nwhich she inspired me excluded every other woman from my consideration,\nand preserved me from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because\nI loved her. Let these particulars, which I recount but indifferently,\nbe considered, and then let any one judge what kind of attachment I had\nfor her: for my part, all I can say, is, that if it hitherto appears\nextraordinary, it will appear much more so in the sequel.\n\nMy time passed in the most agreeable manner, though occupied in a way\nwhich was by no means calculated to please me; such as having projects\nto digest, bills to write fair, receipts to transcribe, herbs to pick,\ndrugs to pound, or distillations to attend; and in the midst of\nall this, came crowds of travellers, beggars, and visitors of all\ndenominations. Some times it was necessary to converse at the same time\nwith a soldier, an apothecary, a prebendary, a fine lady, and a lay\nbrother. I grumbled, swore, and wished all this troublesome medley at\nthe devil, while she seemed to enjoy it, laughing at my chagrin till the\ntears ran down her cheeks. What excited her mirth still more, was to\nsee that my anger was increased by not being able myself to refrain from\nlaughter. These little intervals, in which I enjoyed the pleasure\nof grumbling, were charming; and if, during the dispute, another\nimportunate visitor arrived, she would add to her amusement by\nmaliciously prolonging the visit, meantime casting glances at me for\nwhich I could almost have beat her; nor could she without difficulty\nrefrain from laughter on seeing my constrained politeness, though every\nmoment glancing at her the look of a fury, while, even in spite of\nmyself, I thought the scene truly diverting.\n\nAll this, without being pleasing in itself, contributed to amuse,\nbecause it made up a part of a life which I thought delightful. Nothing\nthat was performed around me, nothing that I was obliged to do, suited\nmy taste, but everything suited my heart; and I believe, at length, I\nshould have liked the study of medicine, had not my natural distaste\nto it perpetually engaged us in whimsical scenes, that prevented my\nthinking of it in a serious light. It was, perhaps, the first time that\nthis art produced mirth. I pretended to distinguish a physical book by\nits smell, and what was more diverting, was seldom mistaken. Madam\nde Warens made me taste the most nauseous drugs; in vain I ran, or\nendeavored to defend myself; spite of resistance or wry faces, spite\nof my struggles, or even of my teeth, when I saw her charming fingers\napproach my lips, I was obliged to give up the contest.\n\n[Illustration: 0098]\n\nWhen shut up in an apartment with all her medical apparatus, any one who\nhad heard us running and shouting amidst peals of laughter would rather\nhave imagined we had been acting a farce than preparing opiates or\nelixirs.\n\nMy time, however, was not entirely passed in these fooleries; in the\napartment which I occupied I found a few books: there was the Spectator,\nPuffendorf, St. Everemond, and the Henriade. Though I had not my old\npassion for books, yet I amused myself with reading a part of them. The\nSpectator was particularly pleasing and serviceable to me. The Abbe de\nGauvon had taught me to read less eagerly, and with a greater degree\nof attention, which rendered my studies more serviceable. I accustomed\nmyself to reflect on elocution and the elegance of composition;\nexercising myself in discerning pure French from my provincial idiom.\nFor example, I corrected an orthographical fault (which I had in common\nwith all Genevese) by these two lines of the Henriade:\n\n     Soit qu' un ancient respect pour le sang de leurs maitres,\n     Parlat encore pour lui dans le coeur de ces traitres\n\nI was struck with the word 'parlat', and found a 't' was necessary to\nform the third person of the subjunctive, whereas I had always written\nand pronounced it parla, as in the present of the indicative.\n\nSometimes my studies were the subject of conversation with Madam de\nWarens; sometimes I read to her, in which I found great satisfaction;\nand as I endeavored to read well, it was extremely serviceable to me.\nI have already observed that her mind was cultivated; her understanding\nwas at this time in its meridian. Several people of learning having been\nassiduous to ingratiate themselves, had taught her to distinguish\nworks of merit; but her taste (if I may so express myself) was rather\nProtestant; ever speaking warmly of Bayle, and highly esteeming St.\nEvremond, though long since almost forgotten in France: but this did not\nprevent her having a taste for literature, or expressing her thoughts\nwith elegance. She had been brought up with polite company, and coming\nyoung to Savoy, by associating with people of the best fashion, had lost\nthe affected manners of her own country, where the ladies mistake wit\nfor sense, and only speak in epigram.\n\nThough she had seen the court but superficially, that glance was\nsufficient to give her a competent idea of it; and notwithstanding\nsecret jealousies and the murmurs excited by her conduct and running in\ndebt, she ever preserved friends there, and never lost her pension.\nShe knew the world, and was useful. This was her favorite theme in our\nconversations, and was directly opposite to my chimerical ideas, though\nthe kind of instruction I particularly had occasion for. We read\nBruyere together; he pleased her more than Rochefoucault, who is a\ndull, melancholy author, particularly to youth, who are not fond\nof contemplating man as he really is. In moralizing she sometimes\nbewildered herself by the length of her discourse; but by kissing her\nlips or hand from time to time I was easily consoled, and never found\nthem wearisome.\n\nThis life was too delightful to be lasting; I felt this, and the\nuneasiness that thought gave me was the only thing that disturbed my\nenjoyment. Even in playfulness she studied my disposition, observed and\ninterrogated me, forming projects for my future fortune, which I could\nreadily have dispensed with. Happily it was not sufficient to know my\ndisposition, inclinations and talents; it was likewise necessary to find\na situation in which they would be useful, and this was not the work of\na day. Even the prejudices this good woman had conceived in favor of my\nmerit put off the time of calling it into action, by rendering her more\ndifficult in the choice of means; thus (thanks to the good opinion she\nentertained of me), everything answered to my wish; but a change soon\nhappened which put a period to my tranquility.\n\nA relation of Madam de Warens, named M. d'Aubonne, came to see her;\na man of great understanding and intrigue, being, like her, fond of\nprojects, though careful not to ruin himself by them. He had offered\nCardinal Fleury a very compact plan for a lottery, which, however, had\nnot been approved of, and he was now going to propose it to the court\nof Turin, where it was accepted and put into execution. He remained some\ntime at Annecy, where he fell in love with the Intendant's lady, who was\nvery amiable, much to my taste and the only person I saw with pleasure\nat the house of Madam de Warens. M. d'Aubonne saw me, I was strongly\nrecommended by his relation; he promised, therefore, to question and see\nwhat I was fit for, and, if he found me capable, to seek me a situation.\nMadam de Warens sent me to him two or three mornings, under pretense of\nmessages, without acquainting me with her real intention. He spoke to me\ngayly, on various subjects, without any appearance of observation; his\nfamiliarity presently set me talking, which by his cheerful and jesting\nmanner he encouraged without restraint--I was absolutely charmed with\nhim. The result of his observations was, that notwithstanding the\nanimation of my countenance, and promising exterior, if not absolutely\nsilly, I was a lad of very little sense, and without ideas of learning;\nin fine, very ignorant in all respects, and if I could arrive at being\ncurate of some village, it was the utmost honor I ought ever to aspire\nto. Such was the account he gave of me to Madam de Warens. This was not\nthe first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was it the\nlast; the judgment of M. Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed.\n\nThe cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character not\nto need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I\ncan in conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality,\nwhatever M. Masseron, M. d'Aubonne and many others may have said, I\ncannot help thinking them mistaken.\n\nTwo things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannot\nmyself conceive. My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions\nlively and impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great\nembarrassment and after much afterthought. It might be said my heart and\nunderstanding do not belong to the same individual. A sentiment takes\npossession of my soul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of\nilluminating, it dazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing;\nI am warm, but stupid; to think I must be cool. What is astonishing,\nmy conception is clear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make\nexcellent impromptus at leisure, but on the instant, could never say or\ndo anything worth notice. I could hold a tolerable conversation by the\npost, as they say the Spaniards play at chess, and when I read that\nanecdote of a duke of Savoy, who turned himself round, while on a\njourney, to cry out 'a votre gorge, marchand de Paris!' I said, \"Here is\na trait of my character!\"\n\nThis slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not only\nsensible of in conversation, but even alone. When I write, my ideas are\narranged with the utmost difficulty. They glance on my imagination and\nferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation; during\nthis state of agitation, I see nothing properly, cannot write a single\nword, and must wait till it is over. Insensibly the agitation subsides,\nthe chaos acquires form, and each circumstance takes its proper place.\nHave you never seen an opera in Italy? where during the change of scene\neverything is in confusion, the decorations are intermingled, and\nany one would suppose that all would be overthrown; yet by little and\nlittle, everything is arranged, nothing appears wanting, and we feel\nsurprised to see the tumult succeeded by the most delightful spectacle.\nThis is a resemblance of what passes in my brain when I attempt to\nwrite; had I always waited till that confusion was past, and then\npainted, in their natural beauties, the objects that had presented\nthemselves, few authors would have surpassed me.\n\nThence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing; my manuscripts,\nblotted, scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they cost\nme; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe four\nor five times before it went to press. Never could I do anything when\nplaced at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or\nin the woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that I\ncompose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has not\nthe advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain by\nheart six verses. Some of my periods I have turned and returned in my\nhead five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus it\nis that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, than\nthose that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could never\nsucceed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;\nnor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without it\ncosting me hours of fatigue. If I write immediately what strikes me, my\nletter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which,\nwhen read, can hardly be understood.\n\nIt is not only painful to me to give language to my ideas but even\nto receive them. I have studied mankind, and think myself a tolerable\nobserver, yet I know nothing from what I see, but all from what I\nremember, nor have I understanding except in my recollections. From\nall that is said, from all that passes in my presence, I feel nothing,\nconceive nothing, the exterior sign being all that strikes me;\nafterwards it returns to my remembrance; I recollect the place, the\ntime, the manner, the look, and gesture, not a circumstance escapes me;\nit is then, from what has been done or said, that I imagine what has\nbeen thought, and I have rarely found myself mistaken.\n\nSo little master of my understanding when alone, let any one judge what\nI must be in conversation, where to speak with any degree of ease you\nmust think of a thousand things at the same time: the bare idea that I\nshould forget something material would be sufficient to intimidate me.\nNor can I comprehend how people can have the confidence to converse in\nlarge companies, where each word must pass in review before so many,\nand where it would be requisite to know their several characters and\nhistories to avoid saying what might give offence. In this particular,\nthose who frequent the world would have a great advantage, as they know\nbetter where to be silent, and can speak with greater confidence; yet\neven they sometimes let fall absurdities; in what predicament then must\nhe be who drops as it were from the clouds? It is almost impossible he\nshould speak ten minutes with impunity.\n\nIn a tete-a-tete there is a still worse inconvenience; that is; the\nnecessity of talking perpetually, at least, the necessity of answering\nwhen spoken to, and keeping up the conversation when the other is\nsilent. This insupportable constraint is alone sufficient to disgust me\nwith variety, for I cannot form an idea of a greater torment than being\nobliged to speak continually without time for recollection. I know not\nwhether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint; but if I\nam obliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense. What is still worse,\ninstead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing to\nsay, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination:\nand endeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible,\nI hastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they\nonly chance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to conquer or hide my\nincapacity, I rarely fail to show it.\n\nI think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I have\nfrequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this\nwas the more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise,\nand expectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more\nshocking. This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will\nnot be useless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which\nmight otherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a\nsavage humor I do not possess. I love society as much as any man, was\nI not certain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but\ntotally different from what I really am. The plan I have adopted of\nwriting and retirement, is what exactly suits me. Had I been present, my\nworth would never have been known, no one would even have suspected it;\nthus it was with Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived\nfor several years; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though\non the whole this rule may be subject to some exceptions. I shall now\nreturn to my history.\n\nThe estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable\nof promised, the question only remained how to render me capable of\nfulfilling my destined vocation. The principle difficulty was, I did not\nknow Latin enough for a priest. Madam de Warens determined to have me\ntaught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to\nthe Superior, who was a Lazarist, called M. Gras, a good-natured little\nfellow, half blind, meagre, gray-haired, insensible, and the least\npedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no great\nmatter.\n\nHe frequently visited Madam de Warens, who entertained, caressed, and\nmade much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he was\nwilling enough to perform. While thus employed, she would run about the\nroom, this way or that, as occasion happened to call her. Drawn by the\nlace, Monsieur the Superior followed, grumbling, repeating at every\nmoment, \"Pray, madam, do stand still;\" the whole forming a scene truly\ndiverting.\n\nM. Gras willingly assented to the project of Madam de Warens, and, for a\nvery moderate pension, charged himself with the care of instructing me.\nThe consent of the bishop was all that remained necessary, who not only\ngranted it, but offered to pay the pension, permitting me to retain the\nsecular habit till they could judge by a trial what success they might\nhave in my improvement.\n\nWhat a change! but I was obliged to submit; though I went to the\nseminary with about the same spirits as if they had been taking me to\nexecution. What a melancholy abode! especially for one who left the\nhouse of a pretty woman. I carried one book with me, that I had borrowed\nof Madam de Warens, and found it a capital resource! it will not be\neasily conjectured what kind of book this was--it was a music book.\nAmong the talents she had cultivated, music was not forgotten; she had a\ntolerable good voice, sang agreeably, and played on the harpsichord. She\nhad taken the pains to give me some lessons in singing, though before\nI was very uninformed in that respect, hardly knowing the music of\nour psalms. Eight or ten interrupted lessons, far from putting me in\na condition to improve myself, did not teach me half the notes;\nnotwithstanding, I had such a passion for the art, that I determined to\nexercise myself alone. The book I took was not of the most easy kind; it\nwas the cantatas of Clerambault. It may be conceived with what attention\nand perseverance I studied, when I inform my reader, that without\nknowing anything of transposition or quantity, I contrived to sing with\ntolerable correctness, the first recitative and air in the cantata of\nAlpheus and Arethusa; it is true this air is, so justly set, that it is\nonly necessary to recite the verses in their just measure to catch the\nmusic.\n\nThere was at the seminary a curst Lazarist, who by undertaking to teach\nme Latin made me detest it. His hair was coarse, black and greasy, his\nface like those formed in gingerbread, he had the voice of a buffalo,\nthe countenance of an owl, and the bristles of a boar in lieu of a\nbeard; his smile was sardonic, and his limbs played like those of\na puppet moved by wires. I have forgotten his odious name, but the\nremembrance of his frightful precise countenance remains with me, though\nhardly can I recollect it without trembling; especially when I call to\nmind our meeting in the gallery, when he graciously advanced his filthy\nsquare cap as a sign for me to enter his apartment, which appeared more\ndismal in my apprehension than a dungeon. Let any one judge the contrast\nbetween my present master and the elegant Abbe de Gauvon.\n\nHad I remained two months at the mercy of this monster, I am certain my\nhead could not have sustained it; but the good M. Gras, perceiving I was\nmelancholy, grew thin, and did not eat my victuals, guessed the cause of\nmy uneasiness (which indeed was not very difficult) and taking me from\nthe claws of this beast, by another yet more striking contrast, placed\nme with the gentlest of men, a young Faucigneran abbe, named M. Gatier,\nwho studied at the seminary, and out of complaisance for M. Gras, and\nhumanity to myself, spared some time from the prosecution of his\nown studies in order to direct mine. Never did I see a more pleasing\ncountenance than that of M. Gatier. He was fair complexioned, his beard\nrather inclined to red; his behavior like that of the generality of\nhis countrymen (who under a coarseness of countenance conceal much\nunderstanding), marked in him a truly sensible and affectionate soul.\nIn his large blue eyes there was a mixture of softness, tenderness, and\nmelancholy, which made it impossible to see him without feeling one's\nself interested. From the looks and manner of this young abbe he might\nhave been supposed to have foreseen his destiny, and that he was born to\nbe unhappy.\n\nHis disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience and\ncomplaisance, he rather appeared to study with than to instruct me.\nSo much was not necessary to make me love him, his predecessor having\nrendered that very easy; yet, notwithstanding all the time he bestowed\non me, notwithstanding our mutual good inclinations, and that his plan\nof teaching was excellent, with much labor, I made little progress. It\nis very singular, that with a clear conception I could never learn\nmuch from masters except my father and M. Lambercier; the little I know\nbesides I have learned alone, as will be seen hereafter. My spirit,\nimpatient of every species of constraint, cannot submit to the law of\nthe moment; even the fear of not learning prevents my being attentive,\nand a dread of wearying those who teach, makes me feign to understand\nthem; thus they proceed faster than I can comprehend, and the conclusion\nis I learn nothing. My understanding must take its own time and cannot\nsubmit to that of another.\n\nThe time of ordination being arrived, M. Gatier returned to his province\nas deacon, leaving me with gratitude, attachment, and sorrow for his\nloss. The vows I made for him were no more answered than those I offered\nfor myself. Some years after, I learned, that being vicar of a parish,\na young girl was with child by him, being the only one (though he\npossessed a very tender heart) with whom he was ever in love. This was\na dreadful scandal in a diocese severely governed, where the priests\n(being under good regulation) ought never to have children--except by\nmarried women. Having infringed this politic law, he was put in prison,\ndefamed, and driven from his benefice. I know not whether it was ever\nafter in his power to reestablish his affairs; but the remembrance of\nhis misfortunes, which were deeply engraven on my heart, struck me when\nI wrote Emilius, and uniting M. Gatier with M. Gaime, I formed from\nthese two worthy priests the character of the Savoyard Vicar, and\nflatter myself the imitation has not dishonored the originals.\n\nWhile I was at the seminary, M. d'Aubonne was obliged to quit Annecy,\nMoultou being displeased that he made love to his wife, which was\nacting like a dog in the manger, for though Madam Moultou was extremely\namiable, he lived very ill with her, treating her with such brutality\nthat a separation was talked of. Moultou, by repeated oppressions, at\nlength procured a dismissal from his employment: he was a disagreeable\nman; a mole could not be blacker, nor an owl more knavish. It is\nsaid the provincials revenge themselves on their enemies by songs; M.\nd'Aubonne revenged himself on his by a comedy, which he sent to Madam\nde Warens, who showed it to me. I was pleased with it, and immediately\nconceived the idea of writing one, to try whether I was so silly as the\nauthor had pronounced me. This project was not executed till I went to\nChambery, where I wrote 'The Lover of Himself'. Thus when I said in the\npreface to that piece, \"it was written at eighteen,\" I cut off a few\nyears.\n\nNearly about this time an event happened, not very important in itself,\nbut whose consequence affected me, and made a noise in the world when\nI had forgotten it. Once a week I was permitted to go out; it is not\nnecessary to say what use I made of this liberty. Being one Sunday at\nMadam de Warens, a building belonging to the Cordeliers, which joined\nher house, took fire; this building which contained their oven, being\nfull of dry fagots, blazed violently and greatly endangered the house;\nfor the wind happening to drive the flames that way, it was covered with\nthem. The furniture, therefore, was hastily got out and carried into the\ngarden which fronted the windows, on the other side the before-mentioned\nbrook. I was so alarmed that I threw indiscriminately everything that\ncame to hand out of the window, even to a large stone mortar, which at\nanother time I should have found it difficult to remove, and should have\nthrown a handsome looking-glass after it had not some one prevented\nme. The good bishop, who that day was visiting Madam de Warens, did not\nremain idle; he took her into the garden, where they went to prayers\nwith the rest that were assembled there, and where sometime afterwards,\nI found them on their knees, and presently joined them. While the good\nman was at his devotions, the wind changed, so suddenly and critically,\nthat the flames which had covered the house and began to enter the\nwindows, were carried to the other side of the court, and the house\nreceived no damage. Two years after, Monsieur de Berner being dead, the\nAntoines, his former brethren, began to collect anecdotes which might\nserve as arguments of his beatification; at the desire of Father Baudet,\nI joined to these an attestation of what I have just related, in doing\nwhich, though I attested no more than the truth, I certainly acted ill,\nas it tended to make an indifferent occurrence pass for a miracle. I had\nseen the bishop in prayer, and had likewise seen the wind change during\nthe prayer, and even much to the purpose, all this I could certify\ntruly; but that one of these facts was the cause of the other, I ought\nnot to have attested, because it is what I could not possibly be assured\nof. Thus much I may say, that as far as I can recollect what my ideas\nwere at that time, I was sincerely, and in good earnest a Catholic. Love\nof the marvellous is natural to the human heart; my veneration for the\nvirtuous prelate, and secret pride in having, perhaps, contributed to\nthe event in question, all helped to seduce me; and certainly, if this\nmiracle was the effect of ardent prayer, I had a right to claim a share\nof the merits.\n\nMore than thirty years after, when I published the 'Lettres de\nla Montagne', M. Feron (I know not by what means) discovered this\nattestation, and made use of it in his paper. I must confess the\ndiscovery was very critically timed, and appeared very diverting, even\nto me.\n\nI was destined to be the outcast of every condition; for notwithstanding\nM. Gatier gave the most favorable account he possibly could of my\nstudies, they plainly saw the improvement I received bore no proportion\nto the pains taken to instruct me, which was no encouragement to\ncontinue them: the bishop and superior, therefore, were disheartened,\nand I was sent back to Madam de Warens, as a subject not even fit to\nmake a priest of; but as they allowed, at the same time, that I was\na tolerably good lad, and far from being vicious, this account\ncounterbalanced the former, and determined her not to abandon me.\n\nI carried back in triumph the dear music book, which had been so useful\nto me, the air of Alpheus and Arethusa being almost all I had learned at\nthe seminary. My predilection for this art started the idea of making\na musician of me. A convenient opportunity offered; once a week, at\nleast, she had a concert at her house, and the music-master from the\ncathedral, who directed this little band, came frequently to see her.\nThis was a Parisian, named M. le Maitre, a good composer, very lively,\ngay, young, well made, of little understanding, but, upon the whole, a\ngood sort of man. Madam de Warens made us acquainted; I attached myself\nto him, and he seemed not displeased with me. A pension was talked of,\nand agreed on; in short, I went home with him, and passed the winter\nthe more agreeably at his chambers, as they were not above twenty paces\ndistant from Madam de Warens', where we frequently supped together. It\nmay easily be supposed that this situation, ever gay, and singing with\nthe musicians and children of the choir, was more pleasing to me than\nthe seminary and fathers of St. Lazarus. This life, though free, was\nregular; here I learned to prize independence, but never to abuse\nit. For six whole months I never once went out except to see Madam de\nWarens, or to church, nor had I any inclination to it. This interval is\none of those in which I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction, and which I\nhave ever recollected with pleasure. Among the various situations I\nhave been placed in, some were marked with such an idea of virtuous\nsatisfaction, that the bare remembrance affects me as if they were yet\npresent. I vividly recollect the time, the place, the persons, and even\nthe temperature of the air, while the lively idea of a certain local\nimpression peculiar to those times, transports me back again to the very\nspot; for example, all that was repeated at our meetings, all that was\nsung in the choir, everything that passed there; the beautiful and noble\nhabits of the canons, the chasubles of the priests, the mitres of the\nsingers, the persons of the musicians; an old lame carpenter who played\nthe counter-bass, a little fair abbe who performed on the violin, the\nragged cassock which M. le Maitre, after taking off his sword, used to\nput over his secular habit, and the fine surplice with which he covered\nthe rags of the former, when he went to the choir; the pride with which\nI held my little flute to my lips, and seated myself in the orchestra,\nto assist in a recitative which M. le Maitre had composed on purpose for\nme; the good dinner that afterwards awaited us, and the good appetites\nwe carried to it. This concourse of objects, strongly retraced in my\nmemory, has charmed me a hundred time as much, or perhaps more, than\never the reality had done. I have always preserved an affection for a\ncertain air of the 'Conditor alme Syderum', because one Sunday in Advent\nI heard that hymn sung on the steps of the cathedral, (according to\nthe custom of that place) as I lay in bed before daybreak. Mademoiselle\nMerceret, Madam de Warens' chambermaid, knew something of music; I shall\nnever forget a little piece that M. le Maitre made me sing with her, and\nwhich her mistress listened to with great satisfaction. In a word, every\nparticular, even down to the servant Perrine, whom the boys of the\nchoir took such delight in teasing. The remembrance of these times of\nhappiness and innocence frequently returning to my mind, both ravish and\naffect me.\n\nI lived at Annecy during a year without the least reproach, giving\nuniversal satisfaction. Since my departure from Turin I had been guilty\nof no folly, committed none while under the eye of Madam de Warens. She\nwas my conductor, and ever led me right; my attachment for her became\nmy only passion, and what proves it was not a giddy one, my heart\nand understanding were in unison. It is true that a single sentiment,\nabsorbing all my faculties, put me out of a capacity of learning even\nmusic: but this was not my fault, since to the strongest inclination, I\nadded the utmost assiduity. I was attentive and thoughtful; what could\nI do? Nothing was wanting towards my progress that depended on me;\nmeantime, it only required a subject that might inspire me to occasion\nthe commission of new follies: that subject presented itself, chance\narranged it, and (as will be seen hereafter) my inconsiderate head gave\nin to it.\n\nOne evening, in the month of February, when it was very cold, being all\nsat round the fire, we heard some one knock at the street door. Perrine\ntook a light, went down and opened it: a young man entering, came\nupstairs, presented himself with an easy air, and making M. Maitre\na short, but well-turned compliment, announced himself as a French\nmusician, constrained by the state of his finances to take this liberty.\nThe heart of the good Le Maitre leaped at the name of a French musician,\nfor he passionately loved both his country and profession; he therefore\noffered the young traveller his service--and use of his apartment, which\nhe appeared to stand much in need of, and which he accepted without\nmuch ceremony. I observed him while he was chatting and warming himself\nbefore supper; he was short and thick, having some fault in his shape,\nthough without any particular deformity; he had (if I may so express\nmyself) an appearance of being hunchbacked, with flat shoulders, and I\nthink he limped. He wore a black coat, rather worn than old, which\nhung in tatters, a very fine but dirty shirt, frayed ruffles; a pair of\nsplatterdashes so large that he could have put both legs into either of\nthem, and, to secure himself from the snow, a little hat, only fit to\nbe carried under his arm. With this whimsical equipage, he had, however,\nsomething elegant in his manners and conversation; his countenance\nwas expressive and agreeable, and he spoke with facility if not with\nmodesty; in short, everything about him bore the mark of a young\ndebauchee, who did not crave assistance like a beggar, but as a\nthoughtless madcap. He told us his name was Venture de Villeneuve, that\nhe came from Paris, had lost his way, and seeming to forget that he had\nannounced himself for a musician, added that he was going to Grenoble to\nsee a relation that was a member of Parliament.\n\nDuring supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well: he\nknew all the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors,\nactresses, pretty women, and powerful lords; in short nothing was\nmentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with. Though no\nsooner was any topic started, than by some drollery, which set every\none a-laughing, he made them forget what had been said. This was on a\nSaturday; the next day there was to be music at the cathedral: M. le\nMaitre asked if he would sing there--\"Very willingly.\"--\"What part would\nhe chose?\"--\"The counter-tenor:\" and immediately began speaking of other\nthings. Before he went to church they offered him his part to\nperuse, but he did not even look at it. This Gasconade surprised Le\nMaitre--\"You'll see,\" said he, whispering to me, \"that he does not know\na single note.\"--I replied: \"I am very much afraid of him.\" I followed\nthem into the church; but was extremely uneasy, and when they began, my\nheart beat violently, so much was I interested in his behalf.\n\nI was presently out of pain: he sung his two recitatives with all\nimaginable taste and judgment; and what was yet more, with a very\nagreeable voice. I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise. After\nmass, M. Venture received the highest compliments from the canons and\nmusicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace. M. le\nMaitre embraced him heartily; I did the same; he saw I was rejoiced at\nhis success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction.\n\nIt will easily be surmised, that after having been delighted with M.\nBacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuated\nwith M. Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of\nthe world, and might be called an agreeable rake. This was exactly what\nhappened, and would, I believe, have happened to any other young man\nin my place; especially supposing him possessed of better judgment to\ndistinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it; for Venture\ndoubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, very\nrare at his age, namely, that of never being in haste to display his\ntalents. It is true, he boasted of many things he did not understand,\nbut of those he knew (which were very numerous) he said nothing,\npatiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did with\nease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect. As\nthere was ever some intermission between the proofs of his various\nabilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever\ndiscovered all his talents. Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing in\nconversation, ever smiling, but never laughing, and repeating the rudest\nthings in the most elegant manner--even the most modest women were\nastonished at what they endured from him: it was in vain for them to\ndetermine to be angry; they could not assume the appearance of it. It\nwas extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a country\nwhere they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so long\nremained only a musician.\n\nMy attachment to M. Venture, more reasonable in its cause, was also less\nextravagant in its effects, though more lively and durable than that\nI had conceived for M. Bacle. I loved to see him, to hear him, all his\nactions appeared charming, everything he said was an oracle to me, but\nthe enchantment did not extend far enough to disable me from quitting\nhim. I spoke of him with transport to Madam de Warens, Le Maitre\nlikewise spoke in his praise, and she consented we should bring him to\nher house. This interview did not succeed; he thought her affected,\nshe found him a libertine, and, alarmed that I had formed such an ill\nacquaintance, not only forbade me bringing him there again, but likewise\npainted so strongly the danger I ran with this young man, that I became\na little more circumspect in giving in to the attachment; and very\nhappily, both for my manners and wits, we were soon separated.\n\nM. le Maitre, like most of his profession, loved good wine; at table he\nwas moderate, but when busy in his closet he must drink. His maid was so\nwell acquainted with this humor that no sooner had he prepared his\npaper to compose, and taken his violoncello, than the bottle and glass\narrived, and was replenished from time to time: thus, without being ever\nabsolutely intoxicated, he was usually in a state of elevation. This\nwas really unfortunate, for he had a good heart, and was so playful that\nMadam de Warens used to call him the kitten. Unhappily, he loved his\nprofession, labored much and drank proportionately, which injured his\nhealth, and at length soured his temper. Sometimes he was gloomy and\neasily offended, though incapable of rudeness, or giving offence to any\none, for never did he utter a harsh word, even to the boys of the choir:\non the other hand, he would not suffer another to offend him, which was\nbut just: the misfortune was, having little understanding, he did not\nproperly discriminate, and was often angry without cause.\n\nThe Chapter of Geneva, where so many princes and bishops formerly\nthought it an honor to be seated, though in exile it lost its ancient\nsplendor, retained (without any diminution) its pride. To be admitted,\nyou must either be a gentleman or Doctor of Sorbonne. If there is\na pardonable pride, after that derived from personal merit, it is\ndoubtless that arising from birth, though, in general, priests having\nlaymen in their service treat them with sufficient haughtiness, and thus\nthe canons behaved to poor Le Maitre. The chanter, in particular, who\nwas called the Abbe de Vidonne, in other respects a well-behaved man,\nbut too full of his nobility, did not always show him the attention\nhis talents merited. M. le Maitre could not bear these indignities\npatiently; and this year, during passion week, they had a more serious\ndispute than ordinary. At an institution dinner that the bishop gave the\ncanons, and to which M. Maitre was always invited, the abbe failed in\nsome formality, adding, at the same time, some harsh words, which the\nother could not digest; he instantly formed the resolution to quit them\nthe following night; nor could any consideration make him give up his\ndesign, though Madam de Warens (whom he went to take leave of) spared\nno pains to appease him. He could not relinquish the pleasure of leaving\nhis tyrants embarrassed for the Easter feast, at which time he knew they\nstood in greatest need of him. He was most concerned about his\nmusic, which he wished to take with him; but this could not easily be\naccomplished, as it filled a large case, and was very heavy, and could\nnot be carried under the arm.\n\nMadam de Warens did what I should have done in her situation; and\nindeed, what I should yet do: after many useless efforts to retain\nhim, seeing he was resolved to depart, whatever might be the event,\nshe formed the resolution to give him every possible assistance. I\nmust confess Le Maitre deserved it of her, for he was (if I may use the\nexpression) dedicated to her service, in whatever appertained to either\nhis art or knowledge, and the readiness with which he obliged gave\na double value to his complaisance: thus she only paid back, on an\nessential occasion, the many favors he had been long conferring on her;\nthough I should observe, she possessed a soul that, to fulfill such\nduties, had no occasion to be reminded of previous obligations.\nAccordingly she ordered me to follow Le Maitre to Lyons, and to continue\nwith him as long as he might have occasion for my services. She has\nsince avowed, that a desire of detaching me from Venture had a great\nhand in this arrangement. She consulted Claude Anet about the conveyance\nof the above-mentioned case. He advised, that instead of hiring a beast\nat Annecy, which would infallibly discover us, it would be better, at\nnight, to take it to some neighboring village, and there hire an ass to\ncarry it to Seyssel, which being in the French dominions, we should have\nnothing to fear. This plan was adopted; we departed the same night\nat seven, and Madam de Warens, under pretense of paying my expenses,\nincreased the purse of poor Le Maitre by an addition that was very\nacceptable. Claude Anet, the gardiner, and myself, carried the case\nto the first village, then hired an ass, and the same night reached\nSeyssel.\n\nI think I have already remarked that there are times in which I am\nso unlike myself that I might be taken for a man of a direct opposite\ndisposition; I shall now give an example of this. M. Reydelet, curate of\nSeyssel, was canon of St. Peter's, consequently known to M. le Maitre,\nand one of the people from whom he should have taken most pains to\nconceal himself; my advice, on the contrary, was to present ourselves to\nhim, and, under some pretext, entreat entertainment as if we visited him\nby consent of the chapter. Le Maitre adopted the idea, which seemed to\ngive his revenge the appearance of satire and waggery; in short, we went\nboldly to Reydelet, who received us very kindly. Le Maitre told him he\nwas going to Bellay by desire of the bishop, that he might superintend\nthe music during the Easter holidays, and that he proposed returning\nthat way in a few days. To support this tale, I told a hundred others,\nso naturally that M. Reydelet thought me a very agreeable youth, and\ntreated me with great friendship and civility. We were well regaled and\nwell lodged: M. Reydelet scarcely knew how to make enough of us; and we\nparted the best friends in the world, with a promise to stop longer on\nour return. We found it difficult to refrain from laughter, or wait till\nwe were alone to give free vent to our mirth: indeed, even now, the bare\nrecollection of it forces a smile, for never was waggery better or\nmore fortunately maintained. This would have made us merry during the\nremainder of our journey, if M. le Maitre (who did not cease drinking)\nhad not been two or three times attacked with a complaint that he\nafterwards became very subject to, and which resembled an epilepsy.\nThese fits threw me into the most fearful embarrassments, from which I\nresolved to extricate myself with the first opportunity.\n\nAccording to the information given to M. Reydelet, we passed our Easter\nholidays at Bellay, and though not expected there, were received by\nthe music-master, and welcomed by every one with great pleasure. M. le\nMaitre was of considerable note in his profession, and, indeed, merited\nthat distinction. The music-master of Bellay (who was fond of his own\nworks) endeavored to obtain the approbation of so good a judge; for\nbesides being a connoisseur, M. le Maitre was equitable, neither a\njealous, ill-natured critic, nor a servile flatterer. He was so superior\nto the generality of country music-masters and they were so sensible of\nit, that they treated him rather as their chief than a brother musician.\n\nHaving passed four or five days very agreeably at Bellay, we departed,\nand continuing our journey without meeting with any accidents, except\nthose I have just spoken of, arrived at Lyons, and were lodged at Notre\nDame de Pitie. While we waited for the arrival of the before-mentioned\ncase (which by the assistance of another lie, and the care of our good\npatron, M. Reydelet, we had embarked on the Rhone) M. le Maitre went to\nvisit his acquaintance, and among others Father Cato, a Cordelier, who\nwill be spoken of hereafter, and the Abbe Dortan, Count of Lyons, both\nof whom received him well, but afterwards betrayed him, as will be seen\npresently; indeed, his good fortune terminated with M. Reydelet.\n\nTwo days after our arrival at Lyons, as we passed a little street not\nfar from our inn, Le Maitre was attacked by one of his fits; but it was\nnow so violent as to give me the utmost alarm. I screamed with terror,\ncalled for help, and naming our inn, entreated some one to bear him to\nit, then (while the people were assembled, and busy round a man that had\nfallen senseless in the street) he was abandoned by the only friend on\nwhom he could have any reasonable dependence; I seized the instant\nwhen no one heeded me, turned the corner of the street and disappeared.\nThanks to Heaven, I have made my third painful confession; if many such\nremained, I should certainly abandon the work I have undertaken.\n\nOf all the incidents I have yet related, a few traces are remaining\nin the places where I have lived; but what I have to relate in the\nfollowing book is almost entirely unknown; these are the greatest\nextravagancies of my life, and it is happy they had not worse\nconclusions. My head, (if I may use the simile) screwed up to the\npitch of an instrument it did not naturally accord with, had lost\nits diapason; in time it returned to it again, when I discontinued my\nfollies, or at least gave in to those more consonant to my disposition.\nThis epoch of my youth I am least able to recollect, nothing having\npassed sufficiently interesting to influence my heart, to make me\nclearly retrace the remembrance. In so many successive changes, it is\ndifficult not to make some transpositions of time or place. I\nwrite absolutely from memory, without notes or materials to help\nmy recollection. Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they had\nrecently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill up\nbut by the aid of recital, as confused as the remaining traces of those\nto which they refer. It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred\nin trifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance\nI can answer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same\nveracity the reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it.\n\nMy resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Maitre; I set out\nimmediately for Annecy. The cause and mystery of our departure had\ninterested me for the security of our retreat: this interest, which\nentirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every other\nidea; but no sooner was I secure and in tranquility, than my predominant\nsentiment regained its place. Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me, I\nhad no wish but to return to Madam de Warens; the tenderness and truth\nof my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginable\nproject, and all the follies of ambition, I conceived no happiness\nbut living near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that the\ndistance between us was increased. I returned, therefore, as soon\nas possible, with such speed, and with my spirits in such a state of\nagitation, that though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, I\nhave not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leaving\nLyons and reaching Annecy. Let anyone judge whether this last event can\nhave slipped my memory, when informed that on my arrival I found Madam\nde Warens was not there, having set out for Paris.\n\nI was never well informed of the motives of this journey. I am certain\nshe would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious\nto learn the secrets of his friend. My heart is ever so entirely filled\nwith the present, or with past pleasures, which become a principal part\nof my enjoyment, that there is not a chink or corner for curiosity to\nenter. All that I conceive from what I heard of it, is, that in the\nrevolution caused at Turin by the abdication of the King of Sardinia,\nshe feared being forgotten, and was willing by favor of the intrigues of\nM. d' Aubonne to seek the same advantage in the court of France, where\nshe has often told me she should have preferred it, as the multiplicity\nof business there prevents your conduct from being so closely inspected.\nIf this was her business, it is astonishing that on her return she\nwas not ill received; be that as it will, she continued to enjoy her\nallowance without any interruption. Many people imagined she was charged\nwith some secret commission, either by the bishop, who then had business\nat the court of France, where he himself was soon after obliged to go,\nor some one yet more powerful, who knew how to insure her a gracious\nreception at her return. If this was the case, it is certain the\nambassadress was not ill chosen, since being young and handsome, she had\nall the necessary qualifications to succeed in a negotiation.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\n\n|Let any one judge my surprise and grief at not finding her on my\narrival. I now felt regret at having abandoned M. le Maitre, and my\nuneasiness increased when I learned the misfortunes that had befallen\nhim. His box of music, containing all his fortune, that precious box,\npreserved with so much care and fatigue, had been seized on at Lyons by\nmeans of Count Dortan, who had received information from the Chapter\nof our having absconded with it. In vain did Le Maitre reclaim his\nproperty, his means of existence, the labor of his life; his right to\nthe music in question was at least subject to litigation, but even that\nliberty was not allowed him, the affair being instantly decided on the\nprincipal of superior strength. Thus poor Le Maitre lost the fruit of\nhis talents, the labor of his youth, and principal dependence for the\nsupport of old age.\n\nNothing was wanting to render the news I had received truly afflicting,\nbut I was at an age when even the greatest calamities are to be\nsustained; accordingly I soon found consolation. I expected shortly to\nhear news of Madam de Warens, though I was ignorant of the address,\nand she knew nothing of my return. As to my desertion of Le Maitre\n(all things considered) I did not find it so very culpable. I had been\nserviceable to him at his retreat; it was not in my power to give him\nany further assistance. Had I remained with him in France it would not\nhave cured his complaint. I could not have saved his music, and should\nonly have doubled his expense: in this point of view I then saw my\nconduct; I see it otherwise now. It frequently happens that a villainous\naction does not torment us at the instant we commit it, but on\nrecollection, and sometimes even after a number of years have elapsed,\nfor the remembrance of crimes is not to be extinguished.\n\nThe only means I had to obtain news of Madam de Warens was to remain\nat Annecy. Where should I seek her in Paris? or how bear the expense of\nsuch a journey? Sooner or later there was no place where I could be\nso certain to hear of her as that I was now at; this consideration\ndetermined me to remain there, though my conduct was very indifferent.\nI did not go to the bishop, who had already befriended me, and might\ncontinue to do so; my patroness was not present, and I feared his\nreprimands on the subject of our flight; neither did I go to the\nseminary, M. Gras was no longer there; in short, I went to none of my\nacquaintances. I should gladly have visited the intendant's lady,\nbut did not dare; I did worse, I sought out M. Venture, whom\n(notwithstanding my enthusiasm) I had never thought of since my\ndeparture. I found him quite gay, in high spirits, and the universal\nfavorite of the ladies of Annecy.\n\nThis success completed my infatuation; I saw nothing but M. Venture; he\nalmost made me forget even Madam de Warens. That I might profit more at\nease by his instructions and example, I proposed to share his lodgings,\nto which he readily consented. It was at a shoemaker's; a pleasant,\njovial fellow, who, in his county dialect, called his wife nothing but\ntrollop; an appellation which she certainly merited. Venture took care\nto augment their differences, though under an appearance of doing\nthe direct contrary, throwing out in a distant manner, and provincial\naccents, hints that produced the utmost effect, and furnished such\nscenes as were sufficient to make any one die with laughter. Thus the\nmornings passed without our thinking of them; at two or three o'clock\nwe took some refreshment. Venture then went to his various engagements,\nwhere he supped, while I walked alone, meditating on his great merit,\ncoveting and admiring his rare talents, and cursing my own unlucky\nstars, that did not call me to so happy a life. How little did I then\nknow of myself! mine had been a thousand times more delightful, had I\nnot been such a fool, or known better how to enjoy it.\n\nMadam de Warens had taken no one with her but Anet: Merceret, the\nchambermaid, whom I have before mentioned, still remained in the house.\nMerceret was something older than myself, not pretty, but tolerably\nagreeable; good-natured, free from malice, having no fault to my\nknowledge but being a little refractory with her mistress. I often went\nto see her; she was an old acquaintance, who recalled to my remembrance\none more beloved, and this made her dear to me. She had several friends,\nand among others one Mademoiselle Giraud, a Genevese, who, for the\npunishment of my sins, took it in her head to have an inclination for\nme, always pressing Merceret, when she returned her visits, to bring\nme with her. As I liked Merceret, I felt no disinclination to accompany\nher; besides I met there with some young people whose company pleased\nme. For Mademoiselle Giraud, who offered every kind of enticement,\nnothing could increase the aversion I had for her. When she drew near\nme, with her dried black snout, smeared with Spanish snuff, it was with\nthe utmost difficulty that I could refrain from expressing my distaste;\nbut, being pleased with her visitors, I took patience. Among these\nwere two girls who (either to pay their court to Mademoiselle Giraud or\nmyself) paid me every possible attention. I conceived this to be only\nfriendship; but have since thought it depended only on myself to have\ndiscovered something more, though I did not even think of it at the\ntime.\n\nThere was another reason for my stupidity. Seamstresses, chambermaids,\nor milliners, never tempted me; I sighed for ladies! Every one has his\npeculiar taste, this has ever been mine; being in this particular of a\ndifferent opinion from Horace. Yet it is not vanity of riches or\nrank that attracts me; it is a well-preserved complexion, fine hands,\nelegance of ornaments, an air of delicacy and neatness throughout the\nwhole person; more in taste, in the manner of expressing themselves,\na finer or better made gown, a well-turned ankle, small foot, ribbons,\nlace, and well-dressed hair; I even prefer those who have less natural\nbeauty, provided they are elegantly decorated. I freely confess this\npreference is very ridiculous; yet my heart gives in to it spite of my\nunderstanding. Well, even this advantage presented itself, and it only\ndepended on my own resolution to have seized the opportunity.\n\nHow do I love, from time to time, to return to those moments of my\nyouth, which were so charmingly delightful; so short, so scarce, and\nenjoyed at so cheap a rate!--how fondly do I wish to dwell on them!\nEven yet the remembrance of these scenes warms my heart with a chaste\nrapture, which appears necessary to reanimate my drooping courage, and\nenable me to sustain the weariness of my latter days.\n\nThe appearance of Aurora seemed so delightful one morning that, putting\non my clothes, I hastened into the country, to see the rising of the\nsun. I enjoyed that pleasure in its utmost extent; it was one week\nafter midsummer; the earth was covered with verdure and flowers, the\nnightingales, whose soft warblings were almost concluded, seemed to vie\nwith each other, and in concert with birds of various kinds to bid adieu\nto spring, and hail the approach of a beautiful summer's day: one of\nthose lovely days that are no longer to be enjoyed at my age, and which\nhave never been seen on the melancholy soil I now inhabit.\n\nI had rambled insensibly, to a considerable distance from the town--the\nheat augmented--I was walking in the shade along a valley, by the side\nof a brook, I heard behind me the steps of horses, and the voice of\nsome females who, though they seemed embarrassed, did not laugh the less\nheartily on that account. I turn round, hear myself called by name, and\napproaching, find two young people of my acquaintance, Mademoiselle de\nG---- and Mademoiselle Galley, who, not being very excellent horsewomen,\ncould not make their horses cross the rivulet.\n\nMademoiselle de G---- was a young lady of Berne, very amiable; who,\nhaving been sent from that country for some youthful folly, had imitated\nMadam de Warens, at whose house I had sometimes seen her; but not\nhaving, like her, a pension, she had been fortunate in this attachment\nto Mademoiselle Galley, who had prevailed on her mother to engage her\nyoung friend as a companion, till she could be otherwise provided for.\nMademoiselle Galley was one year younger than her friend, handsomer,\nmore delicate, more ingenious, and to complete all, extremely well made.\nThey loved each other tenderly, and the good disposition of both could\nnot fail to render their union durable, if some lover did not derange\nit. They informed me they were going to Toune, an old castle belonging\nto Madam Galley, and implored my assistance to make their horses cross\nthe stream, not being able to compass it themselves. I would have given\neach a cut or two with the whip, but they feared I might be kicked, and\nthemselves thrown; I therefore had recourse to another expedient, I took\nhold of Mademoiselle Galley's horse and led him through the brook,\nthe water reaching half-way up my legs. The other followed without any\ndifficulty. This done, I would have paid my compliments to the ladies,\nand walked off like a great booby as I was, but after whispering each\nother, Mademoiselle de G---- said, \"No, no, you must not think to escape\nthus; you have got wet in our service, and we ought in conscience to\ntake care and dry you. If you please you must go with us, you are\nnow our prisoner.\" My heart began to beat--I looked at Mademoiselle\nGalley--\"Yes, yes,\" added she, laughing at my fearful look; \"our\nprisoner of war; come, get up behind her, we shall give a good account\nof you.\"--\"But, mademoiselle,\" continued I, \"I have not the honor to\nbe acquainted with your mother; what will she say on my arrival?\"--\"Her\nmother,\" replied Mademoiselle de G---- \"is not at Toune, we are alone,\nwe shall return at night, and you shall come back with us.\"\n\nThe stroke of electricity has not a more instantaneous effect than these\nwords produced on me. Leaping behind Mademoiselle de G----, I trembled\nwith joy, and when it became necessary to clasp her in order to hold\nmyself on, my heart beat so violently that she perceived it, and told\nme hers beat also from a fear of falling. In my present posture, I might\nnaturally have considered this an invitation to satisfy myself of the\ntruth of her assertion, yet I did not dare, and during the whole way my\narm served as a girdle (a very close one, I must confess), without being\na moment displaced. Some women that may read this would be for giving me\na box on the ear, and, truly, I deserved it.\n\nThe gayety of the journey, and the chat of these girls, so enlivened me,\nthat during the whole time we passed together we never ceased talking a\nmoment. They had set me so thoroughly at ease, that my tongue spoke\nas fast as my eyes, though not exactly the same things. Some minutes,\nindeed, when I was left alone with either, the conversation became a\nlittle embarrassed, but neither of them was absent long enough to allow\ntime for explaining the cause.\n\nArrived at Toune, and myself well dried, we breakfasted together; after\nwhich it was necessary to settle the important business of preparing\ndinner. The young ladies cooked, kissing from time to time the farmer's\nchildren, while the poor scullion looked on grumbling. Provisions had\nbeen sent for from town, and there was everything necessary for a good\ndinner, but unhappily they had forgotten wine; this forgetfulness was by\nno means astonishing to girls who seldom drank any, but I was sorry for\nthe omission, as I had reckoned on its help, thinking it might add to my\nconfidence. They were sorry likewise, and perhaps from the same motive;\nthough I have no reason to say this, for their lively and charming\ngayety was innocence itself; besides, there were two of them, what could\nthey expect from me? they went everywhere about the neighborhood to seek\nfor wine, but none could be procured, so pure and sober are the peasants\nin those parts. As they were expressing their concern, I begged them not\nto give themselves any uneasiness on my account, for while with them I\nhad no occasion for wine to intoxicate me. This was the only gallantry\nI ventured at during the whole of the day, and I believe the sly rogues\nsaw well enough that I said nothing but the truth.\n\nWe dined in the kitchen; the two friends were seated on the benches, one\non each side the long table, and their guest at the end, between them,\non a three--legged stool. What a dinner! how charming the remembrance!\nWhile we can enjoy, at so small an expense, such pure, such true\ndelights, why should we be solicitous for others? Never did those\n'petite soupes', so celebrated in Paris, equal this; I do not only say\nfor real pleasure and gayety, but even for sensuality.\n\nAfter dinner, we were economical; instead of drinking the coffee we\nhad reserved at breakfast, we kept it for an afternoon collation, with\ncream, and some cake they had brought with them. To keep our appetites\nin play, we went into the orchard, meaning to finish our dessert with\ncherries. I got into a tree, throwing them down bunches, from which they\nreturned the stones through the branches. One time, Mademoiselle Galley,\nholding out her apron, and drawing back her head, stood so fair, and\nI took such good aim, that I dropped a bunch into her bosom. On her\nlaughing, I said to myself, \"Why are not my lips cherries? How gladly\nwould I throw them there likewise.\"\n\nThus the day passed with the greatest freedom, yet with the utmost\ndecency; not a single equivocal word, not one attempt at double-meaning\npleasantry; yet this delicacy was not affected, we only performed the\nparts our hearts dictated; in short, my modesty, some will say my folly,\nwas such that the greatest familiarity that escaped me was once kissing\nthe hand of Mademoiselle Galley; it is true, the attending circumstances\nhelped to stamp a value on this trifling favor; we were alone, I was\nembarrassed, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and my lips, instead\nof uttering words, were pressed on her hand, which she drew gently back\nafter the salute, without any appearance of displeasure. I know not what\nI should have said to her; but her friend entered, and at that moment I\nthought her ugly.\n\nAt length, they bethought themselves, that they must return to town\nbefore night; even now we had but just time to reach it by daylight;\nand we hastened our departure in the same order we came. Had I pleased\nmyself, I should certainly have reversed this order, for the glance of\nMademoiselle Galley had reached my heart, but I dared not mention it,\nand the proposal could not reasonably come from her. On the way, we\nexpressed our sorrow that the day was over, but far from complaining of\nthe shortness of its duration, we were conscious of having prolonged it\nby every possible amusement.\n\nI quitted them in nearly the same spot where I had taken them up. With\nwhat regret did we part! With what pleasure did we form projects\nto renew our meeting! Delightful hours, which we passed innocently\ntogether, yet were worth ages of familiarity! The sweet remembrance\nof those days cost those amiable girls nothing; the tender union which\nreigned among us equalled more lively pleasures, with which it could not\nhave existed. We loved each other without shame or mystery, and wished\nto continue our reciprocal affection. There is a species of enjoyment\nconnected with innocence of manners which is superior to any other,\nbecause it has no interval; for myself, the remembrance of such a day\ntouches me nearer, delights me more, and returns with greater rapture\nto my heart than any other pleasure I ever tasted. I hardly knew what I\nwished with those charming girls. I do not say: that had the arrangement\nbeen in my power, I should have divided my heart between them; I\ncertainly felt some degree of preference: though I should have been\nhappy to have had Mademoiselle de G----, for a mistress, I think, by\nchoice, I should have liked her better as a confidante; be that as it\nmay, I felt on leaving them as though I could not live without either.\nWho would have thought that I should never see them more; and that here\nour ephemeral amours must end?\n\nThose who read this will not fail to laugh at my gallantries, and\nremark, that after very promising preliminaries, my most forward\nadventures concluded by a kiss of the hand: yet be not mistaken, reader,\nin your estimate of my enjoyments; I have, perhaps, tasted more real\npleasure in my amours, which concluded by a kiss of the hand, than you\nwill ever have in yours, which, at least, begin there.\n\nVenture, who had gone to bed late the night before, came in soon after\nme. I did not now see him with my usual satisfaction, and took care not\nto inform him how I had passed the day. The ladies had spoken of him\nslightingly, and appeared discontented at finding me in such bad hands;\nthis hurt him in my esteem; besides, whatever diverted my ideas from\nthem was at this time disagreeable. However, he soon brought me back to\nhim and myself, by speaking of the situation of my affairs, which\nwas too critical to last; for, though I spent very little, my slender\nfinances were almost exhausted. I was without resource; no news of Madam\nde Warens; not knowing what would become of me, and feeling a cruel pang\nat heart to see the friend of Mademoiselle Galley reduced to beggary.\n\nI now learned from Venture that he had spoken of me to the Judge Major,\nand would take me next day to dine with him; that he was a man who\nby means of his friends might render me essential service. In other\nrespects he was a desirable acquaintance, being a man of wit and\nletters, of agreeable conversation, one who possessed talents and loved\nthem in others. After this discourse (mingling the most serious concerns\nwith the most trifling frivolity) he showed me a pretty couplet, which\ncame from Paris, on an air in one of Mouret's operas, which was then\nplaying. Monsieur Simon (the judge major) was so pleased with this\ncouplet, that he determined to make another in answer to it, on the same\nair. He had desired Venture to write one, and he wished me to make a\nthird, that, as he expressed it, they might see couplets start up next\nday like incidents in a comic romance.\n\nIn the night (not being able to sleep) I composed a couplet, as my first\nessay in poetry. It was passable; better, or at least composed with more\ntaste than it would have been the preceding night, the subject being\ntenderness, to which my heart was now entirely disposed. In the morning\nI showed my performance to Venture, who, being pleased with the couplet,\nput it in his pocket, without informing me whether he had made his. We\ndined with M. Simon, who treated us very politely. The conversation was\nagreeable; indeed it could not be otherwise between two men of natural\ngood sense, improved by reading. For me, I acted my proper part, which\nwas to listen without attempting to join in the conversation. Neither of\nthem mentioned the couplet nor do I know that it ever passed for mine.\nM. Simon appeared satisfied with my behavior; indeed, it was almost all\nhe saw of me at this interview. We had often met at Madam de Warens,\nbut he had never paid much attention to me; it is from this dinner,\ntherefore, that I date our acquaintance, which, though of no use in\nregard to the object I then had in view, was afterwards productive of\nadvantages which make me recollect it with pleasure. I should be wrong\nnot to give some account of this person, since from his office of\nmagistrate, and the reputation of wit on which he piqued himself, no\nidea could be formed of it. The judge major, Simon, certainly was not\ntwo feet high; his legs spare, straight, and tolerably long, would have\nadded something to his stature had they been vertical, but they stood in\nthe direction of an open pair of compasses. His body was not only short,\nbut thin, being in every respect of most inconceivable smallness--when\nnaked he must have appeared like a grasshopper. His head was of the\ncommon size, to which appertained a well-formed face, a noble look, and\ntolerably fine eyes; in short, it appeared a borrowed head, stuck on a\nmiserable stump. He might very well have dispensed with dress, for his\nlarge wig alone covered him from head to foot.\n\nHe had two voices, perfectly different, which intermingled perpetually\nin his conversation, forming at first a diverting, but afterwards a very\ndisagreeable contrast. One grave and sonorous, was, if I may hazard\nthe expression, the voice of his head: the other, clear, sharp, and\npiercing, the voice of his body. When he paid particular attention, and\nspoke leisurely, so as to preserve his breath, he could continue his\ndeep tone; but if he was the least animated, or attempted a lively\naccent, his voice sounded like the whistling of a key, and it was with\nthe utmost difficulty that he could return to the bass.\n\nWith the figure I have just described, and which is by no means\novercharged, M. Simon was gallant, ever entertaining the ladies with\nsoft tales, and carrying the decoration of his person even to foppery.\nWilling to make use of every advantage he, during the morning, gave\naudience in bed, for when a handsome head was discovered on the pillow\nno one could have imagined what belonged to it. This circumstance gave\nbirth to scenes, which I am certain are yet remembered by all Annecy.\n\nOne morning, when he expected to give audience in bed, or rather on the\nbed, having on a handsome night-cap ornamented with rose-colored ribbon,\na countryman arriving knocked at the door; the maid happened to be out;\nthe judge, therefore, hearing the knock repeated, cried \"Come in,\" and,\nas he spoke rather loud, it was in his shrill tone. The man entered,\nlooked about, endeavoring to discover whence the female voice proceeded\nand at length seeing a handsome head-dress set off with ribbons, was\nabout to leave the room, making the supposed lady a hundred apologies.\nM. Simon, in a rage, screamed the more; and the countryman, yet more\nconfirmed in his opinion, conceiving himself to be insulted, began\nrailing in his turn, saying that, \"Apparently, she was nothing better\nthan a common streetwalker, and that the judge major should be ashamed\nof setting such ill examples.\" The enraged magistrate, having no other\nweapon than the jordan under his bed, was just going to throw it at the\npoor fellow's head as his servant returned.\n\nThis dwarf, ill-used by nature as to his person, was recompensed by\npossessing an understanding naturally agreeable, and which he had been\ncareful to cultivate. Though he was esteemed a good lawyer, he did not\nlike his profession, delighting more in the finer parts of literature,\nwhich he studied with success: above all, he possessed that superficial\nbrilliancy, the art of pleasing in conversation, even with the ladies.\nHe knew by heart a number of little stories, which he perfectly well\nknew how to make the most of; relating with an air of secrecy, and as an\nanecdote of yesterday, what happened sixty years before. He understood\nmusic, and could sing agreeably; in short, for a magistrate, he had\nmany pleasing talents. By flattering the ladies of Annecy, he became\nfashionable among them, appearing continually in their train. He even\npretended to favors, at which they were much amused. A Madam D'Epigny\nused to say \"The greatest favor he could aspire to, was to kiss a lady\non her knees.\"\n\nAs he was well read, and spoke fluently, his conversation was both\namusing and instructive. When I afterwards took a taste for study,\nI cultivated his acquaintance, and found my account in it: when\nat Chambery, I frequently went from thence to see him. His praises\nincreased my emulation, to which he added some good advice respecting\nthe prosecution of my studies, which I found useful. Unhappily, this\nweakly body contained a very feeling soul. Some years after, he was\nchagrined by I know not what unlucky affair, but it cost him his life.\nThis was really unfortunate, for he was a good little man, whom at a\nfirst acquaintance one laughed at, but afterwards loved. Though our\nsituations in life were very little connected with each other, as I\nreceived some useful lessons from him, I thought gratitude demanded that\nI should dedicate a few sentences to his memory.\n\nAs soon as I found myself at liberty, I ran into the street where\nMademoiselle Galley lived, flattering myself that I should see someone\ngo in or out, or at least open a window, but I was mistaken, not even\na cat appeared, the house remaining as close all the time as if it had\nbeen uninhabited. The street was small and lonely, any one loitering\nabout was, consequently, more likely to be noticed; from time to time\npeople passed in and out of the neighborhood; I was much embarrassed,\nthinking my person might be known, and the cause that brought me there\nconjectured; this idea tortured me, for I have ever preferred the honor\nand happiness of those I love to my own pleasures.\n\nAt length, weary of playing the Spanish lover, and having no guitar, I\ndetermined to write to Mademoiselle de G----. I should have preferred\nwriting to her friend, but did not dare take that liberty, as it\nappeared more proper to begin with her to whom I owed the acquaintance,\nand with whom I was most familiar. Having written my letter, I took it\nto Mademoiselle Giraud, as the young ladies had agreed at parting,\nthey having furnished me with this expedient. Mademoiselle Giraud was a\nquilter, and sometimes worked at Madam Galley's, which procured her free\nadmission to the house. I must confess, I was not thoroughly satisfied\nwith this messenger, but was cautious of starting difficulties, fearing\nthat if I objected to her no other might be named, and it was impossible\nto intimate that she had an inclination to me herself. I even felt\nhumiliated that she should think I could imagine her of the same sex as\nthose young ladies: in a word, I accepted her agency rather than none,\nand availed myself of it at all events.\n\nAt the very first word, Giraud discovered me. I must own this was not a\ndifficult matter, for if sending a letter to young girls had not spoken\nsufficiently plain, my foolish embarrassed air would have betrayed\nme. It will easily be supposed that the employment gave her little\nsatisfaction, she undertook it, however, and performed it faithfully.\nThe next morning I ran to her house and found an answer ready for me.\nHow did I hurry away that I might have an opportunity to read and\nkiss it alone! though this need not been told, but the plan adopted by\nMademoiselle Giraud (and in which I found more delicacy and moderation\nthan I had expected) should. She had sense enough to conclude that her\nthirty-seven years, hare's eyes, daubed nose, shrill voice, and black\nskin, stood no chance against two elegant young girls, in all the height\nand bloom of beauty; she resolved, therefore, nether to betray nor\nassist them, choosing rather to lose me entirely than entertain me for\nthem.\n\nAs Merceret had not heard from her mistress for some time, she thought\nof returning to Fribourg, and the persuasions of Giraud determined her;\nnay more, she intimated it was proper someone should conduct her to\nher father's and proposed me. As I happened to be agreeable to little\nMerceret, she approved the idea, and the same day they mentioned it to\nme as a fixed point. Finding nothing displeasing in the manner they had\ndisposed of me, I consented, thinking it could not be above a week's\njourney at most; but Giraud, who had arranged the whole affair, thought\notherwise. It was necessary to avow the state of my finances, and the\nconclusion was, that Merceret should defray my expenses; but to retrench\non one hand what was expended on the other, I advised that her little\nbaggage should be sent on before, and that we should proceed by easy\njourneys on foot.\n\nI am sorry to have so many girls in love with me, but as there is\nnothing to be very vain of in the success of these amours, I think I may\ntell the truth without scruple. Merceret, younger and less artful than\nGiraud, never made me so many advances, but she imitated my manners, my\nactions, repeated my words, and showed me all those little attentions I\nought to have had for her. Being very timorous, she took great care that\nwe should both sleep in the same chamber; a circumstance that usually\nproduces some consequences between a lad of twenty and a girl of\ntwenty-five.\n\nFor once, however, it went no further; my simplicity being such,\nthat though Merceret was by no means a disagreeable girl, an idea of\ngallantry never entered my head, and even if it had, I was too great a\nnovice to have profited by it. I could not imagine how two young persons\ncould bring themselves to sleep together, thinking that such familiarity\nmust require an age of preparation. If poor Merceret paid my expenses\nin hopes of any return, she was terribly cheated, for we arrived at\nFribourg exactly as we had quitted Annecy.\n\nI passed through Geneva without visiting any one. While going over the\nbridges, I found myself so affected that I could scarcely proceed. Never\ncould I see the walls of that city, never could I enter it, without\nfeeling my heart sink from excess of tenderness, at the same time that\nthe image of liberty elevated my soul. The ideas of equality, union, and\ngentleness of manners, touched me even to tears, and inspired me with\na lively regret at having forfeited all these advantages. What an error\nwas I in! but yet how natural! I imagined I saw all this in my native\ncountry, because I bore it in my heart.\n\nIt was necessary to pass through Nion: could I do this without seeing\nmy good father? Had I resolved on doing so, I must afterwards have died\nwith regret. I left Merceret at the inn, and ventured to his house. How\nwrong was I to fear him! On seeing me, his soul gave way to the parental\ntenderness with which it was filled. What tears were mingled with our\nembraces! He thought I was returned to him: I related my history, and\ninformed him of my resolution. He opposed it feebly, mentioning the\ndangers to which I exposed myself, and telling me the shortest follies\nwere best, but did not attempt to keep me by force, in which particular\nI think he acted right; but it is certain he did not do everything in\nhis power to detain me, even by fair means. Whether after the step I\nhad taken, he thought I ought not to return, or was puzzled at my age\nto know what to do with me--I have since found that he conceived a very\nunjust opinion of my travelling companion. My step-mother, a good woman,\na little coaxingly put on an appearance of wishing me to stay to supper;\nI did not, however, comply, but told them I proposed remaining longer\nwith them on my return; leaving as a deposit my little packet, that had\ncome by water, and would have been an incumbrance, had I taken it with\nme. I continued my journey the next morning, well satisfied that I had\nseen my father, and had taken courage to do my duty.\n\nWe arrived without any accident at Fribourg. Towards the conclusion of\nthe journey, the politeness of Mademoiselle Merceret rather diminished,\nand, after our arrival, she treated me even with coldness. Her father,\nwho was not in the best circumstances, did not show me much attention,\nand I was obliged to lodge at an alehouse. I went to see them the next\nmorning, and received an invitation to dine there, which I accepted. We\nseparated without tears at night; I returned to my paltry lodging, and\ndeparted the second day after my arrival, almost without knowing whither\nto go to.\n\nThis was a circumstance of my life in which Providence offered me\nprecisely what was necessary to make my days pass happily. Merceret was\na good girl, neither witty, handsome, nor ugly; not very lively, but\ntolerably rational, except while under the influence of some little\nhumors, which usually evaporated in tears, without any violent outbreak\nof temper. She had a real inclination for me; I might have married her\nwithout difficulty, and followed her father's business. My taste for\nmusic would have made me love her; I should have settled at Fribourg,\na small town, not pretty, but inhabited by very worthy people--I should\ncertainly have missed great pleasures, but should have lived in peace to\nmy last hour, and I must know best what I should have gained by such a\nstep.\n\nI did not return to Nion, but to Lausanne, wishing to gratify myself\nwith a view of that beautiful lake which is seen there in its utmost\nextent. The greater part of my secret motives have not been so\nreasonable. Distant expectation has rarely strength enough to influence\nmy actions; the uncertainty of the future ever making me regard projects\nwhose execution requires a length of time as deceitful lures. I give\nin to visionary scenes of hope as well as others, provided they cost\nnothing, but if attended with any trouble, I have done with them. The\nsmallest, the most trifling pleasure that is conveniently within my\nreach, tempts me more than all the joys of paradise. I must except,\nhowever, those pleasures which are necessarily followed by pain; I only\nlove those enjoyments which are unadulterated, which can never be the\ncase where we are conscious they must be followed by repentance.\n\nIt was necessary I should arrive at some place, and the nearest was\nbest; for having lost my way on the road, I found myself in the evening\nat Moudon, where I spent all that remained of my little stock except ten\ncreuzers, which served to purchase my next day's dinner. Arriving in\nthe evening at Lausanne, I went into an ale-house, without a penny in\nmy pocket to pay for my lodging, or knowing what would become of me. I\nfound myself extremely hungry--setting, therefore, a good face on the\nmatter, I ordered supper, made my meal, went to bed without thought\nand slept with great composure. In the morning, having breakfasted and\nreckoned with my host, I offered to leave my waistcoat in pledge for\nseven batz, which was the amount of my expenses. The honest man refused\nthis, saying, thank Heaven, he had never stripped any one, and would not\nnow begin for seven batz, adding I should keep my waistcoat and pay him\nwhen I could. I was affected with this unexpected kindness, but felt\nit less than I ought to have done, or have since experienced on the\nremembrance of it. I did not fail sending him his money, with thanks,\nby one I could depend on. Fifteen years after, passing Lausanne, on my\nreturn from Italy, I felt a sensible regret at having forgotten the name\nof the landlord and house. I wished to see him, and should have felt\nreal pleasure in recalling to his memory that worthy action. Services\nwhich doubtless have been much more important, but rendered with\nostentation, have not appeared to me so worthy of gratitude as the\nsimple unaffected humanity of this honest man.\n\nAs I approached Lausanne, I thought of my distress, and the means of\nextricating myself, without appearing in want to my step-mother. I\ncompared myself, in this walking pilgrimage, to my friend Venture, on\nhis arrival at Annecy, and was so warmed with the idea, that without\nrecollecting that I had neither his gentility nor his talents, I\ndetermined to act the part of little Venture at Lausanne, to teach\nmusic, which I did not understand, and say I came from Paris, where I\nhad never been.\n\nIn consequence of this noble project (as there was no company where\nI could introduce myself without expense, and not choosing to venture\namong professional people), I inquired for some little inn, where I\ncould lodge cheap, and was directed to one named Perrotet, who took\nin boarders. This Perrotet, who was one of the best men in the world,\nreceived me very kindly, and after having heard my feigned story and\nprofession, promised to speak of me, and endeavored to procure me\nscholars, saying he should not expect any money till I had earned it.\nHis price for board, though moderate in itself, was a great deal to me;\nhe advised me, therefore, to begin with half board, which consisted of\ngood soup only for dinner, but a plentiful supper at night. I closed\nwith this proposition, and the poor Perrotet trusted me with great\ncheerfulness, sparing, meantime, no trouble to be useful to me.\n\nHaving found so many good people in my youth, why do I find so few in\nmy age? Is their race extinct? No; but I do not seek them in the same\nsituation I did formerly, among the commonality, where violent passions\npredominate only at intervals, and where nature speaks her genuine\nsentiments. In more elevated stations they are entirely smothered, and\nunder the mask of sentiment, only interest or vanity is heard.\n\nHaving written to my father from Lausanne, he sent my packet and some\nexcellent advice, of which I should have profited better. I have already\nobserved that I have moments of inconceivable delirium, in which I\nam entirely out of myself. The adventure I am about to relate is an\ninstance of this: to comprehend how completely my brain was turned, and\nto what degree I had 'Venturised' (if I may be allowed the expression),\nthe many extravagances I ran into at the same time should be considered.\nBehold me, then, a singing master, without knowing how to note a common\nsong; for if the five or six months passed with Le Maitre had improved\nme, they could not be supposed sufficient to qualify me for such an\nundertaking; besides, being taught by a master was enough (as I have\nbefore observed) to make me learn ill. Being a Parisian from Geneva, and\na Catholic in a Protestant country, I thought I should change my name\nwith my religion and country, still approaching as near as possible to\nthe great model I had in view. He called himself Venture de Villeneuve.\nI changed, by anagram, the name Rousseau into that of Vaussore, calling\nmyself Monsieur Vaussore de Villeneuve. Venture was a good composer,\nthough he had not said so; without knowing anything of the art, I\nboasted of my skill to every one. This was not all: being presented to\nMonsieur de Freytorens, professor of law, who loved music, and who gave\nconcerts at his house, nothing would do but I must give him a proof\nof my talents, and accordingly I set about composing a piece for his\nconcerts, as boldly as if I had really understood the science. I had\nthe constancy to labor a fortnight at this curious business, to copy it\nfair, write out the different parts, and distribute them with as much\nassurance as if they had been masterpieces of harmony; in short (what\nwill hardly be believed, though strictly true), I tacked a very pretty\nminuet to the end of it, that was commonly played about the streets, and\nwhich many may remember from these words, so well known at that time:\n\n                         Quel caprice!\n                         Quelle injustice!\n                         Quoi! ta Clarice\n                         Trahirait tes feux!  &'c.\n\nVenture had taught me this air with the bass, set to other words, by the\nhelp of which I had retained it: thus at the end of my composition, I\nput this minuet and bass, suppressing the words, and uttering it for my\nown as confidently as if I had been speaking to the inhabitants of\nthe moon. They assembled to perform my piece; I explain to each the\nmovement, taste of execution, and references to his part--I was fully\noccupied. They were five or six minutes preparing, which were for me so\nmany ages: at length, everything is adjusted, myself in a conspicuous\nsituation, a fine roll of paper in my hand, gravely preparing to beat\ntime. I gave four or five strokes with my paper, attending with \"take\ncare!\" they begin--No, never since French operas existed was there such\na confused discord! The minuet, however, presently put all the company\nin good humor; hardly was it begun, before I heard bursts of laughter\nfrom all parts, every one congratulated me on my pretty taste for music,\ndeclaring this minuet would make me spoken of, and that I merited the\nloudest praise. It is not necessary to describe my uneasiness, or to own\nhow much I deserved it.\n\nNext day, one of the musicians, named Lutold, came to see me and was\nkind enough to congratulate me on my success. The profound conviction\nof my folly, shame, regret, and the state of despair to which I was\nreduced, with the impossibility of concealing the cruel agitation of my\nheart, made me open it to him; giving, therefore, a loose to my tears,\nnot content with owning my ignorance, I told all, conjuring him to\nsecrecy; he kept his word, as every one will suppose. The same evening,\nall Lausanne knew who I was, but what is remarkable, no one seemed\nto know, not even the good Perrotet, who (notwithstanding what had\nhappened) continued to lodge and board me.\n\nI led a melancholy life here; the consequences of such an essay had not\nrendered Lausanne a very agreeable residence. Scholars did not present\nthemselves in crowds, not a single female, and not a person of the city.\nI had only two or three great dunces, as stupid as I was ignorant, who\nfatigued me to death, and in my hands were not likely to edify much.\n\nAt length, I was sent for to a house, where a little serpent of a girl\namused herself by showing me a parcel of music that I could not read\na note of, and which she had the malice to sing before her master, to\nteach him how it should be executed; for I was so unable to read an air\nat first sight, that in the charming concert I have just described, I\ncould not possibly follow the execution a moment, or know whether they\nplayed truly what lay before them, and I myself had composed.\n\nIn the midst of so many humiliating circumstances, I had the pleasing\nconsolation, from time to time, of receiving letters from my two\ncharming friends. I have ever found the utmost consolatory virtue in the\nfair; when in disgrace, nothing softens my affliction more than to be\nsensible that an amiable woman is interested for me. This correspondence\nceased soon after, and was never renewed: indeed it was my own fault,\nfor in changing situations I neglected sending my address, and forced by\nnecessity to think perpetually of myself, I soon forgot them.\n\nIt is a long time since I mentioned Madam de Warens, but it should not\nbe supposed I had forgotten her; never was she a moment absent from my\nthoughts. I anxiously wished to find her, not merely because she\nwas necessary to my subsistence, but because she was infinitely more\nnecessary to my heart. My attachment to her (though lively and tender,\nas it really was) did not prevent my loving others, but then it was not\nin the same manner. All equally claimed my tenderness for their charms,\nbut it was those charms alone I loved, my passion would not have\nsurvived them, while Madam de Warens might have become old or ugly\nwithout my loving her the less tenderly. My heart had entirely\ntransmitted to herself the homage it first paid to her beauty, and\nwhatever change she might experience, while she remained herself, my\nsentiments could not change. I was sensible how much gratitude I owed to\nher, but in truth, I never thought of it, and whether she served me or\nnot, it would ever have been the same thing. I loved her neither from\nduty, interest, nor convenience; I loved her because I was born to love\nher. During my attachment to another, I own this affection was in some\nmeasure deranged; I did not think so frequently of her, but still with\nthe same pleasure, and never, in love or otherwise, did I think of her\nwithout feeling that I could expect no true happiness in life while in a\nstate of separation.\n\nThough in so long a time I had received no news from Madam de Warens, I\nnever imagined I had entirely lost her, or that she could have forgotten\nme. I said to myself, she will know sooner or later that I am wandering\nabout, and will find some means to inform me of her situation: I am\ncertain I shall find her. In the meantime, it was a pleasure to live\nin her native country, to walk in the streets where she had walked, and\nbefore the houses that she had lived in; yet all this was the work\nof conjecture, for one of my foolish peculiarities was, not daring to\ninquire after her, or even pronounce her name without the most absolute\nnecessity. It seemed in speaking of her that I declared all I felt, that\nmy lips revealed the secrets of my heart, and in some degree injured the\nobject of my affection. I believe fear was likewise mingled with this\nidea; I dreaded to hear ill of her. Her management had been much\nspoken of, and some little of her conduct in other respects; fearing,\ntherefore, that something might be said which I did not wish to hear, I\npreferred being silent on the subject.\n\nAs my scholars did not take up much of my time, and the town where she\nwas born was not above four leagues from Lausanne, I made it a walk of\nthree or four days; during which time a most pleasant emotion never left\nme. A view of the lake of Geneva and its admirable banks, had ever, in\nmy idea, a particular attraction which I cannot describe; not arising\nmerely from the beauty of the prospect, but something else, I know not\nwhy, more interesting, which affects and softens me. Every time I have\napproached the Vaudois country I have experienced an impression composed\nof the remembrance of Madam de Warens, who was born there; of my father,\nwho lived there; of Miss Vulson, who had been my first love, and of\nseveral pleasant journeys I had made there in my childhood, mingled with\nsome nameless charm, more powerfully attractive than all the rest. When\nthat ardent desire for a life of happiness and tranquility (which ever\nfollows me, and for which I was born) inflames my mind, 'tis ever to\nthe country of Vaud, near the lake, in those charming plains, that\nimagination leads me. An orchard on the banks of that lake, and no\nother, is absolutely necessary; a firm friend, an amiable woman, a cow,\nand a little boat; nor could I enjoy perfect happiness on earth without\nthese concomitants. I laugh at the simplicity with which I have several\ntimes gone into that country for the sole purpose of seeking this\nimaginary happiness when I was ever surprised to find the inhabitants,\nparticularly the women, of a quite different disposition to what I\nsought. How strange did this appear to me! The country and people who\ninhabit it, were never, in my idea, formed for each other.\n\nWalking along these beautiful banks, on my way to Vevay, I gave myself\nup to the soft melancholy; my heart rushed with ardor into a thousand\ninnocent felicities; melting to tenderness, I sighed and wept like a\nchild. How often, stopping to weep more at my ease, and seated on a\nlarge stone, did I amuse myself with seeing my tears drop into the\nwater.\n\nOn my arrival at Vevay, I lodged at the Key, and during the two days\nI remained there, without any acquaintance, conceived a love for that\ncity, which has followed me through all my travels, and was finally the\ncause that I fixed on this spot, in the novel I afterwards wrote, for\nthe residence of my hero and heroines. I would say to any one who has\ntaste and feeling, go to Vevay, visit the surrounding country, examine\nthe prospects, go on the lake and then say, whether nature has not\ndesigned this country for a Julia, a Clara, and a St. Preux; but do not\nseek them there. I now return to my story.\n\nGiving myself out for a Catholic, I followed without mystery or scruple\nthe religion I had embraced. On a Sunday, if the weather was fine, I\nwent to hear mass at Assans, a place two leagues distant from Lausanne,\nand generally in company with other Catholics, particularly a Parisian\nembroiderer, whose name I have forgotten. Not such a Parisian as myself,\nbut a real native of Paris, an arch-Parisian from his maker, yet honest\nas a peasant. He loved his country so well, that he would not doubt my\nbeing his countryman, for fear he should not have so much occasion to\nspeak of it. The lieutenant-governor, M. de Crouzas, had a gardener, who\nwas likewise from Paris, but not so complaisant; he thought the glory\nof his country concerned, when any one claimed that honor who was not\nreally entitled to it; he put questions to me, therefore, with an air\nand tone, as if certain to detect me in a falsehood, and once, smiling\nmalignantly, asked what was remarkable in the 'Marcheneuf'? It may be\nsupposed I asked the question; but I have since passed twenty years at\nParis, and certainly know that city, yet was the same question repeated\nat this day, I should be equally embarrassed to answer it, and from this\nembarrassment it might be concluded I had never been there: thus,\neven when we meet with truths, we are subject to build our opinions on\ncircumstances, which may easily deceive us.\n\nI formed no ideas, while at Lausanne, that were worth recollecting,\nnor can I say exactly how long I remained there; I only know that not\nfinding sufficient to subsist on, I went from thence to Neuchatel, where\nI passed the winter. Here I succeeded better, I got some scholars, and\nsaved enough to pay my good friend Perrotet, who had faithfully sent my\nbaggage, though at that time I was considerably in his debt.\n\nBy continuing to teach music, I insensibly gained some knowledge of it.\nThe life I led was sufficiently agreeable, and any reasonable man might\nhave been satisfied, but my unsettled heart demanded something more. On\nSundays, or whenever I had leisure, I wandered, sighing and thoughtful,\nabout the adjoining woods, and when once out of the city never\nreturned before night. One day, being at Boudry, I went to dine at\na public-house, where I saw a man with a long beard, dressed in a\nviolet-colored Grecian habit, with a fur cap, and whose air and manner\nwere rather noble. This person found some difficulty in making himself\nunderstood, speaking only an unintelligible jargon, which bore more\nresemblance to Italian than any other language. I understood almost all\nhe said, and I was the only person present who could do so, for he was\nobliged to make his request known to the landlord and others about him\nby signs. On my speaking a few words in Italian, which he perfectly\nunderstood, he got up and embraced me with rapture; a connection was\nsoon formed, and from that moment, I became his interpreter. His\ndinner was excellent, mine rather worse than indifferent, he gave me\nan invitation to dine with him, which I accepted without much ceremony.\nDrinking and chatting soon rendered us familiar, and by the end of the\nrepast we had all the disposition in the world to become inseparable\ncompanions. He informed me he was a Greek prelate, and 'Archimandrite'\nof Jerusalem; that he had undertaken to make a gathering in Europe for\nthe reestablishment of the Holy Sepulchre, and showed me some very fine\npatents from the czarina, the emperor, and several other sovereigns. He\nwas tolerably content with what he had collected hitherto, though he had\nexperienced inconceivable difficulties in Germany; for not understanding\na word of German, Latin, or French, he had been obliged to have recourse\nto his Greek, Turkish Lingua Franca, which did not procure him much in\nthe country he was travelling through; his proposal, therefore, to\nme was, that I should accompany him in the quality of secretary and\ninterpreter. In spite of my violet-colored coat, which accorded\nwell enough with the proposed employment, he guessed from my meagre\nappearance, that I should easily be gained; and he was not mistaken. The\nbargain was soon made, I demanded nothing, and he promised liberally;\nthus, without any security or knowledge of the person I was about to\nserve, I gave myself up entirely to his conduct, and the next day behold\nme on an expedition to Jerusalem.\n\nWe began our expedition unsuccessfully by the canton of Fribourg.\nEpiscopal dignity would not suffer him to play the beggar, or solicit\nhelp from private individuals; but we presented his commission to the\nSenate, who gave him a trifling sum. From thence we went to Berne, where\nwe lodged at the Falcon, then a good inn, and frequented by respectable\ncompany; the public table being well supplied and numerously attended. I\nhad fared indifferently so long, that I was glad to make myself amends,\ntherefore took care to profit by the present occasion. My lord, the\nArchimandrite, was himself an excellent companion, loved good cheer, was\ngay, spoke well for those who understood him, and knew perfectly well\nhow to make the most of his Grecian erudition. One day, at dessert while\ncracking nuts, he cut his finger pretty deeply, and as it bled freely\nshowed it to the company, saying with a laugh, \"Mirate, signori; questo\na sangue Pelasgo.\"\n\nAt Berne, I was not useless to him, nor was my performance so bad as\nI had feared: I certainly spoke better and with more confidence than\nI could have done for myself. Matters were not conducted here with\nthe same simplicity as at Fribourg; long and frequent conferences were\nnecessary with the Premiers of the State, and the examination of his\ntitles was not the work of a day; at length, everything being adjusted,\nhe was admitted to an audience by the Senate; I entered with him as\ninterpreter, and was ordered to speak. I expected nothing less, for it\nnever entered my mind, that after such long and frequent conferences\nwith the members, it was necessary to address the assembly collectively,\nas if nothing had been said. Judge my embarrassment!--a man so bashful\nto speak, not only in public, but before the whole of the Senate of\nBerne! to speak impromptu, without a single moment for recollection;\nit was enough to annihilate me--I was not even intimidated. I described\ndistinctly and clearly the commission of the Archimandrite; extolled\nthe piety of those princes who had contributed, and to heighten that of\ntheir excellencies by emulation, added that less could not be expected\nfrom their well-known munificence; then, endeavoring to prove that this\ngood work was equally interesting to all Christians, without distinction\nof sect; and concluded by promising the benediction of Heaven to all\nthose who took part in it. I will not say that my discourse was the\ncause of our success, but it was certainly well received; and on our\nquitting the Archimandrite was gratified by a very genteel present, to\nwhich some very handsome compliments were added on the understanding\nof his secretary; these I had the agreeable office of interpreting; but\ncould not take courage to render them literally.\n\nThis was the only time in my life that I spoke in public, and before\na sovereign; and the only time, perhaps, that I spoke boldly and well.\nWhat difference in the disposition of the same person. Three years ago,\nhaving been to see my old friend, M. Roguin, at Yverdon, I received a\ndeputation to thank me for some books I had presented to the library of\nthat city; the Swiss are great speakers; these gentlemen, accordingly,\nmade me a long harangue, which I thought myself obliged in honor to\nanswer, but so embarrassed myself in the attempt, that my head became\nconfused, I stopped short, and was laughed at. Though naturally timid,\nI have sometimes acted with confidence in my youth, but never in my\nadvanced age: the more I have seen of the world the less I have been\nable to adapt its manners.\n\nOn leaving Berne, we went to Soleurre: the Archimandrite designing\nto re-enter Germany, and return through Hungary or Poland to his own\ncountry. This would have been a prodigious tour; but as the contents of\nhis purse rather increased than diminished during his journey, he was in\nno haste to return. For me, who was almost as much pleased on horseback\nas on foot, I would have desired no better than to have travelled thus\nduring my whole life; but it was pre-ordained that my journey should\nsoon end.\n\nThe first thing we did after our arrival at Soleurre, was to pay our\nrespects to the French ambassador there. Unfortunately for my bishop,\nthis chanced to be the Marquis de Bonac, who had been ambassador at the\nPorte, and was acquainted with every particular relative to the Holy\nSepulchre. The Archimandrite had an audience that lasted about a quarter\nof an hour, to which I was not admitted, as the ambassador spoke French\nand Italian at least as well as myself. On my Grecian's retiring, I was\nprepared to follow him, but was detained: it was now my turn. Having\ncalled myself a Parisian, as such, I was under the jurisdiction of his\nexcellency: he therefore asked me who I was? exhorting me to tell the\ntruth; this I promised to do, but entreated a private audience, which\nwas immediately granted. The ambassador took me to his closet, and shut\nthe door; there, throwing myself at his feet, I kept my word, nor\nshould I have said less, had I promised nothing, for a continual wish\nto unbosom myself, puts my heart perpetually upon my lips. After having\ndisclosed myself without reserve to the musician Lutold, there was no\noccasion to attempt acting the mysterious with the Marquis de Bonac, who\nwas so well pleased with my little history, and the ingenuousness\nwith which I had related it, that he led me to the ambassadress, and\npresented me, with an abridgment of my recital. Madam de Bonac received\nme kindly, saying, I must not be suffered to follow that Greek monk.\nIt was accordingly resolved that I should remain at their hotel till\nsomething better could be done for me. I wished to bid adieu to my\npoor Archimandrite, for whom I had conceived an attachment, but was not\npermitted; they sent him word that I was to be detained there, and\nin quarter of an hour after, I saw my little bundle arrive. M. de la\nMartiniere, secretary of the embassy, had in a manner the care of me;\nwhile following him to the chamber appropriated to my use, he said,\n\"This apartment was occupied under the Count de Luc, by a celebrated\nman of the same name as yourself; it is in your power to succeed him in\nevery respect, and cause it to be said hereafter, Rousseau the First,\nRousseau the Second.\" This similarity which I did not then expect, would\nhave been less flattering to my wishes could I have foreseen at what\nprice I should one day purchase the distinction.\n\nWhat M. de la Martiniere had said excited my curiosity; I read the\nworks of the person whose chamber I occupied, and on the strength of the\ncompliment that had been paid me (imagining I had a taste for poetry)\nmade my first essay in a cantata in praise of Madam de Bonac. This\ninclination was not permanent, though from time to time I have composed\ntolerable verses. I think it is a good exercise to teach elegant\nturns of expression, and to write well in prose, but could never find\nattractions enough in French poetry to give entirely in to it.\n\nM. de la Martiniere wished to see my style, and asked me to write the\ndetail I had before made the ambassador; accordingly I wrote him a\nlong letter, which I have since been informed was preserved by M. de\nMarianne, who had long been attached to the Marquis de Bonac, and has\nsince succeeded M. de Martiniere as secretary to the embassy of M. de\nCourtellies.\n\nThe experience I began to acquire tended to moderate my romantic\nprojects; for example, I did not fall in love with Madam de Bonac, but\nalso felt I did not stand much chance of succeeding in the service of\nher husband. M. de la Martiniere was already in the only place that\ncould have satisfied my ambition, and M. de Marianne in expectancy:\nthus my utmost hopes could only aspire to the office of under secretary,\nwhich did not infinitely tempt me: this was the reason that when\nconsulted on the situation I should like to be placed in, I expressed a\ngreat desire to go to Paris. The ambassador readily gave in to the idea,\nwhich at least tended to disembarrass him of me. M. de Merveilleux,\ninterpreting secretary to the embassy, said, that his friend, M. Godard,\na Swiss colonel, in the service of France, wanted a person to be with\nhis nephew, who had entered very young into the service, and made\nno doubt that I should suit him. On this idea, so lightly formed, my\ndeparture was determined; and I, who saw a long journey to perform with\nParis at the end of it, was enraptured with the project. They gave me\nseveral letters, a hundred livres to defray the expenses of my journey,\naccompanied with some good advice, and thus equipped I departed.\n\nI was a fortnight making the journey, which I may reckon among the\nhappiest days of my life. I was young, in perfect health, with plenty\nof money, and the most brilliant hopes, add to this, I was on foot, and\nalone. It may appear strange, I should mention the latter circumstance\nas advantageous, if my peculiarity of temper is not already familiar\nto the reader. I was continually occupied with a variety of pleasing\nchimeras, and never did the warmth of my imagination produce more\nmagnificent ones. When offered an empty place in a carriage, or any\nperson accosted me on the road, how vexed was I to see that fortune\noverthrown, whose edifice, while walking, I had taken such pains to\nrear.\n\nFor once my ideas were all martial: I was going to live with a military\nman; nay, to become one, for it was concluded I should begin with being\na cadet. I already fancied myself in regimentals, with a fine white\nfeather nodding on my hat, and my heart was inflamed by the noble idea.\nI had some smattering of geometry and fortification; my uncle was an\nengineer; I was in a manner a soldier by inheritance. My short sight,\nindeed, presented some little obstacle, but did not by any means\ndiscourage me, as I reckoned to supply that defect by coolness and\nintrepidity. I had read, too, that Marshal Schomberg was remarkably\nshortsighted, and why might not Marshal Rousseau be the same? My\nimagination was so warm by these follies, that it presented nothing but\ntroops, ramparts, gabions, batteries, and myself in the midst of fire\nand smoke, an eyeglass in hand, commanding with the utmost tranquility.\nNotwithstanding, when the country presented a delightful prospect, when\nI saw charming groves and rivulets, the pleasing sight made me sigh with\nregret, and feel, in the midst of all this glory, that my heart was not\nformed for such havoc; and soon without knowing how, I found my thoughts\nwandering among my dear sheep-folds, renouncing forever the labor of\nMars.\n\nHow much did Paris disappoint the idea I had formed of it! The exterior\ndecorations I had seen at Turin, the beauty of the streets, the symmetry\nand regularity of the houses, contributed to this disappointment, since\nI concluded that Paris must be infinitely superior. I had figured to\nmyself a splendid city, beautiful as large, of the most commanding\naspect, whose streets were ranges of magnificent palaces, composed of\nmarble and gold. On entering the faubourg St. Marceau, I saw nothing but\ndirty stinking streets, filthy black houses, an air of slovenliness and\npoverty, beggars, carters, butchers, cries of tisane and old hats. This\nstruck me so forcibly, that all I have since seen of real magnificence\nin Paris could never erase this first impression, which has ever given\nme a particular disgust to residing in that capital; and I may say,\nthe whole time I remained there afterwards, was employed in seeking\nresources which might enable me to live at a distance from it. This is\nthe consequence of too lively imagination, which exaggerates even beyond\nthe voice of fame, and ever expects more than is told. I have heard\nParis so flatteringly described, that I pictured it like the ancient\nBabylon, which, perhaps, had I seen, I might have found equally faulty,\nand unlike that idea the account had conveyed. The same thing happened\nat the Opera-house, to which I hastened the day after my arrival! I was\nsensible of the same deficiency at Versailles! and some time after on\nviewing the sea. I am convinced this would ever be the consequence of a\ntoo flattering description of any object; for it is impossible for\nman, and difficult even for nature herself, to surpass the riches of my\nimagination.\n\nBy the reception I met with from all those to whom my letters were\naddressed, I thought my fortune was certainly made. The person who\nreceived me the least kindly was M. de Surbeck, to whom I had the\nwarmest recommendation. He had retired from the service, and lived\nphilosophically at Bagneux, where I waited on him several times without\nhis offering me even a glass of water. I was better received by Madam\nde Merveilleux, sister-in-law to the interpreter, and by his nephew, who\nwas an officer in the guards. The mother and son not only received me\nkindly, but offered me the use of their table, which favor I frequently\naccepted during my stay at Paris.\n\nMadam de Merveilleux appeared to have been handsome; her hair was of\na fine black, which, according to the old mode, she wore curled on the\ntemples. She still retained (what do not perish with a set of features)\nthe beauties of an amiable mind. She appeared satisfied with mine,\nand did all she could to render me service; but no one seconded her\nendeavors, and I was presently undeceived in the great interest they had\nseemed to take in my affairs. I must, however, do the French nation the\njustice to say, they do not so exhaust themselves with protestations, as\nsome have represented, and that those they make are usually sincere;\nbut they have a manner of appearing interested in your affairs, which is\nmore deceiving than words. The gross compliments of the Swiss can only\nimpose upon fools; the manners of the French are more seducing, and at\nthe same time so simple, that you are persuaded they do not express all\nthey mean to do for you, in order that you may be the more agreeably\nsurprised. I will say more; they are not false in their protestations,\nbeing naturally zealous to oblige, humane, benevolent, and even\n(whatever may be said to the contrary) more sincere than any other\nnation; but they are too flighty: in effect they feel the sentiments\nthey profess for you, but that sentiment flies off as instantaneously as\nit was formed. In speaking to you, their whole attention is employed on\nyou alone, when absent you are forgotten. Nothing is permanent in their\nhearts, all is the work of the moment.\n\nThus I was greatly flattered, but received little service. Colonel\nGodard, for whose nephew I was recommended, proved to be an avaricious\nold wretch, who, on seeing my distress (though he was immensely rich),\nwished to have my services for nothing, meaning to place me with his\nnephew, rather as a valet without wages than a tutor. He represented\nthat as I was to be continually engaged with him, I should be excused\nfrom duty, and might live on my cadet's allowance; that is to say, on\nthe pay of a soldier: hardly would he consent to give me a uniform,\nthinking the clothing of the army might serve. Madam de Merveilleux,\nprovoked at his proposals, persuaded me not to accept them; her son\nwas of the same opinion; something else was to be thought on, but no\nsituation was procured. Meantime, I began to be necessitated; for the\nhundred livres with which I had commenced my journey could not last\nmuch longer; happily, I received a small remittance from the ambassador,\nwhich was very serviceable, nor do I think he would have abandoned me\nhad I possessed more patience; but languishing, waiting, soliciting,\nare to me impossible: I was disheartened, displeased, and thus all my\nbrilliant expectations came once more to nothing. I had not all this\ntime forgotten my dear Madam de Warens, but how was I to find her? Where\nshould I seek her? Madam de Merveilleux, who knew my story, assisted me\nin the search, but for a long time unavailingly; at length, she informed\nme that Madam de Warens had set out from Paris about two months\nbefore, but it was not known whether for Savoy or Turin, and that some\nconjectured she was gone to Switzerland. Nothing further was necessary\nto fix my determination to follow her, certain that wherever she might\nbe, I stood more chance of finding her at those places than I could\npossibly do at Paris.\n\nBefore my departure, I exercised my new poetical talent in an epistle to\nColonel Godard, whom I ridiculed to the utmost of my abilities. I showed\nthis scribble to Madam de Merveilleux, who, instead of discouraging me,\nas she ought to have done, laughed heartily at my sarcasms, as well\nas her son, who, I believe, did not like M. Godard; indeed, it must\nbe confessed, he was a man not calculated to obtain affection. I was\ntempted to send him my verses, and they encouraged me in it; accordingly\nI made them up in a parcel directed to him, and there being no post then\nat Paris by which I could conveniently send this, I put it in my pocket,\nand sent it to him from Auxerre, as I passed through that place. I\nlaugh, even yet, sometimes, at the grimaces I fancy he made on reading\nthis panegyric, where he was certainly drawn to the life; it began thus:\n\n          Tu croyois, vieux Penard, qu' une folle manie\n          D' elever ton neveu m'inspireroit l'envie.\n\nThis little piece, which, it is true, was but indifferently written;\ndid not want for salt, and announced a turn for satire; it is,\nnotwithstanding, the only satirical writing that ever came from my pen.\nI have too little hatred in my heart to take advantage of such a talent;\nbut I believe it may be judged from those controversies, in which from\ntime to time I have been engaged in my own defence, that had I been of\na vindictive disposition, my adversaries would rarely have had the\nlaughter on their side.\n\nWhat I most regret, is not having kept a journal of my travels, being\nconscious that a number of interesting details have slipped my memory;\nfor never did I exist so completely, never live so thoroughly, never was\nso much myself, if I dare use the expression, as in those journeys made\non foot. Walking animates and enlivens my spirits; I can hardly think\nwhen in a state of inactivity; my body must be exercised to make my\njudgment active. The view of a fine country, a succession of agreeable\nprospects, a free air, a good appetite, and the health I gained by\nwalking; the freedom of inns, and the distance from everything that can\nmake me recollect the dependence of my situation, conspire to free my\nsoul, and give boldness to my thoughts, throwing me, in a manner, into\nthe immensity of beings, where I combine, choose and appropriate them\nto my fancy, without constraint or fear. I dispose of all nature as\nI please; my heart wandering from object to object, approximates and\nunites with those that please it, is surrounded by charming images, and\nbecomes intoxicated with delicious sensations. If, attempting to render\nthese permanent, I am amused in describing to myself, what glow of\ncoloring, what energy of expression, do I give them!--It has been\nsaid, that all these are to be found in my works, though written in the\ndecline of life. Oh! had those of my early youth been seen, those made\nduring my travels, composed, but never written!--Why did I not write\nthem? will be asked; and why should I have written them? I may answer.\nWhy deprive myself of the actual charm of my enjoyments to inform others\nwhat I enjoyed? What to me were readers, the public, or all the world,\nwhile I was mounting the empyrean. Besides, did I carry pens, paper\nand ink with me? Had I recollected all these, not a thought would have\noccurred worth preserving. I do not foresee when I shall have ideas;\nthey come when they please, and not when I call for them; either they\navoid me altogether, or rushing in crowds, overwhelm me with their force\nand number. Ten volumes a day would not suffice barely to enumerate\nmy thoughts; how then should I find time to write them? In stopping, I\nthought of nothing but a hearty dinner; on departing, of nothing but a\ncharming walk; I felt that a new paradise awaited me at the door, and\neagerly leaped forward to enjoy it.\n\nNever did I experience this so feelingly as in the perambulation I am\nnow describing. On coming to Paris, I had confined myself to ideas which\nrelated to the situation I expected to occupy there. I had rushed\ninto the career I was about to run, and should have completed it with\ntolerable eclat, but it was not that my heart adhered to. Some real\nbeings obscured my imagined ones--Colonel Godard and his nephew could\nnot keep pace with a hero of my disposition. Thank Heaven, I was soon\ndelivered from all these obstacles, and could enter at pleasure into\nthe wilderness of chimeras, for that alone remained before me, and I\nwandered in it so completely that I several times lost my way; but this\nwas no misfortune, I would not have shortened it, for, feeling with\nregret, as I approached Lyons, that I must again return to the material\nworld, I should have been glad never to have arrived there.\n\nOne day, among others, having purposely gone out of my way to take a\nnearer view of a spot that appeared delightful, I was so charmed with\nit, and wandered round it so often, that at length I completely lost\nmyself, and after several hours' useless walking, weary, fainting with\nhunger and thirst, I entered a peasant's hut, which had not indeed a\nvery promising appearance, but was the only one I could discover near\nme. I thought it was here, as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where\nthe inhabitants, living at ease, have it in their power to exercise\nhospitality. I entreated the countryman to give me some dinner, offering\nto pay for it: on which he presented me with some skimmed milk and\ncoarse barley-bread, saying it was all he had. I drank the milk\nwith pleasure, and ate the bread, chaff and all; but it was not very\nrestorative to a man sinking with fatigue. The countryman, who watched\nme narrowly, judged the truth of my story by my appetite, and presently\n(after having said that he plainly saw I was an honest, good-natured\nyoung man, and did not come to betray him) opened a little trap door by\nthe side of his kitchen, went down, and returned a moment after with a\ngood brown loaf of pure wheat, the remains of a well-flavored ham, and\na bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced my heart more than all the\nrest: he then prepared a good thick omelet, and I made such a dinner as\nnone but a walking traveller ever enjoyed.\n\nWhen I again offered to pay, his inquietude and fears returned; he not\nonly would have no money, but refused it with the most evident emotion;\nand what made this scene more amusing, I could not imagine the motive\nof his fear. At length, he pronounced tremblingly those terrible words,\n\"Commissioners,\" and \"Cellar-rats,\" which he explained by giving me to\nunderstand that he concealed his wine because of the excise, and his\nbread on account of the tax imposed on it; adding, he should be an\nundone man, if it was suspected he was not almost perishing with want.\nWhat he said to me on this subject (of which I had not the smallest\nidea) made an impression on my mind that can never be effaced, sowing\nseeds of that inextinguishable hatred which has since grown up in my\nheart against the vexations these unhappy people suffer, and against\ntheir oppressors. This man, though in easy circumstances, dare not\neat the bread gained by the sweat of his brow, and could only escape\ndestruction by exhibiting an outward appearance of misery!--I left his\ncottage with as much indignation as concern, deploring the fate of those\nbeautiful countries, where nature has been prodigal of her gifts, only\nthat they may become the prey of barbarous exactors.\n\nThe incident which I have just related, is the only one I have a\ndistinct remembrance of during this journey: I recollect, indeed, that\non approaching Lyons, I wished to prolong it by going to see the banks\nof the Lignon; for among the romances I had read with my father, Astrea\nwas not forgotten and returned more frequently to my thoughts than any\nother. Stopping for some refreshment (while chatting with my hostess),\nI inquired the way to Forez, and was informed that country was an\nexcellent place for mechanics, as there were many forges, and much iron\nwork done there. This eulogium instantly calmed my romantic curiosity,\nfor I felt no inclination to seek Dianas and Sylvanders among a\ngeneration of blacksmiths. The good woman who encouraged me with this\npiece of information certainly thought I was a journeyman locksmith.\n\nI had some view in going to Lyons: on my arrival, I went to the\nChasattes, to see Mademoiselle du Chatelet, a friend of Madam de Warens,\nfor whom I had brought a letter when I came there with M. le Maitre,\nso that it was an acquaintance already formed. Mademoiselle du Chatelet\ninformed me her friend had passed through Lyons, but could not tell\nwhether she had gone on to Piedmont, being uncertain at her departure\nwhether it would not be necessary to stop in Savoy; but if I choose, she\nwould immediately write for information, and thought my best plan would\nbe to remain at Lyons till she received it. I accepted this offer; but\ndid not tell Mademoiselle du Chatelet how much I was pressed for an\nanswer, and that my exhausted purse would not permit me to wait long. It\nwas not an appearance of coolness that withheld me, on the contrary, I\nwas very kindly received, treated on the footing of equality, and this\ntook from me the resolution of explaining my circumstances, for I could\nnot bear to descend from a companion to a miserable beggar.\n\nI seem to have retained a very connecting remembrance of that part of\nmy life contained in this book; yet I think I remember, about the same\nperiod, another journey to Lyons, (the particulars of which I cannot\nrecollect) where I found myself much straitened, and a confused\nremembrance of the extremities to which I was reduced does not\ncontribute to recall the idea agreeably. Had I been like many others,\nhad I possessed the talent of borrowing and running in debt at\nevery ale-house I came to, I might have fared better; but in that my\nincapacity equalled my repugnance, and to demonstrate the prevalence of\nboth, it will be sufficient to say, that though I have passed almost my\nwhole life in indifferent circumstances, and frequently have been near\nwanting bread, I was never once asked for money by a creditor without\nhaving it in my power to pay it instantly; I could never bear to\ncontract clamorous debts, and have ever preferred suffering to owing.\n\nBeing reduced to pass my nights in the streets, may certainly be\ncalled suffering, and this was several times the case at Lyons, having\npreferred buying bread with the few pence I had remaining, to bestowing\nthem on a lodging; as I was convinced there was less danger of dying for\nwant of sleep than of hunger. What is astonishing, while in this\nunhappy situation, I took no care for the future, was neither uneasy nor\nmelancholy, but patiently waited an answer to Mademoiselle du Chatelet's\nletter, and lying in the open air, stretched on the earth, or on a\nbench, slept as soundly as if reposing on a bed of roses. I remember,\nparticularly, to have passed a most delightful night at some distance\nfrom the city, in a road which had the Rhone, or Soane, I cannot\nrecollect which, on the one side, and a range of raised gardens, with\nterraces, on the other. It had been a very hot day, the evening was\ndelightful, the dew moistened the fading grass, no wind was stirring,\nthe air was fresh without chillness, the setting sun had tinged the\nclouds with a beautiful crimson, which was again reflected by the water,\nand the trees that bordered the terrace were filled with nightingales\nwho were continually answering each other's songs. I walked along in a\nkind of ecstasy, giving up my heart and senses to the enjoyment of so\nmany delights, and sighing only from a regret of enjoying them alone.\nAbsorbed in this pleasing reverie, I lengthened my walk till it grew\nvery late, without perceiving I was tired; at length, however, I\ndiscovered it, and threw myself on the step of a kind of niche, or false\ndoor, in the terrace wall. How charming was the couch! the trees formed\na stately canopy, a nightingale sat directly over me, and with his soft\nnotes lulled me to rest: how pleasing my repose; my awaking more so. It\nwas broad day; on opening my eyes I saw the water, the verdure, and\nthe admirable landscape before me. I arose, shook off the remains\nof drowsiness, and finding I was hungry, retook the way to the city,\nresolving, with inexpressible gayety, to spend the two pieces of six\nfrancs I had yet remaining in a good breakfast. I found myself so\ncheerful that I went all the way singing; I even remember I sang a\ncantata of Batistin's called the Baths of Thomery, which I knew by\nheart. May a blessing light on the good Batistin and his good cantata,\nwhich procured me a better breakfast than I had expected, and a still\nbetter dinner which I did not expect at all! In the midst of my singing,\nI heard some one behind me, and turning round perceived an Antonine, who\nfollowed after and seemed to listen with pleasure to my song. At length\naccosting me, he asked, If I understood music. I answered, \"A little,\"\nbut in a manner to have it understood I knew a great deal, and as he\ncontinued questioning of me, related a part of my story. He asked me,\nIf I had ever copied music? I replied, \"Often,\" which was true: I had\nlearned most by copying. \"Well,\" continued he, \"come with me, I can\nemploy you for a few days, during which time you shall want for nothing;\nprovided you consent not to quit my room.\" I acquiesced very willingly,\nand followed him.\n\nThis Antonine was called M. Rotichon; he loved music, understood it, and\nsang in some little concerts with his friends; thus far all was innocent\nand right, but apparently this taste had become a furor, part of which\nhe was obliged to conceal. He conducted me into a chamber, where I found\na great quantity of music: he gave me some to copy, particularly the\ncantata he had heard me singing, and which he was shortly to sing\nhimself.\n\nI remained here three or four days, copying all the time I did not eat,\nfor never in my life was I so hungry, or better fed. M. Rolichon brought\nmy provisions himself from the kitchen, and it appeared that these good\npriests lived well, at least if every one fared as I did. In my life, I\nnever took such pleasure in eating, and it must be owned this good cheer\ncame very opportunely, for I was almost exhausted. I worked as heartily\nas I ate, which is saying a great deal; 'tis true I was not as correct\nas diligent, for some days after, meeting M. Rolichon in the street,\nhe informed me there were so many omissions, repetitions, and\ntranspositions, in the parts I had copied, that they could not be\nperformed. It must be owned, that in choosing the profession of music,\nI hit on that I was least calculated for; yet my voice was good and I\ncopied neatly; but the fatigue of long works bewilders me so much, that\nI spend more time in altering and scratching out than in pricking down,\nand if I do not employ the strictest attention in comparing the several\nparts, they are sure to fail in the execution. Thus, through endeavoring\nto do well, my performance was very faulty; for aiming at expedition, I\ndid all amiss. This did not prevent M. Rolichon from treating me well to\nthe last, and giving me half-a-crown at my departure, which I certainly\ndid not deserve, and which completely set me up, for a few days after I\nreceived news from Madam de Warens, who was at Chambery, with money\nto defray the expenses of my journey to her, which I performed with\nrapture. Since then my finances have frequently been very low, but never\nat such an ebb as to reduce me to fasting, and I mark this period with a\nheart fully alive to the bounty of Providence, as the last of my life in\nwhich I sustained poverty and hunger.\n\nI remained at Lyons seven or eight days to wait for some little\ncommissions with which Madam de Warens had charged Mademoiselle du\nChatelet, who during this interval I visited more assiduously than\nbefore, having the pleasure of talking with her of her friend, and being\nno longer disturbed by the cruel remembrance of my situation, or painful\nendeavors to conceal it. Mademoiselle du Chatelet was neither young nor\nhandsome, but did not want for elegance; she was easy and obliging while\nher understanding gave price to her familiarity. She had a taste for\nthat kind of moral observation which leads to the knowledge of mankind,\nand from her originated that study in myself. She was fond of the works\nof Le Sage, particularly Gil Blas, which she lent me, and recommended to\nmy perusal. I read this performance with pleasure, but my judgment was\nnot yet ripe enough to relish that sort of reading. I liked romances\nwhich abounded with high-flown sentiments.\n\nThus did I pass my time at the grate of Mademoiselle du Chatelet, with\nas much profit as pleasure. It is certain that the interesting and\nsensible conversation of a deserving woman is more proper to form the\nunderstanding of a young man than all the pedantic philosophy of books.\nI got acquainted at the Chasattes with some other boarders and their\nfriends, and among the rest, with a young person of fourteen, called\nMademoiselle Serre, whom I did not much notice at that time, though\nI was in love with her eight or nine years afterwards, and with great\nreason, for she was a most charming girl.\n\nI was fully occupied with the idea of seeing Madam de Warens, and this\ngave some respite to my chimeras, for finding happiness in real objects\nI was the less inclined to seek it in nonentities. I had not only found\nher, but also by her means, and near her, an agreeable situation, having\nsent me word that she had procured one that would suit me, and by which\nI should not be obliged to quit her. I exhausted all my conjectures in\nguessing what this occupation could be, but I must have possessed the\nart of divination to have hit it on the right. I had money sufficient to\nmake my journey agreeable: Mademoiselle du Chatelet persuaded me to hire\na horse, but this I could not consent to, and I was certainly right,\nfor by so doing I should have lost the pleasure of the last pedestrian\nexpedition I ever made; for I cannot give that name to those excursions\nI have frequently taken about my own neighborhood, while I lived at\nMotiers.\n\nIt is very singular that my imagination never rises so high as when my\nsituation is least agreeable or cheerful. When everything smiles around\nme, I am least amused; my heart cannot confine itself to realities,\ncannot embellish, but must create. Real objects strike me as they really\nare, my imagination can only decorate ideal ones. If I would paint the\nspring, it must be in winter; if describe a beautiful landscape, it must\nbe while surrounded with walls; and I have said a hundred times, that\nwere I confined in the Bastille, I could draw the most enchanting\npicture of liberty. On my departure from Lyons, I saw nothing but an\nagreeable future, the content I now with reason enjoyed was as great\nas my discontent had been at leaving Paris, notwithstanding, I had not\nduring this journey any of those delightful reveries I then enjoyed. My\nmind was serene, and that was all; I drew near the excellent friend\nI was going to see, my heart overflowing with tenderness, enjoying in\nadvance, but without intoxication, the pleasure of living near her; I\nhad always expected this, and it was as if nothing new had happened.\nMeantime, I was anxious about the employment Madam de Warens had\nprocured me, as if that alone had been material. My ideas were calm and\npeaceable, not ravishing and celestial; every object struck my sight\nin its natural form; I observed the surrounding landscape, remarked\nthe trees, the houses, the springs, deliberated on the cross-roads, was\nfearful of losing myself, yet did not do so; in a word, I was no longer\nin the empyrean, but precisely where I found myself, or sometimes\nperhaps at the end of my journey, never farther.\n\nI am in recounting my travels, as I was in making them, loath to arrive\nat the conclusion. My heart beat with joy as I approached my dear Madam\nde Warens, but I went no faster on that account. I love to walk at\nmy ease, and stop at leisure; a strolling life is necessary to me:\ntravelling on foot, in a fine country, with fine weather and having an\nagreeable object to terminate my journey, is the manner of living of all\nothers most suited to my taste.\n\nIt is already understood what I mean by a fine country; never can a\nflat one, though ever so beautiful, appear such in my eyes: I must have\ntorrents, fir trees, black woods, mountains to climb or descend, and\nrugged roads with precipices on either side to alarm me. I experienced\nthis pleasure in its utmost extent as I approached Chambery, not far\nfrom a mountain which is called Pas de l'Echelle. Above the main road,\nwhich is hewn through the rock, a small river runs and rushes into\nfearful chasms, which it appears to have been millions of ages in\nforming. The road has been hedged by a parapet to prevent accidents,\nwhich enabled me to contemplate the whole descent, and gain vertigoes\nat pleasure; for a great part of my amusement in these steep rocks, is,\nthey cause a giddiness and swimming in my head, which I am particularly\nfond of, provided I am in safety; leaning, therefore, over the parapet,\nI remained whole hours, catching, from time to time, a glance of the\nfroth and blue water, whose rushing caught my ear, mingled with the\ncries of ravens, and other birds of prey that flew from rock to rock,\nand bush to bush, at six hundred feet below me. In places where the\nslope was tolerably regular, and clear enough from bushes to let stones\nroll freely, I went a considerable way to gather them, bringing those I\ncould but just carry, which I piled on the parapet, and then threw down\none after the other, being transported at seeing them roll, rebound,\nand fly into a thousand pieces, before they reached the bottom of the\nprecipice.\n\nNear Chambery I enjoyed an equal pleasing spectacle, though of a\ndifferent kind; the road passing near the foot of the most charming\ncascade I ever saw. The water, which is very rapid, shoots from the top\nof an excessively steep mountain, falling at such a distance from its\nbase that you may walk between the cascade and the rock without any\ninconvenience; but if not particularly careful it is easy to be deceived\nas I was, for the water, falling from such an immense height, separates,\nand descends in a rain as fine as dust, and on approaching too near this\ncloud, without perceiving it, you may be wet through in an instant.\n\nAt length I arrived at Madam de Warens; she was not alone, the\nintendant-general was with her. Without speaking a word to me, she\ncaught my hand, and presenting me to him with that natural grace which\ncharmed all hearts, said: \"This, sir, is the poor young man I mentioned;\ndeign to protect him as long as he deserves it, and I shall feel no\nconcern for the remainder of his life.\" Then added, addressing herself\nto me, \"Child, you now belong to the king, thank Monsieur the Intendant,\nwho furnishes you with the means of existence.\" I stared without\nanswering, without knowing what to think of all this; rising ambition\nalmost turned my head; I was already prepared to act the intendant\nmyself. My fortune, however, was not so brilliant as I had imagined,\nbut it was sufficient to maintain me, which, as I was situated, was a\ncapital acquisition. I shall now explain the nature of my employment.\n\nKing Victor Amadeus, judging by the event of preceding wars, and the\nsituation of the ancient patrimony of his fathers, that he should not\nlong be able to maintain it, wished to drain it beforehand. Resolving,\ntherefore, to tax the nobility, he ordered a general survey of the whole\ncountry, in order that it might be rendered more equal and productive.\nThis scheme, which was begun under the father, was completed by the son:\ntwo or three hundred men, part surveyors, who were called geometricians,\nand part writers, who were called secretaries, were employed in this\nwork: among those of the latter description Madam de Warens had got me\nappointed. This post, without being very lucrative, furnished the means\nof living eligibly in that country; the misfortune was, this employment\ncould not be of any great duration, but it put me in train to procure\nsomething better, as by this means she hoped to insure the particular\nprotection of the intendant, who might find me some more settled\noccupation before this was concluded.\n\nI entered on my new employment a few days after my arrival, and as there\nwas no great difficulty in the business, soon understood it; thus, after\nfour or five years of unsettled life, folly, and suffering, since my\ndeparture from Geneva, I began, for the first time, to gain my bread\nwith credit.\n\nThese long details of my early youth must have appeared trifling, and\nI am sorry for it: though born a man, in a variety of instances, I was\nlong a child, and am so yet in many particulars. I did not promise the\npublic a great personage: I promised to describe myself as I am, and\nto know me in my advanced age it was necessary to have known me in my\nyouth. As, in general, objects that are present make less impression\non me than the bare remembrance of them (my ideas being all from\nrecollection), the first traits which were engraven on my mind have\ndistinctly remained: those which have since been imprinted there, have\nrather combined with the former than effaced them. There is a certain,\nyet varied succession of affections and ideas, which continue to\nregulate those that follow them, and this progression must be known in\norder to judge rightly of those they have influenced. I have studied\nto develop the first causes, the better to show the concatenation of\neffects. I would be able by some means to render my soul transparent\nto the eyes of the reader, and for this purpose endeavor to show it in\nevery possible point of view, to give him every insight, and act in such\na manner, that not a motion should escape him, as by this means he may\nform a judgment of the principles that produce them.\n\nDid I take upon myself to decide, and say to the reader, \"Such is my\ncharacter,\" he might think that if I did not endeavor to deceive him, I\nat least deceived myself; but in recounting simply all that has happened\nto me, all my actions, thoughts, and feelings, I cannot lead him into an\nerror, unless I do it wilfully, which by this means I could not easily\neffect, since it is his province to compare the elements, and judge of\nthe being they compose: thus the result must be his work, and if he is\nthen deceived the error will be his own. It is not sufficient for this\npurpose that my recitals should be merely faithful, they must also be\nminute; it is not for me to judge of the importance of facts, I ought\nto declare them simply as they are, and leave the estimate that is to be\nformed of them to him. I have adhered to this principle hitherto, with\nthe most scrupulous exactitude, and shall not depart from it in the\ncontinuation; but the impressions of age are less lively than those of\nyouth; I began by delineating the latter: should I recollect the rest\nwith the same precision, the reader, may, perhaps, become weary and\nimpatient, but I shall not be dissatisfied with my labor. I have but one\nthing to apprehend in this undertaking: I do not dread saying too\nmuch, or advancing falsities, but I am fearful of not saying enough, or\nconcealing truths.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\n\n|It was, I believe, in 1732, that I arrived at Chambery, as already\nrelated, and began my employment of registering land for the king. I was\nalmost twenty-one, my mind well enough formed for my age, with respect\nto sense, but very deficient in point of judgment, and needing every\ninstruction from those into whose hands I fell, to make me conduct\nmyself with propriety; for a few years' experience had not been able to\ncure me radically of my romantic ideas; and notwithstanding the ills I\nhad sustained, I knew as little of the world, or mankind, as if I had\nnever purchased instruction. I slept at home, that is, at the house of\nMadam de Warens; but it was not as at Annecy: here were no gardens, no\nbrook, no landscape; the house was dark and dismal, and my apartment the\nmost gloomy of the whole. The prospect a dead wall, an alley instead of\na street, confined air, bad light, small rooms, iron bars, rats, and a\nrotten floor; an assemblage of circumstances that do not constitute\na very agreeable habitation; but I was in the same house with my best\nfriend, incessantly near her, at my desk, or in chamber, so that I could\nnot perceive the gloominess of my own, or have time to think of it. It\nmay appear whimsical that she should reside at Chambery on purpose to\nlive in this disagreeable house; but it was a trait of contrivance which\nI ought not to pass over in silence. She had no great inclination for\na journey to Turin, fearing that after the recent revolutions, and the\nagitation in which the court yet was, she should not be very favorably\nreceived there; but her affairs seemed to demand her presence, as she\nfeared being forgotten or ill-treated, particularly as the Count\nde Saint-Laurent, Intendent-general of the Finances, was not in her\ninterest. He had an old house in Chambery, ill-built, and standing in so\ndisagreeable a situation that it was always untenanted; she hired, and\nsettled in this house, a plan that succeeded much better than a journey\nto Turin would have done, for her pension was not suppressed, and the\nCount de Saint-Laurent was ever after one of her best friends.\n\nHer household was much on the old footing; her faithful Claude Anet\nstill remained with her. He was, as I have before mentioned, a peasant\nof Moutru, who in his childhood had gathered herbs in Jura for the\npurpose of making Swiss tea; she had taken him into her service for his\nknowledge of drugs, finding it convenient to have a herbalist among her\ndomestics. Passionately fond of the study of plants, he became a real\nbotanist, and had he not died young, might have acquired as much fame\nin that science as he deserved for being an honest man. Serious even to\ngravity, and older than myself, he was to me a kind of tutor, commanding\nrespect, and preserving me from a number of follies, for I dared not\nforget myself before him. He commanded it likewise from his mistress,\nwho knew his understanding, uprightness, and inviolable attachment to\nherself, and returned it. Claude Anet was of an uncommon temper. I\nnever encountered a similar disposition: he was slow, deliberate, and\ncircumspect in his conduct; cold in his manner; laconic and sententious\nin his discourse; yet of an impetuosity in his passions, which (though\ncareful to conceal) preyed upon him inwardly, and urged him to the\nonly folly he ever committed; that folly, indeed, was terrible, it was\npoisoning himself. This tragic scene passed soon after my arrival, and\nopened my eyes to the intimacy that subsisted between Claude Anet and\nhis mistress, for had not the information come from her, I should never\nhave suspected it; yet, surely, if attachment, fidelity, and zeal, could\nmerit such a recompense, it was due to him, and what further proves him\nworthy such a distinction, he never once abused her confidence. They\nseldom disputed, and their disagreements ever ended amicably; one,\nindeed, was not so fortunate; his mistress, in a passion, said something\naffronting, which not being able to digest, he consulted only with\ndespair, and finding a bottle of laudanum at hand, drank it off; then\nwent peaceably to bed, expecting to awake no more. Madam de\nWarens herself was uneasy, agitated, wandering about the house and\nhappily--finding the phial empty--guessed the rest. Her screams, while\nflying to his assistance, alarmed me; she confessed all, implored my\nhelp, and was fortunate enough, after repeated efforts, to make him\nthrow up the laudanum. Witness of this scene, I could not but wonder at\nmy stupidity in never having suspected the connection; but Claude\nAnet was so discreet, that a more penetrating observer might have been\ndeceived. Their reconciliation affected me, and added respect to the\nesteem I before felt for him. From this time I became, in some measure,\nhis pupil, nor did I find myself the worse for his instruction.\n\nI could not learn, without pain, that she lived in greater intimacy with\nanother than with myself: it was a situation I had not even thought of,\nbut (which was very natural) it hurt me to see another in possession of\nit. Nevertheless, instead of feeling any aversion to the person who had\nthis advantage over me, I found the attachment I felt for her actually\nextend to him. I desired her happiness above all things, and since he\nwas concerned in her plan of felicity, I was content he should be happy\nlikewise. Meantime he perfectly entered into the views of his mistress;\nconceived a sincere friendship for me, and without affecting the\nauthority his situation might have entitled him to, he naturally\npossessed that which his superior judgment gave him over mine. I dared\ndo nothing he disproved of, but he was sure to disapprove only what\nmerited disapprobation: thus we lived in an union which rendered us\nmutually happy, and which death alone could dissolve.\n\nOne proof of the excellence of this amiable woman's character, is, that\nall those who loved her, loved each other; even jealousy and rivalship\nsubmitting to the more powerful sentiment with which she inspired them,\nand I never saw any of those who surrounded her entertain the least ill\nwill among themselves. Let the reader pause a moment on this encomium,\nand if he can recollect any other woman who deserves it, let him attach\nhimself to her, if he would obtain happiness.\n\nFrom my arrival at Chambery to my departure for Paris, 1741, included an\ninterval of eight or nine years, during which time I have few adventures\nto relate; my life being as simple as it was agreeable. This uniformity\nwas precisely what was most wanting to complete the formation of my\ncharacter, which continual troubles had prevented from acquiring any\ndegree of stability. It was during this pleasing interval, that my\nunconnected, unfinished education, gained consistence, and made me what\nI have unalterably remained amid the storms with which I have since been\nsurrounded.\n\nThe progress was slow, almost imperceptible, and attended by\nfew memorable circumstances; yet it deserves to be followed and\ninvestigated.\n\nAt first, I was wholly occupied with my business, the constraint of a\ndesk left little opportunity for other thoughts, the small portion of\ntime I was at liberty was passed with my dear Madam de Warens, and\nnot having leisure to read, I felt no inclination for it; but when my\nbusiness (by daily repetition) became familiar, and my mind was less\noccupied, study again became necessary, and (as my desires were ever\nirritated by any difficulty that opposed the indulgence of them) might\nonce more have become a passion, as at my master's, had not other\ninclinations interposed and diverted it.\n\nThough our occupation did not demand a very profound skill in\narithmetic, it sometimes required enough to puzzle me. To conquer this\ndifficulty, I purchased books which treated on that science, and learned\nwell, for I now studied alone. Practical arithmetic extends further\nthan is usually supposed if you would attain exact precision. There\nare operations of extreme length in which I have sometimes seen good\ngeometricians lose themselves. Reflection, assisted by practice, gives\nclear ideas, and enables you to devise shorter methods, these inventions\nflatter our self-complacency, while their exactitude satisfies our\nunderstanding, and renders a study pleasant, which is, of itself, heavy\nand unentertaining. At length I became so expert as not to be puzzled\nby any question that was solvable by arithmetical calculation; and even\nnow, while everything I formerly knew fades daily on my memory, this\nacquirement, in a great measure remains, through an interval of thirty\nyears. A few days ago, in a journey I made to Davenport, being with my\nhost at an arithmetical lesson given his children, I did (with pleasure,\nand without errors) a most complicated work. While setting down\nmy figures, methought I was still at Chambery, still in my days of\nhappiness--how far had I to look back for them!\n\nThe colored plans of our geometricians had given me a taste for drawing:\naccordingly I bought colors, and began by attempting flowers and\nlandscapes. It was unfortunate that I had not talents for this art,\nfor my inclination was much disposed to it, and while surrounded with\ncrayons, pencils, and colors, I could have passed whole months without\nwishing to leave them. This amusement engaged me so much that they were\nobliged to force me from it; and thus it is with every inclination\nI give into, it continues to augment, till at length it becomes so\npowerful, that I lose sight of everything except the favorite amusement.\nYears have not been able to cure me of that fault, nay, have not even\ndiminished it; for while I am writing this, behold me, like an old\ndotard, infatuated with another, to me useless study, which I do not\nunderstand, and which even those who have devoted their youthful days\nto the acquisition of, are constrained to abandon, at the age I am\nbeginning with it.\n\nAt that time, the study I am now speaking of would have been well\nplaced, the opportunity was good, and I had some temptation to profit\nby it; for the satisfaction I saw in the eyes of Anet, when he came\nhome loaded with new discovered plants, set me two or three times on the\npoint of going to herbalize with him, and I am almost certain that had I\ngone once, I should have been caught, and perhaps at this day might have\nbeen an excellent botanist, for I know no study more congenial to my\nnatural inclination, than that of plants; the life I have led for these\nten years past, in the country, being little more than a continual\nherbalizing, though I must confess, without object, and without\nimprovement; but at the time I am now speaking of I had no inclination\nfor botany, nay, I even despised, and was disgusted at the idea,\nconsidering it only as a fit study for an apothecary. Madam de Warens\nwas fond of it merely for this purpose, seeking none but common plants\nto use in her medical preparations; thus botany, chemistry, and anatomy\nwere confounded in my idea under the general denomination of medicine,\nand served to furnish me with pleasant sarcasms the whole day, which\nprocured me, from time to time, a box on the ear, applied by Madam de\nWarens. Besides this, a very contrary taste grew up with me, and by\ndegrees absorbed all others; this was music. I was certainly born\nfor that science, I loved it from my infancy, and it was the only\ninclination I have constantly adhered to; but it is astonishing that\nwhat nature seemed to have designed me for should have cost so much\npains to learn, and that I should acquire it so slowly, that after a\nwhole life spent in the practice of this art, I could never attain to\nsing with any certainty at sight. What rendered the study of music more\nagreeable to me at that time, was, being able to practise it with Madam\nde Warens. In other respects our tastes were widely different: this was\na point of coincidence, which I loved to avail myself of. She had no\nmore objection to this than myself. I knew at that time almost as much\nof it as she did, and after two or three efforts, we could make shift to\ndecipher an air. Sometimes, when I saw her busy at her furnace, I\nhave said, \"Here now is a charming duet, which seems made for the very\npurpose of spoiling your drugs;\" her answer would be, \"If you make me\nburn them, I'll make you eat them:\" thus disputing, I drew her to the\nharpsichord; the furnace was presently forgotten, the extract of juniper\nor wormwood calcined (which I cannot recollect without transport), and\nthese scenes usually ended by her smearing my face with the remains of\nthem.\n\nIt may easily be conjectured that I had plenty of employment to fill\nup my leisure hours; one amusement, however, found room, that was well\nworth all the rest.\n\n[Illustration: 0162]\n\nWe lived in such a confined dungeon, that it was necessary sometimes to\nbreathe the open air; Anet, therefore, engaged Madam de Warens to hire\na garden in the suburbs, both for this purpose and the convenience of\nrearing plants, etc.; to this garden was added a summer-house, which was\nfurnished in the customary manner; we sometimes dined, and I frequently\nslept, there. Insensibly I became attached to this little retreat,\ndecorated it with books and prints, spending part of my time in\nornamenting it during the absence of Madam de Warens, that I might\nsurprise her the more agreeably on her return. Sometimes I quitted this\ndear friend, that I might enjoy the uninterrupted pleasure of thinking\non her; this was a caprice I can neither excuse nor fully explain, I\nonly know this really was the case, and therefore I avow it. I remember\nMadam de Luxembourg told me one day in raillery, of a man who used to\nleave his mistress that he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to\nher; I answered, I could have been this man; I might have added, That I\nhad done the very same.\n\nI did not, however, find it necessary to leave Madam de Warens that I\nmight love her the more ardently, for I was ever as perfectly free with\nher as when alone; an advantage I never enjoyed with any other person,\nman or woman, however I might be attached to them; but she was so often\nsurrounded by company who were far from pleasing me, that spite and\nweariness drove me to this asylum, where I could indulge the idea,\nwithout danger of being interrupted by impertinence. Thus, my time being\ndivided between business, pleasure, and instruction, my life passed in\nthe most absolute serenity. Europe was not equally tranquil: France and\nthe emperor had mutually declared war, the King of Sardinia had entered\ninto the quarrel, and a French army had filed off into Piedmont to awe\nthe Milanese. Our division passed through Chambery, and, among others,\nthe regiment of Champaigne, whose colonel was the Duke de la Trimouille,\nto whom I was presented. He promised many things, but doubtless never\nmore thought of me. Our little garden was exactly at the end of the\nsuburb by which the troops entered, so that I could fully satisfy my\ncuriosity in seeing them pass, and I became as anxious for the success\nof the war as if it had nearly concerned me. Till now I had never\ntroubled myself about politics, for the first time I began reading the\ngazettes, but with so much partiality on the side of France, that my\nheart beat with rapture on its most trifling advantages, and I was as\nmuch afflicted on a reverse of fortune, as if I had been particularly\nconcerned.\n\nHad this folly been transient, I should not, perhaps, have mentioned it,\nbut it took such root in my heart (without any reasonable cause) that\nwhen I afterwards acted the anti-despot and proud republican at Paris,\nin spite of myself, I felt a secret predilection for the nation I\ndeclared servile, and for that government I affected to oppose. The\npleasantest of all was that, ashamed of an inclination so contrary to my\nprofessed maxims, I dared not own it to any one, but rallied the French\non their defeats, while my heart was more wounded than their own. I\nam certainly the first man, that, living with a people who treated him\nwell, and whom he almost adored, put on, even in their own country,\na borrowed air of despising them; yet my original inclination is so\npowerful, constant, disinterested, and invincible, that even since my\nquitting that kingdom, since its government, magistrates, and authors,\nhave outvied each other in rancor against me, since it has become\nfashionable to load me with injustice and abuse, I have not been able\nto get rid of this folly, but notwithstanding their ill-treatment, love\nthem in spite of myself.\n\nI long sought the cause of this partiality, but was never able to find\nany, except in the occasion that gave it birth. A rising taste for\nliterature attached me to French books, to their authors, and their\ncountry: at the very moment the French troops were passing Chambery, I\nwas reading Brantome's 'Celebrated Captains'; my head was full of the\nClissons, Bayards, Lautrecs, Colignys, Montmorenceys, and Trimouille,\nand I loved their descendants as the heirs of their merit and courage.\nIn each regiment that passed by methought I saw those famous black bands\nwho had formerly done so many noble exploits in Piedmont; in fine, I\napplied to these all the ideas I had gathered from books; my reading\ncontinued, which, still drawn from the same nation, nourished my\naffection for that country, till, at length, it became a blind passion,\nwhich nothing could overcome. I have had occasion to remark several\ntimes in the course of my travels, that this impression was not peculiar\nto me for France, but was more or less active in every country, for that\npart of the nation who were fond of literature, and cultivated learning;\nand it was this consideration that balanced in my mind the general\nhatred which the conceited air of the French is so apt to inspire. Their\nromances, more than their men, attract the women of all countries, and\nthe celebrated dramatic pieces of France create a fondness in youth for\ntheir theaters; the reputation which that of Paris in particular has\nacquired, draws to it crowds of strangers, who return enthusiasts\nto their own country: in short, the excellence of their literature\ncaptivates the senses, and in the unfortunate war just ended, I have\nseen their authors and philosophers maintain the glory of France, so\ntarnished by its warriors.\n\nI was, therefore, an ardent Frenchman; this rendered me a politician,\nand I attended in the public square, amid a throng of news-mongers, the\narrival of the post, and, sillier than the ass in the fable, was very\nuneasy to know whose packsaddle I should next have the honor to carry,\nfor it was then supposed we should belong to France, and that\nSavoy would be exchanged for Milan. I must confess, however, that I\nexperienced some uneasiness, for had this war terminated unfortunately\nfor the allies, the pension of Madam de Warens would have been in a\ndangerous situation; nevertheless, I had great confidence in my good\nfriends, the French, and for once (in spite of the surprise of M.\nde Broglio) my confidence was not ill-founded--thanks to the King of\nSardinia, whom I had never thought of.\n\nWhile we were fighting in Italy, they were singing in France: the operas\nof Rameau began to make a noise there, and once more raise the credit\nof his theoretic works, which, from their obscurity, were within the\ncompass of very few understandings. By chance I heard of his 'Treatise\non Harmony', and had no rest till I purchased it. By another chance\nI fell sick; my illness was inflammatory, short and violent, but my\nconvalescence was tedious, for I was unable to go abroad for a whole\nmonth. During this time I eagerly ran over my Treatise on Harmony, but\nit was so long, so diffuse, and so badly disposed, that I found it would\nrequire a considerable time to unravel it: accordingly I suspended my\ninclination, and recreated my sight with music.\n\nThe cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself with.\nThese were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by heart, and\namong the rest, 'The Sleeping Cupids', which I have never seen since\nthat time, though I still retain it almost entirely; as well as 'Cupid\nStung by a Bee', a very pretty cantata by Clerambault, which I learned\nabout the same time.\n\nTo complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdoste, called the\nAbbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion, who performed\nvery well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him, and we soon\nbecame inseparable. He had been brought up by an Italian monk, who was\na capital organist. He explained to me his principles of music, which I\ncompared with Rameau; my head was filled with accompaniments, concords\nand harmony, but as it was necessary to accustom the ear to all this,\nI proposed to Madam de Warens having a little concert once a month, to\nwhich she consented.\n\nBehold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could think\nof nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my time to\nselect the music, assemble the musicians, look to the instruments, and\nwrite out the several parts. Madam de Warens sang; Father Cato (whom I\nhave before mentioned, and shall have occasion to speak of again) sang\nlikewise; a dancing-master named Roche, and his son, played on the\nviolin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who was employed like myself in\nthe survey, and has since married at Paris), played on the violoncello;\nthe Abbe Palais performed on the harpsichord, and I had the honor to\nconduct the whole. It may be supposed all this was charming; I cannot\nsay it equalled my concert at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly it\nwas not far behind it.\n\nThis little concert, given by Madam de Warens, the new convert, who\nlived (it was expressed) on the king's charity, made the whole tribe of\ndevotees murmur, but was a very agreeable amusement to several worthy\npeople, at the head of whom it would not be easily surmised that I\nshould place a monk; yet, though a monk, a man of considerable merit,\nand even of a very amiable disposition, whose subsequent misfortunes\ngave me the most lively concern, and whose idea, attached to that of\nmy happy days, is yet dear to my memory. I speak of Father Cato, a\nCordelier, who, in conjunction with the Count d'Ortan, had caused the\nmusic of poor Le Maitre to be seized at Lyons; which action was far from\nbeing the brightest trait in his history. He was a Bachelor of Sorbonne,\nhad lived long in Paris among the great world, and was particularly\ncaressed by the Marquis d'Antremont, then Ambassador from Sardinia. He\nwas tall and well made; full faced, with very fine eyes, and black hair,\nwhich formed natural curls on each side of his forehead. His manner was\nat once noble, open, and modest; he presented himself with ease and\ngood manners, having neither the hypocritical nor impudent behavior of a\nmonk, or the forward assurance of a fashionable coxcomb, but the manners\nof a well-bred man, who, without blushing for his habit, set a value\non himself, and ever felt in his proper situation when in good company.\nThough Father Cato was not deeply studied for a doctor, he was much so\nfor a man of the world, and not being compelled to show his talents, he\nbrought them forward so advantageously that they appeared greater than\nthey really were. Having lived much in the world, he had rather attached\nhimself to agreeable acquirements than to solid learning; had sense,\nmade verses, spoke well, sang better, and aided his good voice by\nplaying on the organ and harpsichord. So many pleasing qualities were\nnot necessary to make his company sought after, and, accordingly, it\nwas very much so, but this did not make him neglect the duties of his\nfunction: he was chosen (in spite of his jealous competitors) Definitor\nof his Province, or, according to them, one of the greatest pillars of\ntheir order.\n\nFather Cato became acquainted with Madam de Warens at the Marquis of\nAntremont's; he had heard of her concerts, wished to assist at them,\nand by his company rendered our meetings truly agreeable. We were soon\nattached to each other by our mutual taste for music, which in both\nwas a most lively passion, with this difference, that he was really a\nmusician, and myself a bungler. Sometimes assisted by Canavas and the\nAbbe Palais, we had music in his apartment; or on holidays at his organ,\nand frequently dined with him; for, what was very astonishing in a\nmonk, he was generous, profuse, and loved good cheer, without the least\ntincture of greediness. After our concerts, he always used to stay\nto supper, and these evenings passed with the greatest gayety and\ngood-humor; we conversed with the utmost freedom, and sang duets; I was\nperfectly at my ease, had sallies of wit and merriment; Father Cato was\ncharming, Madam de Warens adorable, and the Abbe Palais, with his rough\nvoice, was the butt of the company. Pleasing moments of sportive youth,\nhow long since have ye fled!\n\nAs I shall have no more occasion to speak of poor Father Cato, I will\nhere conclude in a few words his melancholy history. His brother monks,\njealous, or rather exasperated to discover in him a merit and elegance\nof manners which favored nothing of monastic stupidity, conceived\nthe most violent hatred to him, because he was not as despicable as\nthemselves; the chiefs, therefore, combined against this worthy man, and\nset on the envious rabble of monks, who otherwise would not have dared\nto hazard the attack. He received a thousand indignities; they degraded\nhim from his office, took away the apartment which he had furnished with\nelegant simplicity, and, at length, banished him, I know not whither:\nin short, these wretches overwhelmed him with so many evils, that his\nhonest and proud soul sank under the pressure, and, after having been\nthe delight of the most amiable societies, he died of grief, on a\nwretched bed, hid in some cell or dungeon, lamented by all worthy people\nof his acquaintance, who could find no fault in him, except his being a\nmonk.\n\nAccustomed to this manner of life for some time, I became so entirely\nattached to music that I could think of nothing else. I went to my\nbusiness with disgust, the necessary confinement and assiduity appeared\nan insupportable punishment, which I at length wished to relinquish,\nthat I might give myself up without reserve to my favorite amusement.\nIt will be readily believed that this folly met with some opposition; to\ngive up a creditable employment and fixed salary to run after uncertain\nscholars was too giddy a plan to be approved of by Madam de Warens, and\neven supposing my future success should prove as great as I flattered\nmyself, it was fixing very humble limits to my ambition to think of\nreducing myself for life to the condition of a music-master. She, who\nformed for me the brightest projects, and no longer trusted implicitly\nto the judgment of M. d'Aubonne, seeing with concern that I was so\nseriously occupied with a talent which she thought frivolous, frequently\nrepeated to me that provincial proverb, which does not hold quite so\ngood in Paris,\n\n              \"Qui biens chante et biens dance,\n               fait un metier qui peu avance.\"\n\n          [He who can sweetly sing and featly dance,\n          His interests right little shall advance.]\n\nOn the other hand, she saw me hurried away by this irresistible passion,\nmy taste for music having become a furor, and it was much to be feared\nthat my employment, suffering by my distraction, might draw on me\na discharge, which would be worse than a voluntary resignation. I\nrepresented to her; that this employment could not last long, that it\nwas necessary I should have some permanent means of subsistence, and\nthat it would be much better to complete by practice the acquisition of\nthat art to which my inclination led me than to make fresh essays, which\npossibly might not succeed, since by this means, having passed the age\nmost proper for improvement, I might be left without a single resource\nfor gaining a livelihood: in short, I extorted her consent more by\nimportunity and caresses than by any satisfactory reasons. Proud of my\nsuccess, I immediately ran to thank M. Coccelli, Director-General of the\nSurvey, as though I had performed the most heroic action, and quitted my\nemployment without cause, reason, or pretext, with as much pleasure as I\nhad accepted it two years before.\n\nThis step, ridiculous as it may appear, procured me a kind of\nconsideration, which I found extremely useful. Some supposed I had\nresources which I did not possess; others, seeing me totally given up to\nmusic, judged of my abilities by the sacrifice I had made, and concluded\nthat with such a passion for the art, I must possess it in a superior\ndegree. In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings. I passed\nhere for an excellent master, because all the rest were very bad ones.\nPossessing taste in singing, and being favored by my age and figure, I\nsoon procured more scholars than were sufficient to compensate for the\nlosses of my secretary's pay. It is certain, that had it been reasonable\nto consider the pleasure of my situation only, it was impossible to pass\nmore speedily from one extreme to the other. At our measuring, I was\nconfined eight hours in the day to the most unentertaining employment,\nwith yet more disagreeable company. Shut up in a melancholy\ncounting-house, empoisoned by the smell and respiration of a number of\nclowns, the major part of whom were ill-combed and very dirty, what with\nattention, bad air, constraint and weariness, I was sometimes so far\novercome as to occasion a vertigo. Instead of this, behold me admitted\ninto the fashionable world, sought after in the first houses, and\neverywhere received with an air of satisfaction; amiable and gay young\nladies awaiting my arrival, and welcoming me with pleasure; I see\nnothing but charming objects, smell nothing but roses and orange\nflowers; singing, chatting, laughter, and amusements, perpetually\nsucceed each other. It must be allowed, that reckoning all these\nadvantages, no hesitation was necessary in the choice; in fact, I was\nso content with mine, that I never once repented it; nor do I even now,\nwhen, free from the irrational motives that influenced me at that time,\nI weigh in the scale of reason every action of my life.\n\nThis is, perhaps, the only time that, listening to inclination, I was\nnot deceived in my expectations. The easy access, obliging temper,\nand free humor of this country, rendered a commerce with the world\nagreeable, and the inclination I then felt for it, proves to me, that if\nI have a dislike for society, it is more their fault than mine. It is\na pity the Savoyards are not rich: though, perhaps, it would be a still\ngreater pity if they were so, for altogether they are the best, the most\nsociable people that I know, and if there is a little city in the world\nwhere the pleasures of life are experienced in an agreeable and friendly\ncommerce, it is at Chambery. The gentry of the province who assemble\nthere have only sufficient wealth to live and not enough to spoil them;\nthey cannot give way to ambition, but follow, through necessity, the\ncounsel of Cyneas, devoting their youth to a military employment, and\nreturning home to grow old in peace; an arrangement over which honor and\nreason equally preside. The women are handsome, yet do not stand in need\nof beauty, since they possess all those qualifications which enhance\nits value and even supply the want of it. It is remarkable, that being\nobliged by my profession to see a number of young girls, I do not\nrecollect one at Chambery but what was charming: it will be said I was\ndisposed to find them so, and perhaps there may be some truth in the\nsurmise. I cannot remember my young scholars without pleasure. Why, in\nnaming the most amiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that\nhappy age in which our moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with\nsuch happiness together? The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my\nneighbor, and sister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime. She was a fine clear\nbrunette, lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as girls of that\nage usually are; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and easy air, rendered\nher sufficiently pleasing with that degree of plumpness which would have\ngiven a heightening to her charms. I went there of mornings, when she\nwas usually in her dishabille, her hair carelessly turned up, and, on my\narrival, ornamented with a flower, which was taken off at my departure\nfor her hair to be dressed. There is nothing I fear so much as a pretty\nwoman in an elegant dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times\nless in full dress. Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in\nthe afternoon, was ever so. She made an equally pleasing, but quite\ndifferent impression on me. Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate,\nshe was very timid and extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of\njust modulation, but which she had not courage to employ to its full\nextent. She had the mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece\nof blue chenille did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my\nattention, though not absolutely on its own account. Mademoiselle des\nChalles, another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed,\njolly, very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for her\ngracefulness, equal temper, and good humor. Her sister, Madam de Charly,\nthe handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but I taught her\ndaughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty promised to equal\nher mother's, if she had not unfortunately been a little red-haired. I\nhad likewise among my scholars a little French lady, whose name I have\nforgotten, but who merits a place in my list of preferences. She had\nadopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in which voice she would\nutter some very keen things, which did not in the least appear to\ncorrespond with her manner; but she was indolent, and could not\ngenerally take pains to show her wit, that being a favor she did not\ngrant to every one. After a month or two of negligent attendance, this\nwas an expedient she devised to make me more assiduous, for I could\nnot easily persuade myself to be so. When with my scholars, I was fond\nenough of teaching, but could not bear the idea of being obliged to\nattend at a particular hour; constraint and subjection in every shape\nare to me insupportable, and alone sufficient to make me hate even\npleasure itself.\n\nI had some scholars likewise among the tradespeople, and, among others,\none who was the indirect cause of a change of relationship, which (as\nI have promised to declare all) I must relate in its place. She was the\ndaughter of a grocer, and was called Mademoiselle de Larnage, a perfect\nmodel for a Grecian statue, and whom I should quote for the handsomest\ngirl I have ever seen, if true beauty could exist without life or soul.\nHer indolence, reserve, and insensibility were inconceivable; it was\nequally impossible to please or make her angry, and I am convinced that\nhad any one formed a design upon her virtue, he might have succeeded,\nnot through her inclination, but from her stupidity. Her mother, who\nwould run no risk of this, did not leave her a single moment. In having\nher taught to sing and providing a young master, she had hoped to\nenliven her, but it all proved ineffectual. While the master was\nadmiring the daughter, the mother was admiring the master, but this was\nequally lost labor. Madam de Larnage added to her natural vivacity that\nportion of sprightliness which should have belonged to the daughter. She\nwas a little, ugly, lively trollop, with small twinkling ferret eyes,\nand marked with smallpox. On my arrival in the morning, I always found\nmy coffee and cream ready, and the mother never failed to welcome me\nwith a kiss on the lips, which I would willingly have returned the\ndaughter, to see how she would have received it. All this was done with\nsuch an air of carelessness and simplicity, that even when M. de Larnage\nwas present, her kisses and caresses were not omitted. He was a good\nquiet fellow, the true original of his daughter; nor did his wife\nendeavor to deceive him, because there was absolutely no occasion for\nit.\n\nI received all these caresses with my usual stupidity, taking them only\nfor marks of pure friendship, though they were sometimes troublesome;\nfor the lively Madam Lard was displeased, if, during the day, I passed\nthe shop without calling; it became necessary, therefore (when I had no\ntime to spare), to go out of my way through another street, well knowing\nit was not so easy to quit her house as to enter it.\n\nMadam Lard thought so much of me, that I could not avoid thinking\nsomething of her. Her attentions affected me greatly; and I spoke of\nthem to Madam de Warens, without supposing any mystery in the matter,\nbut had there been one I should equally have divulged it, for to have\nkept a secret of any kind from her would have been impossible. My heart\nlay as open to Madam de Warens as to Heaven. She did not understand\nthe matter quite so simply as I had done, but saw advances where I only\ndiscovered friendship. She concluded that Madam Lard would make a point\nof not leaving me as great a fool as she found me, and, some way\nor other, contrive to make herself understood; but exclusive of the\nconsideration that it was not just, that another should undertake the\ninstruction of her pupil, she had motives more worthy of her, wishing to\nguard me against the snares to which my youth and inexperience exposed\nme. Meantime, a more dangerous temptation offered which I likewise\nescaped, but which proved to her that such a succession of dangers\nrequired every preservative she could possibly apply.\n\nThe Countess of Menthon, mother to one of my scholars, was a woman\nof great wit, and reckoned to possess, at least, an equal share of\nmischief, having (as was reported) caused a number of quarrels, and,\namong others, one that terminated fatally for the house of D'Antremont.\nMadam de Warens had seen enough of her to know her character: for having\n(very innocently) pleased some person to whom Madam de Menthon had\npretensions, she found her guilty of the crime of this preference,\nthough Madam de Warens had neither sought after nor accepted it, and\nfrom that moment endeavored to play her rival a number of ill turns,\nnone of which succeeded. I shall relate one of the most whimsical, by\nway of specimen.\n\nThey were together in the country, with several gentlemen of the\nneighborhood, and among the rest the lover in question. Madam de Menthon\ntook an opportunity to say to one of these gentlemen, that Madam de\nWarens was a prude, that she dressed ill, and particularly that she\ncovered her neck like a tradeswoman. \"O, for that matter,\" replied\nthe person she was speaking to (who was fond of a joke), \"she has good\nreason, for I know she is marked with a great ugly rat on her bosom, so\nnaturally, that it even appears to be running.\" Hatred, as well as love,\nrenders its votaries credulous. Madam de Menthon resolved to make use\nof this discovery, and one day, while Madam de Warens was at cards with\nthis lady's ungrateful favorite, she contrived, in passing behind her\nrival, almost to overset the chair she sat on, and at the same instant,\nvery dexterously displaced her handkerchief; but instead of this hideous\nrat, the gentleman beheld a far different object, which it was not more\neasy to forget than to obtain a sight of, and which by no means answered\nthe intentions of the lady.\n\nI was not calculated to engross the attention of Madam de Menthon,\nwho loved to be surrounded by brilliant company; notwithstanding she\nbestowed some attention on me, not for the sake of my person, which\nshe certainly did not regard, but for the reputation of wit which I had\nacquired, and which might have rendered me convenient to her predominant\ninclination. She had a very lively passion for ridicule, and loved to\nwrite songs and lampoons on those who displeased her: had she found me\npossessed of sufficient talents to aid the fabrication of her verses,\nand complaisance enough to do so, we should presently have turned\nChambery upside down; these libels would have been traced to their\nsource, Madam de Menthon would have saved herself by sacrificing me,\nand I should have been cooped up in prison, perhaps, for the rest of\nmy life, as a recompense for having figured away as the Apollo of the\nladies. Fortunately, nothing of this kind happened; Madam de Menthon\nmade me stay for dinner two or three days, to chat with me, and soon\nfound I was too dull for her purpose. I felt this myself, and was\nhumiliated at the discovery, envying the talents of my friend Venture;\nthough I should rather have been obliged to my stupidity for keeping me\nout of the reach of danger. I remained, therefore, Madam de Menthon's\ndaughter's singing-master, and nothing more! but I lived happily, and\nwas ever well received at Chambery, which was a thousand times more\ndesirable than passing for a wit with her, and for a serpent with\neverybody else.\n\nHowever this might be, Madam de Warens conceived it necessary to\nguard me from the perils of youth by treating me as a man: this she\nimmediately set about, but in the most extraordinary manner that any\nwoman, in similar circumstances, ever devised. I all at once observed\nthat her manner was graver, and her discourse more moral than usual. To\nthe playful gayety with which she used to intermingle her instructions\nsuddenly succeeded an uniformity of manner, neither familiar nor severe,\nbut which seemed to prepare me for some explanation. After having vainly\nracked my brain for the reason of this change, I mentioned it to her;\nthis she had expected and immediately proposed a walk to our garden the\nnext day. Accordingly we went there the next morning; she had contrived\nthat we should remain alone the whole day, which she employed in\npreparing me for those favors she meant to bestow; not as another\nwoman would have done, by toying and folly, but by discourses full of\nsentiment and reason, rather tending to instruct than seduce, and which\nspoke more to my heart than to my senses. Meantime, however excellent\nand to the purpose these discourses might be, and though far enough from\ncoldness or melancholy, I did not listen to them with all the attention\nthey merited, nor fix them in my memory as I should have done at any\nother time. That air of preparation which she had adopted gave me\na degree of inquietude; while she spoke (in spite of myself) I was\nthoughtful and absent, attending less to what she said than curious\nto know what she aimed at; and no sooner had I comprehended her design\n(which I could not easily do) than the novelty of the idea, which,\nduring all the years I had passed with her, had never once entered my\nimagination, took such entire possession of me that I was no longer\ncapable of minding what she said! I only thought of her; I heard her no\nlonger.\n\nThinking to render young minds attentive to reason by proposing some\nhighly interesting object as the result of it, is an error instructors\nfrequently run into, and one which I have not avoided in my Umilius. The\nyoung pupil, struck with the object presented to him, is occupied only\nwith that, and leaping lightly over your preliminary discourses, lights\nat once on the point, to which, in his idea, you lead him too tediously.\nTo render him attentive, he must be prevented from seeing the whole of\nyour design; and, in this particular, Madam de Warens did not act with\nsufficient precaution.\n\nBy a singularity which adhered to her systematic disposition, she took\nthe vain precaution of proposing conditions; but the moment I knew the\npurchase, I no longer even heard them, but immediately consented to\neverything; and I doubt whether there is a man on the whole earth who\nwould have been sincere or courageous enough to dispute terms, or one\nsingle woman who would have pardoned such a dispute. By a continuation\nof the same whimsicality, she attached a number of the gravest\nformalities to the acquisition of her favors, and gave me eight days\nto think of them, which I assured her I had no need of, though that\nassurance was far from a truth: for to complete this assemblage of\nsingularities, I was very glad to have this intermission; so much had\nthe novelty of these ideas struck me, and such disorder did I feel in\nmine, that it required time to arrange them.\n\nIt will be supposed, that these eight days appeared to me as many\nages; on the contrary, I should have been very glad had the time been\nlengthened. I find it difficult to describe the state I found myself in;\nit was a strange chaos of fear and impatience, dreading what I desired,\nand studying some civil pretext to evade my happiness.\n\nLet the warmth of my constitution be remembered, my age, and my heart\nintoxicated with love; let my tender attachment to her be supposed,\nwhich, far from having diminished, had daily gained additional strength;\nlet it be considered that I was only happy when with her, that my heart\nwas full, not only of her bounty, of her amiable disposition, but of her\nshape, of her person, of herself; in a word, conceive me united to her\nby every affinity that could possibly render her dear; nor let it be\nsupposed, that, being ten or twelve years older than myself, she began\nto grow an old woman, or was so in my opinion. From the time the first\nsight of her had made such an impression on me, she had really altered\nvery little, and, in my mind, not at all. To me she was ever charming,\nand was still thought so by everyone. She had got something jollier, but\nhad the same fine eyes, the same clear complexion, the same features,\nthe same beautiful light hair, the sane gayety, and even the same voice,\nwhose youthful and silvery sound made so lively an impression on my\nheart, that, even to this day, I cannot hear a young woman's voice, that\nis at all harmonious, without emotion. It will be seen, that in a more\nadvanced age, the bare idea of some trifling favors I had to expect from\nthe person I loved, inflamed me so far, that I could not support, with\nany degree of patience, the time necessary to traverse the short space\nthat separated us; how then, by what miracle, when in the flower of my\nyouth, had I so little impatience for a happiness I had never tasted\nbut in idea? How could I see the moment advancing with more pain than\npleasure? Why, instead of transports that should have intoxicated me\nwith their deliciousness, did I experience only fears and repugnance?\nI have no doubt that if I could have avoided this happiness with any\ndegree of decency, I should have relinquished it with all my heart. I\nhave promised a number of extravagancies in the history of my attachment\nto her; this certainly is one that no idea could be formed of.\n\nThe reader (already disgusted) supposes, that being in the situation I\nhave before described with Claude Anet, she was already degraded in my\nopinion by this participation of her favors, and that a sentiment of\ndisesteem weakened those she had before inspired me with; but he is\nmistaken. 'Tis true that this participation gave me a cruel uneasiness,\nas well from a very natural sentiment of delicacy, as because it\nappeared unworthy both of her and myself; but as to my sentiments for\nher, they were still the same, and I can solemnly aver, that I never\nloved her more tenderly than when I felt so little propensity to avail\nmyself of her condescension. I was too well acquainted with the chastity\nof her heart and the iciness of her constitution, to suppose a moment\nthat the gratification of the senses had any influence over her; I was\nwell convinced that her only motive was to guard me from dangers, which\nappeared otherwise inevitable, by this extraordinary favor, which\nshe did not consider in the same light that women usually do; as will\npresently be explained.\n\nThe habit of living a long time innocently together, far from weakening\nthe first sentiments I felt for her, had contributed to strengthen\nthem, giving a more lively, a more tender, but at the same time a less\nsensual, turn to my affection. Having ever accustomed myself to call her\nMama (as formerly observed) and enjoying the familiarity of a son, it\nbecame natural to consider myself as such, and I am inclined to think\nthis was the true reason of that insensibility with a person I so\ntenderly loved; for I can perfectly recollect that my emotions on first\nseeing her, though not more lively, were more voluptuous: At Annecy I\nwas intoxicated, at Chambery I possessed my reason. I always loved her\nas passionately as possible, but I now loved her more for herself and\nless on my own account; or, at least, I rather sought for happiness than\npleasure in her company. She was more to me than a sister, a mother, a\nfriend, or even than a mistress, and for this very reason she was not a\nmistress; in a word, I loved her too much to desire her.\n\nThis day, more dreaded than hoped for, at length arrived. I have before\nobserved, that I promised everything that was required of me, and I kept\nmy word: my heart confirmed my engagements without desiring the fruits,\nthough at length I obtained them. Was I happy? No: I felt I know not\nwhat invincible sadness which empoisoned my happiness, it seemed that I\nhad committed an incest, and two or three times, pressing her eagerly\nin my arms, I deluged her bosom with my tears. On her part, as she had\nnever sought pleasure, she had not the stings of remorse.\n\nI repeat it, all her failings were the effect of her errors, never of\nher passions. She was well born, her heart was pure, her manners noble,\nher desires regular and virtuous, her taste delicate; she seemed formed\nfor that elegant purity of manners which she ever loved, but never\npractised, because instead of listening to the dictates of her heart,\nshe followed those of her reason, which led her astray: for when once\ncorrupted by false principles it will ever run counter to its natural\nsentiments. Unhappily, she piqued herself on philosophy, and the morals\nshe drew from thence clouded the genuine purity of her heart.\n\nM. Tavel, her first lover, was also her instructor in this philosophy,\nand the principles he instilled into her mind were such as tended\nto seduce her. Finding her cold and impregnable on the side of her\npassions, and firmly attached to her husband and her duty, he attacked\nher by sophisms, endeavoring to prove that the list of duties she\nthought so sacred, was but a sort of catechism, fit only for children.\nThat the kind of infidelity she thought so terrible, was, in itself,\nabsolutely indifferent; that all the morality of conjugal faith\nconsisted in opinion, the contentment of husbands being the only\nreasonable rule of duty in wives; consequently that concealed\ninfidelities, doing no injury, could be no crime; in a word, he\npersuaded her that the sin consisted only in the scandal, that woman\nbeing really virtuous who took care to appear so. Thus the deceiver\nobtained his end in the subverting the reason of a girl; whose heart\nhe found it impossible to corrupt, and received his punishment in\na devouring jealousy, being persuaded she would treat him as he had\nprevailed on her to treat her husband.\n\nI don't know whether he was mistaken in this respect: the Minister\nPerret passed for his successor; all I know, is, that the coldness of\ntemperament which it might have been supposed would have kept her from\nembracing this system, in the end prevented her from renouncing it. She\ncould not conceive how so much importance should be given to what seemed\nto have none for her; nor could she honor with the name of virtue, an\nabstinence which would have cost her little.\n\nShe did not, therefore, give in to this false principle on her own\naccount, but for the sake of others; and that from another maxim almost\nas false as the former, but more consonant to the generosity of her\ndisposition.\n\nShe was persuaded that nothing could attach a man so truly to any\nwoman as an unbounded freedom, and though she was only susceptible of\nfriendship, this friendship was so tender, that she made use of every\nmeans which depended on her to secure the objects of it, and, which\nis very extraordinary, almost always succeeded: for she was so truly\namiable, that an increase of intimacy was sure to discover additional\nreasons to love and respect her. Another thing worthy of remark is, that\nafter her first folly, she only favored the unfortunate. Lovers in a\nmore brilliant station lost their labor with her, but the man who at\nfirst attracted her pity, must have possessed very few good qualities\nif in the end he did not obtain her affection. Even when she made an\nunworthy choice, far from proceeding from base inclinations (which were\nstrangers to her noble heart) it was the effect of a disposition too\ngenerous, humane, compassionate, and sensible, which she did not always\ngovern with sufficient discernment.\n\nIf some false principles misled her, how many admirable ones did she not\npossess, which never forsook her! By how many virtues did she atone for\nher failings! if we can call by that name errors in which the senses\nhad so little share. The man who in one particular deceived her so\ncompletely, had given her excellent instructions in a thousand others;\nand her passions, being far from turbulent, permitted her to follow the\ndictates. She ever acted wisely when her sophisms did not intervene, and\nher designs were laudable even in her failings. False principles might\nlead her to do ill, but she never did anything which she conceived to\nbe wrong. She abhorred lying and duplicity, was just, equitable, humane,\ndisinterested, true to her word, her friends, and those duties which\nshe conceived to be such; incapable of hatred or revenge, and not even\nconceiving there was a merit in pardoning; in fine (to return to those\nqualities which were less excusable), though she did not properly value,\nshe never made a vile commerce of her favors; she lavished, but never\nsold them, though continually reduced to expedients for a subsistence:\nand I dare assert, that if Socrates could esteem Aspasia, he would have\nrespected Madam de Warens.\n\nI am well aware that ascribing sensibility of heart with coldness\nof temperament to the same person, I shall generally, and with great\nappearance of reason, be accused of a contradiction. Perhaps Nature\nsported or blundered, and this combination ought not to have existed;\nI only know it did exist. All those who know Madam de Warens (a great\nnumber of whom are yet living) have had opportunities of knowing this\nwas a fact; I dare even aver she had but one pleasure in the world,\nwhich was serving those she loved. Let every one argue on the point as\nhe pleases, and gravely prove that this cannot be; my business is to\ndeclare the truth, and not to enforce a belief of it.\n\nI became acquainted with the particulars I have just related, in\nthose conversations which succeeded our union, and alone rendered it\ndelicious. She was right when she concluded her complaisance would be\nuseful to me; I derived great advantages from it in point of useful\ninstruction. Hitherto she had used me as a child, she now began to treat\nme as a man, and entertain me with accounts of herself. Everything she\nsaid was so interesting, and I was so sensibly touched with it, that,\nreasoning with myself, I applied these confidential relations to my\nown improvement and received more instruction from them than from her\nteaching. When we truly feel that the heart speaks, our own opens\nto receive its instructions, nor can all the pompous morality of\na pedagogue have half the effect that is produced by the tender,\naffectionate, and artless conversation of a sensible woman on him who\nloves her.\n\nThe intimacy in which I lived with Madam de Warens, having placed me\nmore advantageously in her opinion than formerly, she began to think\n(notwithstanding my awkward manner) that I deserved cultivation for\nthe polite world, and that if I could one day show myself there in an\neligible situation, I should soon be able to make my way. In consequence\nof this idea, she set about forming not only my judgment, but my\naddress, endeavoring to render me amiable, as well as estimable; and if\nit is true that success in this world is consistent with strict virtue\n(which, for my part, I do not believe), I am certain there is no other\nroad than that she had taken, and wished to point out to me. For Madam\nde Warens knew mankind, and understood exquisitely well the art of\ntreating all ranks, without falsehood, and without imprudence, neither\ndeceiving nor provoking them; but this art was rather in her disposition\nthan her precepts, she knew better how to practise than explain it, and\nI was of all the world the least calculated to become master of such an\nattainment; accordingly, the means employed for this purpose were nearly\nlost labor, as well as the pains she took to procure me a fencing and a\ndancing master.\n\nThough very well made, I could never learn to dance a minuet; for being\nplagued with corns, I had acquired a habit of walking on my heels, which\nRoche, the dancing master, could never break me of. It was still worse\nat the fencing-school, where, after three months' practice, I made but\nvery little progress, and could never attempt fencing with any but my\nmaster. My wrist was not supple enough, nor my arm sufficiently firm to\nretain the foil, whenever he chose to make it fly out of my hand. Add to\nthis, I had a mortal aversion both to the art itself and to the person\nwho undertook to teach it to me, nor should I ever have imagined, that\nanyone could have been so proud of the science of sending men out of the\nworld. To bring this vast genius within the compass of my comprehension,\nhe explained himself by comparisons drawn from music, which he\nunderstood nothing of. He found striking analogies between a hit in\n'quarte' or 'tierce' with the intervals of music which bears those\nnames: when he made a feint he cried out, \"take care of this 'diesis',\"\nbecause anciently they called the 'diesis' a feint: and when he had made\nthe foil fly from my hand, he would add, with a sneer, that this was a\npause: in a word, I never in my life saw a more insupportable pedant.\n\nI made, therefore, but little progress in my exercises, which I\npresently quitted from pure disgust; but I succeeded better in an art\nof a thousand times more value, namely, that of being content with my\nsituation, and not desiring one more brilliant, for which I began to be\npersuaded that Nature had not designed me. Given up to the endeavor of\nrendering Madam de Warens happy, I was ever best pleased when in her\ncompany, and, notwithstanding my fondness for music, began to grudge the\ntime I employed in giving lessons to my scholars.\n\nI am ignorant whether Anet perceived the full extent of our union; but\nI am inclined to think he was no stranger to it. He was a young man of\ngreat penetration, and still greater discretion; who never belied his\nsentiments, but did not always speak them: without giving me the least\nhint that he was acquainted with our intimacy, he appeared by his\nconduct to be so; nor did this moderation proceed from baseness of soul,\nbut, having entered entirely into the principles of his mistress, he\ncould not reasonably disapprove of the natural consequences of them.\nThough as young as herself, he was so grave and thoughtful, that he\nlooked on us as two children who required indulgence, and we regarded\nhim as a respectable man, whose esteem we had to preserve. It was not\nuntil after she was unfaithful to Anet, that I learned the strength of\nher attachment to him. She was fully sensible that I only thought, felt,\nor lived for her; she let me see, therefore, how much she loved Anet,\nthat I might love him likewise, and dwell less on her friendship, than\non her esteem, for him, because this was the sentiment that I could\nmost fully partake of. How often has she affected our hearts and made\nus embrace with tears, by assuring us that we were both necessary to her\nhappiness! Let not women read this with an ill-natured smile; with the\ntemperament she possessed, this necessity was not equivocal, it was only\nthat of the heart.\n\nThus there was established, among us three, a union without example,\nperhaps, on the face of the earth. All our wishes, our cares, our very\nhearts, were for each other, and absolutely confined to this little\ncircle. The habit of living together, and living exclusively from the\nrest of the world, became so strong, that if at our repasts one of\nthe three was wanting, or a fourth person came in, everything seemed\nderanged; and, notwithstanding our particular attachments, even our\ntete-a-tete were less agreeable than our reunion. What banished every\nspecies of constraint from our little community, was a lively reciprocal\nconfidence, and dulness or insipidity could find no place among\nus, because we were always fully employed. Madam de Warens always\nprojecting, always busy, left us no time for idleness, though, indeed,\nwe had each sufficient employment on our own account. It is my maxim,\nthat idleness is as much the pest of society as of solitude. Nothing\nmore contracts the mind, or engenders more tales, mischief, gossiping,\nand lies, than for people to be eternally shut up in the same apartment\ntogether, and reduced, from the want of employment, to the necessity\nof an incessant chat. When every one is busy (unless you have really\nsomething to say), you may continue silent; but if you have nothing to\ndo, you must absolutely speak continually, and this, in my mind, is the\nmost burdensome and the most dangerous constraint. I will go further,\nand maintain, that to render company harmless, as well as agreeable,\nit is necessary, not only that they should have something to do, but\nsomething that requires a degree of attention.\n\nKnitting, for instance, is absolutely as bad as doing nothing; you must\ntake as much pains to amuse a woman whose fingers are thus employed,\nas if she sat with her arms crossed; but let her embroider, and it is\na different matter; she is then so far busied, that a few intervals\nof silence may be borne with. What is most disgusting and ridiculous,\nduring these intermissions of conversation, is to see, perhaps, a dozen\nover-grown fellows, get up, sit down again, walk backwards and forwards,\nturn on their heels, play with the chimney ornaments, and rack their\nbrains to maintain an inexhaustible chain of words: what a charming\noccupation! Such people, wherever they go, must be troublesome both to\nothers and themselves. When I was at Motiers, I used to employ myself in\nmaking laces with my neighbors, and were I again to mix with the world,\nI would always carry a cup-and-ball in my pocket; I should sometimes\nplay with it the whole day, that I might not be constrained to speak\nwhen I had nothing to discourse about; and I am persuaded, that if every\none would do the same, mankind would be less mischievous, their company\nwould become more rational, and, in my opinion, a vast deal more\nagreeable; in a word, let wits laugh if they please, but I maintain,\nthat the only practical lesson of morality within the reach of the\npresent age, is that of the cup-and-ball.\n\nAt Chambery they did not give us the trouble of studying expedients to\navoid weariness, when by ourselves, for a troop of important visitors\ngave us too much by their company, to feel any when alone. The annoyance\nthey formerly gave me had not diminished; all the difference was, that I\nnow found less opportunity to abandon myself to my dissatisfaction.\nPoor Madam de Warens had not lost her old predilection for schemes and\nsystems; on the contrary, the more she felt the pressure of her domestic\nnecessities, the more she endeavored to extricate herself from them by\nvisionary projects; and, in proportion to the decrease of her present\nresources, she contrived to enlarge, in idea, those of the future.\nIncrease of years only strengthened this folly: as she lost her\nrelish for the pleasures of the world and youth, she replaced it by an\nadditional fondness for secrets and projects; her house was never clear\nof quacks, contrivers of new manufactures, alchemists, projects of all\nkinds and of all descriptions, whose discourses began by a distribution\nof millions and concluded by giving you to understand that they were\nin want of a crown-piece. No one went from her empty-handed; and what\nastonished me most was, how she could so long support such profusion,\nwithout exhausting the source or wearying her creditors.\n\nHer principal project at the time I am now speaking of was that of\nestablishing a Royal Physical Garden at Chambery, with a Demonstrator\nattached to it; it will be unnecessary to add for whom this office was\ndesigned. The situation of this city, in the midst of the Alps, was\nextremely favorable to botany, and as Madam de Warens was always for\nhelping out one project with another, a College of Pharmacy was to be\nadded, which really would have been a very useful foundation in so poor\na country, where apothecaries are almost the only medical practitioners.\nThe retreat of the chief physician, Grossi, to Chambery, on the demise\nof King Victor, seemed to favor this idea, or perhaps, first suggest it;\nhowever this may be, by flattery and attention she set about managing\nGrossi, who, in fact, was not very manageable, being the most caustic\nand brutal, for a man who had any pretensions to the quality of a\ngentleman, that ever I knew. The reader may judge for himself by two or\nthree traits of character, which I shall add by way of specimen.\n\nHe assisted one day at a consultation with some other doctors, and among\nthe rest, a young gentleman from Annecy, who was physician in ordinary\nto the sick person. This young man, being but indifferently taught for\na doctor, was bold enough to differ in opinion from M. Grossi, who only\nanswered him by asking him when he should return, which way he meant\nto take, and what conveyance he should make use of? The other, having\nsatisfied Grossi in these particulars, asked him if there was anything\nhe could serve him in? \"Nothing, nothing,\" answered he, \"only I shall\nplace myself at a window in your way, that I may have the pleasure of\nseeing an ass ride on horseback.\" His avarice equalled his riches and\nwant of feeling. One of his friends wanted to borrow some money of him,\non good security. \"My friend,\" answered he, shaking him by the arm, and\ngrinding his teeth, \"Should St. Peter descend from heaven to borrow ten\npistoles of me, and offer the Trinity as securities, I would not lend\nthem.\" One day, being invited to dinner with Count Picon, Governor of\nSavoy, who was very religious, he arrived before it was ready, and found\nhis excellency busy with his devotions, who proposed to him the same\nemployment; not knowing how to refuse, he knelt down with a frightful\ngrimace, but had hardly recited two Ave-Marias, when, not being able to\ncontain himself any longer, he rose hastily, snatched his hat and cane,\nand without speaking a word, was making toward the door; Count Picon ran\nafter him, crying, \"Monsieur Grossi! Monsieur Grossi! stop, there's\na most excellent ortolan on the spit for you.\" \"Monsieur le Count,\"\nreplied the other, turning his head, \"though you should give me a\nroasted angel, I would not stay.\" Such was M. Grossi, whom Madam de\nWarens undertook and succeeded in civilizing. Though his time was very\nmuch occupied, he accustomed himself to come frequently to her house,\nconceived a friendship for Anet, seemed to think him intelligent, spoke\nof him with esteem, and, what would not have been expected of such\na brute, affected to treat him with respect, wishing to efface the\nimpressions of the past; for though Anet was no longer on the footing of\na domestic, it was known that he had been one, and nothing less than the\ncountenance and example of the chief physician was necessary to set an\nexample of respect which would not otherwise have been paid him. Thus\nClaude Anet, with a black coat, a well-dressed wig, a grave, decent\nbehavior, a circumspect conduct, and a tolerable knowledge in medical\nand botanical matters, might reasonably have hoped to fill, with\nuniversal satisfaction, the place of public demonstrator, had the\nproposed establishment taken place. Grossi highly approved the plan, and\nonly waited an opportunity to propose it to the administration, whenever\na return of peace should permit them to think of useful institutions,\nand enable them to spare the necessary pecuniary supplies.\n\nBut this project, whose execution would probably have plunged me into\nbotanical studies, for which I am inclined to think Nature designed\nme, failed through one of those unexpected strokes which frequently\noverthrow the best concerted plans. I was destined to become an example\nof human misery; and it might be said that Providence, who called me by\ndegrees to these extraordinary trials, disconcerted every opportunity\nthat could prevent my encountering them.\n\nIn an excursion which Anet made to the top of the mountain to seek for\ngenipi, a scarce plant that grows only on the Alps, and which Monsieur\nGrossi had occasion for, unfortunately he heated himself so much, that\nhe was seized with a pleurisy, which the genipi could not relieve,\nthough said to be specific in that disorder; and, notwithstanding all\nthe art of Grossi (who certainly was very skillful), and all the care of\nhis good mistress and myself, he died the fifth day of his disorder, in\nthe most cruel agonies. During his illness he had no exhortations but\nmine, bestowed with such transports of grief and zeal, that had he been\nin a state to understand them, they must have been some consolation\nto him. Thus I lost the firmest friend I ever had; a man estimable and\nextraordinary; in whom Nature supplied the defects of education, and who\n(though in a state of servitude) possessed all the virtues necessary to\nform a great man, which, perhaps, he would have shown himself, and been\nacknowledged, had he lived to fill the situation he seemed so perfectly\nadapted to.\n\nThe next day I spoke of him to Madam de Warens with the most sincere and\nlively affection; when, suddenly, in the midst of our conversation, the\nvile, ungrateful thought occurred, that I should inherit his wardrobe,\nand particularly a handsome black coat, which I thought very becoming.\nAs I thought this, I consequently uttered it; for when with her, to\nthink and to speak was the same thing. Nothing could have made her feel\nmore forcibly the loss she had sustained, than this unworthy and odious\nobservation; disinterestedness and greatness of soul being qualities\nthat poor Anet had eminently possessed. The generous Madam de Warens\nturned from me, and (without any reply) burst into tears. Dear and\nprecious tears! your reprehension was fully felt; ye ran into my very\nheart, washing from thence even the smallest traces of such despicable\nand unworthy sentiments, never to return.\n\nThis loss caused Madam de Warens as much inconvenience as sorrow,\nsince from this moment her affairs were still more deranged. Anet\nwas extremely exact, and kept everything in order; his vigilance was\nuniversally feared, and this set some bounds to that profusion they were\ntoo apt to run into; even Madam de Warens, to avoid his censure, kept\nher dissipation within bounds; his attachment was not sufficient, she\nwished to preserve his esteem, and avoid the just remonstrances he\nsometimes took the liberty to make her, by representing that she\nsquandered the property of others as well as her own. I thought as he\ndid, nay, I even sometimes expressed myself to the same effect, but had\nnot an equal ascendancy over her, and my advice did not make the same\nimpression. On his decease, I was obliged to occupy his place, for which\nI had as little inclination as abilities, and therefore filled it ill.\nI was not sufficiently careful, and so very timid, that though I\nfrequently found fault to myself, I saw ill-management without taking\ncourage to oppose it; besides, though I acquired an equal share\nof respect, I had not the same authority. I saw the disorder that\nprevailed, trembled at it, sometimes complained, but was never attended\nto. I was too young and lively to have any pretensions to the exercise\nof reason, and when I would have acted the reformer, Madam de Warens\ncalling me her little Mentor, with two or three playful slaps on the\ncheek, reduced me to my natural thoughtlessness. Notwithstanding, an\nidea of the certain distress in which her ill-regulated expenses, sooner\nor later, must necessarily plunge her, made a stronger impression on\nme since I had become the inspector of her household, and had a better\nopportunity of calculating the inequality that subsisted between her\nincome and her expenses. I even date from this period the beginning of\nthat inclination to avarice which I have ever since been sensible of. I\nwas never foolishly prodigal, except by intervals; but till then I was\nnever concerned whether I had much or little money. I now began to\npay more attention to this circumstance, taking care of my purse, and\nbecoming mean from a laudable motive; for I only sought to insure Madam\nde Warens some resources against that catastrophe which I dreaded the\napproach of. I feared her creditors would seize her pension or that it\nmight be discontinued and she reduced to want, when I foolishly imagined\nthat the trifle I could save might be of essential service to her; but\nto accomplish this, it was necessary I should conceal what I meant to\nmake a reserve of; for it would have been an awkward circumstance,\nwhile she was perpetually driven to expedients, to have her know that I\nhoarded money. Accordingly, I sought out some hiding-place, where I laid\nup a few louis, resolving to augment this stock from time to time, till\na convenient opportunity to lay it at her feet; but I was so incautious\nin the choice of my repositories, that she always discovered them, and,\nto convince me that she did so, changed the louis I had concealed for a\nlarger sum in different pieces of coin. Ashamed of these discoveries,\nI brought back to the common purse my little treasure, which she never\nfailed to lay out in clothes, or other things for my use, such as a\nsilver hilted sword, watch, etc. Being convinced that I should never\nsucceed in accumulating money, and that what I could save would furnish\nbut a very slender resource against the misfortune I dreaded, made me\nwish to place myself in such a situation that I might be enabled to\nprovide for her, whenever she might chance to be reduced to want.\nUnhappily, seeking these resources on the side of my inclinations, I\nfoolishly determined to consider music as my principal dependence; and\nideas of harmony rising in my brain, I imagined, that if placed in a\nproper situation to profit by them, I should acquire celebrity, and\npresently become a modern Orpheus, whose mystic sounds would attract all\nthe riches of Peru.\n\nAs I began to read music tolerably well, the question was, how I should\nlearn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good master,\nfor, with the assistance of my Rameau alone, I despaired of ever being\nable to accomplish it; and, since the departure of M. le Maitre,\nthere was nobody in Savoy who understood anything of the principles of\nharmony.\n\nI am now about to relate another of those inconsequences, which my life\nis full of, and which have so frequently carried me directly from my\ndesigns, even when I thought myself immediately within reach of them.\nVenture had spoken to me in very high terms of the Abbe Blanchard, who\nhad taught him composition; a deserving man, possessed of great talents,\nwho was music-master to the cathedral at Besancon, and is now in that\ncapacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I therefore determined to go to\nBesancon, and take some lessons from the Abbe Blanchard, and the idea\nappeared so rational to me, that I soon made Madam de Warens of the same\nopinion, who immediately set about the preparations for my journey, in\nthe same style of profusion with which all her plans were executed. Thus\nthis project for preventing a bankruptcy, and repairing in future the\nwaste of dissipation, began by causing her to expend eight hundred\nlivres; her ruin being accelerated that I might be put in a condition\nto prevent it. Foolish as this conduct may appear, the illusion was\ncomplete on my part, and even on hers, for I was persuaded I should\nlabor for her emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine.\n\nI expected to find Venture still at Annecy, and promised myself to\nobtain a recommendatory letter from him to the Abbe Blanchard; but he\nhad left that place, and I was obliged to content myself in the room of\nit, with a mass in four parts of his composition, which he had left with\nme. With this slender recommendation I set out for Besancon by the way\nof Geneva, where I saw my relations; and through Nion, where I saw my\nfather, who received me in his usual manner, and promised to forward\nmy portmanteau, which, as I travelled on horseback, came after me. I\narrived at Besancon, and was kindly received by the Abbe Blanchard,\nwho promised me his instruction, and offered his services in any other\nparticular. We had just set about our music, when I received a letter\nfrom my father, informing me that my portmanteau had been seized and\nconfiscated at Rousses, a French barrier on the side of Switzerland.\nAlarmed at the news, I employed the acquaintance I had formed at\nBesancon, to learn the motive of this confiscation. Being certain there\nwas nothing contraband among my baggage, I could not conceive on what\npretext it could have been seized on; at length, however, I learned the\nrights of the story, which (as it is a very curious one) must not be\nomitted.\n\nI became acquainted at Chambery with a very worthy old man, from Lyons,\nnamed Monsieur Duvivier, who had been employed at the Visa, under the\nregency, and for want of other business, now assisted at the Survey. He\nhad lived in the polite world, possessed talents, was good-humored, and\nunderstood music. As we both wrote in the same chamber, we preferred\neach other's acquaintance to that of the unlicked cubs that surrounded\nus. He had some correspondents at Paris, who furnished him with those\nlittle nothings, those daily novelties, which circulate one knows not\nwhy, and die one cares not when, without any one thinking of them longer\nthan they are heard. As I sometimes took him to dine with Madam de\nWarens, he in some measure treated me with respect, and (wishing to\nrender himself agreeable) endeavored to make me fond of these trifles,\nfor which I naturally had such a distaste, that I never in my life read\nany of them. Unhappily one of these cursed papers happened to be in the\nwaistcoat pocket of a new suit, which I had only worn two or three times\nto prevent its being seized by the commissioners of the customs. This\npaper contained an insipid Jansenist parody on that beautiful scene\nin Racine's Mithridates: I had not read ten lines of it, but by\nforgetfulness left it in my pocket, and this caused all my necessaries\nto be confiscated. The commissioners at the head of the inventory of my\nportmanteau, set a most pompous verbal process, in which it was taken\nfor granted that this most terrible writing came from Geneva for the\nsole purpose of being printed and distributed in France, and then ran\ninto holy invectives against the enemies of God and the Church, and\npraised the pious vigilance of those who had prevented the execution\nof these most infernal machinations. They doubtless found also that my\nspirits smelt of heresy, for on the strength of this dreadful paper,\nthey were all seized, and from that time I never received any account of\nmy unfortunate portmanteau. The revenue officers whom I applied to for\nthis purpose required so many instructions, informations, certificates,\nmemorials, etc., etc., that, lost a thousand times in the perplexing\nlabyrinth, I was glad to abandon them entirely. I feel a real regret for\nnot having preserved this verbal process from the office of Rousses, for\nit was a piece calculated to hold a distinguished rank in the collection\nwhich is to accompany this Work.\n\nThe loss of my necessities immediately brought me back to Chambery,\nwithout having learned anything of the Abbe Blanchard. Reasoning with\nmyself on the events of this journey, and seeing that misfortunes\nattended all my enterprises, I resolved to attach myself entirely to\nMadam de Warens, to share her fortune, and distress myself no longer\nabout future events, which I could not regulate. She received me as if I\nhad brought back treasures, replaced by degrees my little wardrobe, and\nthough this misfortune fell heavy enough on us both, it was forgotten\nalmost as suddenly as it arrived.\n\nThough this mischance had rather dampened my musical ardor, I did not\nleave off studying my Rameau, and, by repeated efforts, was at length\nable to understand it, and to make some little attempts at composition,\nthe success of which encouraged me to proceed. The Count de Bellegarde,\nson of the Marquis of Antremont, had returned from Dresden after the\ndeath of King Augustus. Having long resided at Paris, he was fond\nof music, and particularly that of Rameau. His brother, the Count of\nNangis, played on the violin; the Countess la Tour, their sister, sung\ntolerably: this rendered music the fashion at Chambery, and a kind of\npublic concert was established there, the direction of which was at\nfirst designed for me, but they soon discovered I was not competent to\nthe undertaking, and it was otherwise arranged. Notwithstanding this, I\ncontinued writing a number of little pieces, in my own way, and, among\nothers, a cantata, which gained great approbation; it could not, indeed,\nbe called a finished piece, but the airs were written in a style of\nnovelty, and produced a good effect, which was not expected from me.\nThese gentlemen could not believe that, reading music so indifferently,\nit was possible I should compose any that was passable, and made no\ndoubt that I had taken to myself the credit of some other person's\nlabors. Monsieur de Nangis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me\none morning with a cantata of Clerambault's which he had transposed as\nhe said, to suit his voice, and to which another bass was necessary,\nthe transposition having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable. I\nanswered, it required considerable labor, and could not be done on the\nspot. Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at\nleast the bass to a recitative: I did so, not well, doubtless, because\nto attempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom, but\nI did it at least according to rule, and he being present, could\nnot doubt but I understood the elements of composition. I did not,\ntherefore, lose my scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should\nbe a concert at Chambery in which I was not necessary.\n\nAbout this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed the\nAlps. Several officers came to visit Madam de Warens, and among\nothers the Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, since\nPlenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom\nshe presented me. On her recommendation, he appeared to interest himself\ngreatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never remembered\ntill the last year of his life, when I no longer stood in need of his\nassistance. The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father was then\nambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same time, and dined\none day at M. de Menthon's, when I happened to be among the guests.\nAfter dinner; the discourse turned on music, which the marquis\nunderstood extremely well. The opera of 'Jephtha' was then new; he\nmentioned this piece, it was brought him, and he made me tremble\nby proposing to execute it between us. He opened the book at that\ncelebrated double chorus,\n\n                    La Terra, l'Enfer, le Ciel meme,\n                    Tout tremble devant le Seigneur!\n\n               [The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself,\n               tremble before the Lord!]\n\nHe said, \"How many parts will you take? I will do these six.\" I had\nnot yet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and though\nacquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man could\nundertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time. Nothing\nhas cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from one part to\nanother, and have the eye at once on a whole division. By the manner in\nwhich I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined to believe I did\nnot understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy himself in this\nparticular that he proposed my noting a song for Mademoiselle de\nMenthon, in such a manner that I could not avoid it. He sang this song,\nand I wrote from his voice, without giving him much trouble to repeat\nit. When finished he read my performance, and said (which was very true)\nthat it was very correctly noted. He had observed my embarrassment, and\nnow seemed to enhance the merit of this little success. In reality, I\nthen understood music very well, and only wanted that quickness at first\nsight which I possess in no one particular, and which is only to be\nacquired in this art by long and constant practice. Be that as it may,\nI was fully sensible of his kindness in endeavoring to efface from\nthe minds of others, and even from my own, the embarrassment I had\nexperienced on this occasion. Twelve or fifteen years afterwards,\nmeeting this gentleman at several houses in Paris, I was tempted to make\nhim recollect this anecdote, and show him I still remembered it; but\nhe had lost his sight since that time; I feared to give him pain by\nrecalling to his memory how useful it formerly had been to him, and was\ntherefore silent on that subject.\n\nI now touch on the moment that binds my past existence to the present,\nsome friendships of that period, prolonged to the present time, being\nvery dear to me, have frequently made me regret that happy obscurity,\nwhen those who called themselves my friends were really so; loved me\nfor myself, through pure good will, and not from the vanity of being\nacquainted with a conspicuous character, perhaps for the secret purpose\nof finding more occasions to injure him.\n\nFrom this time I date my first acquaintance with my old friend\nGauffecourt, who, notwithstanding every effort to disunite us, has still\nremained so.--Still remained so!--No, alas! I have just lost him!--but\nhis affection terminated only with his life--death alone could put a\nperiod to our friendship. Monsieur de Gauffecourt was one of the most\namiable men that ever existed; it was impossible to see him without\naffection, or to live with him without feeling a sincere attachment. In\nmy life I never saw features more expressive of goodness and serenity,\nor that marked more feeling, more understanding, or inspired greater\nconfidence. However reserved one might be, it was impossible even\nat first sight to avoid being as free with him as if he had been an\nacquaintance of twenty years; for myself, who find so much difficulty\nto be at ease among new faces, I was familiar with him in a moment. His\nmanner, accent, and conversation, perfectly suited his features: the\nsound of his voice was clear, full and musical; it was an agreeable\nand expressive bass, which satisfied the ear, and sounded full upon the\nheart. It was impossible to possess a more equal and pleasing vivacity,\nor more real and unaffected gracefulness, more natural talents, or\ncultivated with greater taste; join to all these good qualities an\naffectionate heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing his\nfavors with too little caution; serving his friends with zeal, or rather\nmaking himself the friend of every one he could serve, yet contriving\nvery dexterously to manage his own affairs, while warmly pursuing the\ninterests of others.\n\nGauffecourt was the son of a clock-maker, and would have been a\nclock-maker himself had not his person and desert called him to a\nsuperior situation. He became acquainted with M. de la Closure, the\nFrench Resident at Geneva, who conceived a friendship for him, and\nprocured him some connections at Paris, which were useful, and through\nwhose influence he obtained the privilege of furnishing the salts of\nValais, which was worth twenty thousand livres a year. This very amply\nsatisfied his wishes with respect to fortune, but with regard to women\nhe was more difficult; he had to provide for his own happiness, and did\nwhat he supposed most conducive to it. What renders his character most\nremarkable, and does him the greatest honor, is, that though connected\nwith all conditions, he was universally esteemed and sought after\nwithout being envied or hated by any one, and I really believe he passed\nthrough life without a single enemy.--Happy man!\n\nHe went every year to the baths of Aix, where the best company from the\nneighboring countries resorted, and being on terms of friendship with\nall the nobility of Savoy, came from Aix to Chambery to see the young\nCount de Bellegarde and his father the Marquis of Antremont. It was\nhere Madam de Warens introduced me to him, and this acquaintance, which\nappeared at that time to end in nothing, after many years had elapsed,\nwas renewed on an occasion which I should relate, when it became a real\nfriendship. I apprehend I am sufficiently authorized in speaking of a\nman to whom I was so firmly attached, but I had no personal interest\nin what concerned him; he was so truly amiable, and born with so many\nnatural good qualities that, for the honor of human nature, I should\nthink it necessary to preserve his memory. This man, estimable as he\ncertainly was, had, like other mortals, some failings, as will be seen\nhereafter; perhaps had it not been so, he would have been less amiable,\nsince, to render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he\nshould sometimes act in such a manner as to require a small portion of\nindulgence.\n\nAnother connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished, and\ncontinues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness, which it is\nso difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieur de Conzie,\na Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a fancy to learn\nmusic, or rather to be acquainted with the person who taught it. With\ngreat understanding and taste for polite acquirements, M. de Conzie\npossessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him extremely\nattractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it found a\ncounterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of literature\nand philosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and only waited\nfor culture and emulation to spring up, found in him exactly what was\nwanting to render them prolific. M. de Conzie had no great inclination\nto music, and even this was useful to me, for the hours destined for\nlessons were passed anyhow rather than musically; we breakfasted,\nchatted, and read new publications, but not a word of music.\n\nThe correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of Prussia,\nthen made a noise in the world, and these celebrated men were frequently\nthe subject of our conversation, one of whom recently seated on a\nthrone, already indicated what he would prove himself hereafter, while\nthe other, as much disgraced as he is now admired, made us sincerely\nlament the misfortunes that seemed to pursue him, and which are so\nfrequently the appendage of superior talents. The Prince of Prussia had\nnot been happy in his youth, and it appeared that Voltaire was formed\nnever to be so. The interest we took in both parties extended to all\nthat concerned them, and nothing that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The\ninclination I felt for these performances inspired me with a desire to\nwrite elegantly, and caused me to endeavor to imitate the colorings of\nthat author, with whom I was so much enchanted. Some time after, his\nphilosophical letters (though certainly not his best work) greatly\naugmented my fondness for study; it was a rising inclination, which,\nfrom that time, has never been extinguished.\n\nBut the moment was not yet arrived when I should give into it entirely;\nmy rambling disposition (rather contracted than eradicated) being\nkept alive by our manner of living at Madam de Warens, which was too\nunsettled for one of my solitary temper. The crowd of strangers who\ndaily swarmed about her from all parts, and the certainty I was in\nthat these people sought only to dupe her, each in his particular mode,\nrendered home disagreeable. Since I had succeeded Anet in the confidence\nof his mistress, I had strictly examined her circumstances, and saw\ntheir evil tendency with horror. I had remonstrated a hundred times,\nprayed, argued, conjured, but all to no purpose. I had thrown myself at\nher feet, and strongly represented the catastrophe that threatened her,\nhad earnestly entreated that she would reform her expenses, and begin\nwith myself, representing that it was better to suffer something while\nshe was yet young, than by multiplying her debts and creditors, expose\nher old age to vexation and misery.\n\nSensible of the sincerity of my zeal, she was frequently affected, and\nwould then make the finest promises in the world: but only let an\nartful schemer arrive, and in an instant all her good resolutions\nwere forgotten. After a thousand proofs of the inefficacy of my\nremonstrances, what remained but to turn away my eyes from the ruin I\ncould not prevent; and fly myself from the door I could not guard! I\nmade therefore little journeys to Geneva and Lyons, which diverted my\nmind in some measure from this secret uneasiness, though it increased\nthe cause by these additional expenses. I can truly aver that I should\nhave acquiesed with pleasure in every retrenchment, had Madam de Warens\nreally profited by it, but being persuaded that what I might refuse\nmyself would be distributed among a set of interested villains, I\ntook advantage of her easiness to partake with them, and, like the dog\nreturning from the shambles, carried off a portion of that morsel which\nI could not protect.\n\nPretences were not wanting for all these journeys; even Madam de Warens\nwould alone have supplied me with more than were necessary, having\nplenty of connections, negotiations, affairs, and commissions, which she\nwished to have executed by some trusty hand. In these cases she usually\napplied to me; I was always willing to go, and consequently found\noccasions enough to furnish out a rambling kind of life. These\nexcursions procured me some good connections, which have since been\nagreeable or useful to me. Among others, I met at Lyons, with M.\nPerrichon, whose friendship I accuse myself with not having sufficiently\ncultivated, considering the kindness he had for me; and that of the good\nParisot, which I shall speak of in its place, at Grenoble, that of\nMadam Deybens and Madam la Presidente de Bardonanche, a woman of great\nunderstanding, and who would have entertained a friendship for me had\nit been in my power to have seen her oftener; at Geneva, that of M. de\nClosure, the French Resident, who often spoke to me of my mother, the\nremembrance of whom neither death nor time had erased from his heart;\nlikewise those of the two Barillots, the father, who was very amiable,\na good companion, and one of the most worthy men I ever met, calling me\nhis grandson. During the troubles of the republic, these two citizens\ntook contrary sides, the son siding with the people, the father with the\nmagistrates. When they took up arms in 1737, I was at Geneva, and saw\nthe father and son quit the same house armed, the one going to the\ntownhouse, the other to his quarters, almost certain to meet face to\nface in the course of two hours, and prepared to give or receive death\nfrom each other. This unnatural sight made so lively an impression\non me, that I solemnly vowed never to interfere in any civil war, nor\nassist in deciding our internal dispute by arms, either personally or\nby my influence, should I ever enter into my rights as a citizen. I can\nbring proofs of having kept this oath on a very delicate occasion, and\nit will be confessed (at least I should suppose so) that this moderation\nwas of some worth.\n\nBut I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which the\nfirst sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as may be\nconjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my advantage,\nwhich I forgot to put in its proper place, but which ought not to be\nomitted.\n\nMy uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some years\nin the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan of. My\npoor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt lost,\nnearly at the same period, her son and husband. These losses reanimated\nin some measure her affection for the nearest relative she had\nremaining, which was myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned her house\nmy home, and amused myself with rummaging and turning over the books and\npapers my uncle had left. Among them I found some curious ones, and\nsome letters which they certainly little thought of. My aunt, who set no\nstore by these dusty papers, would willingly have given the whole to me,\nbut I contented myself with two or three books, with notes written by\nthe Minister Bernard, my grandfather, and among the rest, the posthumous\nworks of Rohault in quarto, the margins of which were full of excellent\ncommentaries, which gave me an inclination to the mathematics. This book\nremained among those of Madam de Warens, and I have since lamented\nthat I did not preserve it. To these I added five or six memorials in\nmanuscript, and a printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, a\nman of considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but too\nmuch, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly treated\nby the magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the fortress of Arberg,\nwhere he had been confined many years, for being, as it was said,\nconcerned in the conspiracy of Berne.\n\nThis memorial was a judicious critique on the extensive but ridiculous\nplan of fortification, which had been adopted at Geneva, though censured\nby every person of judgment in the art, who was unacquainted with the\nsecret motives of the council, in the execution of this magnificent\nenterprise. Monsieur de Micheli, who had been excluded from the\ncommittee of fortification for having condemned this plan, thought that,\nas a citizen, and a member of the two hundred, he might give his advice,\nat large, and therefore, did so in this memorial, which he was imprudent\nenough to have printed, though he never published it, having only those\ncopies struck off which were meant for the two hundred, and which were\nall intercepted at the post-house by order of the Senate.\n\n     [The grand council of Geneva in December, 1728, pronounced this\n     paper highly disrespectful to the councils, and injurious to the\n     committee of fortification.]\n\nI found this memorial among my uncle's papers, with the answer he had\nbeen ordered to make to it, and took both. This was soon after I had\nleft my place at the survey, and I yet remained on good terms with the\nCounsellor de Coccelli, who had the management of it. Some time after,\nthe director of the custom-house entreated me to stand godfather to\nhis child, with Madam Coccelli, who was to be godmother: proud of being\nplaced on such terms of equality with the counsellor, I wished to assume\nimportance, and show myself worthy of that honor.\n\nFull of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show him\nMicheli's memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove I\nwas connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were intrusted\nwith the secrets of the state, yet by a kind of reserve which I should\nfind it difficult to account for, I did not show him my uncle's answer,\nperhaps, because it was manuscript, and nothing less than print was\nworthy to approach the counsellor. He understood, however, so well the\nimportance of this paper, which I had the folly to put into his hands,\nthat I could never after get it into my possession, and being convinced\nthat every effort for that purpose would be ineffectual, I made a merit\nof my forbearance, transforming the theft into a present. I made no\ndoubt that this writing (more curious, however, than useful) answered\nhis purpose at the court of Turin, where probably he took care to be\nreimbursed in some way or other for the expense which the acquisition\nof it might be supposed to have cost him. Happily, of all future\ncontingencies, the least probable, is, that ever the King of Sardina\nshould besiege Geneva, but as that event is not absolutely impossible,\nI shall ever reproach my foolish vanity with having been the means\nof pointing out the greatest defects of that city to its most ancient\nenemy.\n\nI passed two or three years in this manner, between music, study,\nprojects, and journeys, floating incessantly from one object to another,\nand wishing to fix though I knew not on what, but insensibly inclining\ntowards study. I was acquainted with men of letters, I had heard them\nspeak of literature, and sometimes mingled in the conversation, yet\nrather adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained.\nIn my excursions to Geneva, I frequently called on my good old friend\nMonsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising emulation by fresh news\nfrom the republic of letters, extracted from Baillet or Colomies. I\nfrequently saw too, at Chambery, a Dominican professor of physic, a\ngood kind of friar, whose name I have forgotten, who often made little\nchemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, I\nattempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose\nmore than half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water, the\neffervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to unstop the\nbottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the attempt, it burst\nin my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of the orpiment and\nlime, that it nearly cost me my life. I remained blind for six weeks,\nand by the event of this experiment learned to meddle no more with\nexperimental Chemistry while the elements were unknown to me.\n\nThis adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for\nsome time past, had been visibly on the decline. This was rather\nextraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it have\nbeen expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rather\ncapacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was short\nbreathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily, had\npalpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with a\nlingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome. How is it\npossible to fall into such a state in the flower of one's age, without\nany inward decay, or without having done anything to destroy health?\n\nIt is sometimes said, \"the sword wears the scabbard,\" this was truly\nthe case with me: the violence of my passions both kept me alive and\nhastened my dissolution. What passions? will be asked: mere nothings:\nthe most trivial objects in nature, but which affected me as forcibly\nas if the acquisition of a Helen, or the throne of the universe were\nat stake. My senses, for instance, were at ease with one woman, but my\nheart never was, and the necessities of love consumed me in the very\nbosom of happiness. I had a tender, respected and lovely friend, but I\nsighed for a mistress; my prolific fancy painted her as such, and gave\nher a thousand forms, for had I conceived that my endearments had been\nlavished on Madam de Warens, they would not have been less tender,\nthough infinitely more tranquil. But is it possible for man to taste,\nin their utmost extent, the delights of love? I cannot tell, but I am\npersuaded my frail existence would have sunk under the weight of them.\n\nI was, therefore, dying for love without an object, and this state,\nperhaps, is, of all others, the most dangerous. I was likewise uneasy,\ntormented at the bad state of poor Madam de Warens' circumstances, and\nthe imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring them, in\na short time, to total ruin. My tortured imagination (which ever paints\nmisfortunes in the extremity) continually beheld this in its utmost\nexcess, and in all the horror of its consequences. I already saw myself\nforced by want to quit her--to whom I had consecrated my future life,\nand without whom I could not hope for happiness: thus was my soul\ncontinually agitated, and hopes and fears devoured me alternately.\n\nMusic was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming, from the\nardor with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of the\nobscure books of Rameau; by an invincible resolution to charge my memory\nwith rules it could not contain; by continual application, and by long\nand immense compilations which I frequently passed whole nights in\ncopying: but why dwell on these particularly, while every folly that\ntook possession of my wandering brain, the most transient ideas of a\nsingle day, a journey, a concert, a supper, a walk, a novel to read, a\nplay to see, things in the world the least premeditated in my pleasures\nor occupation became for me the most violent passions, which by their\nridiculous impetuosity conveyed the most serious torments; even the\nimaginary misfortunes of Cleveland, read with avidity and frequent\ninterruption, have, I am persuaded, disordered me more than my own.\n\nThere was a Genevese, named Bagueret, who had been employed under Peter\nthe Great, of the court of Russia, one of the most worthless, senseless\nfellows I ever met with; full of projects as foolish as himself, which\nwere to rain down millions on those who took part in them. This man,\nhaving come to Chambery on account of some suit depending before the\nsenate, immediately got acquainted with Madam de Warens, and with great\nreason on his side, since for those imaginary treasures that cost him\nnothing, and which he bestowed with the utmost prodigality, he gained,\nin exchange, the unfortunate crown pieces one by one out of her pocket.\nI did not like him, and he plainly perceived this, for with me it is\nnot a very difficult discovery, nor did he spare any sort of meanness to\ngain my good will, and among other things proposed teaching me to play\nat chess, which game he understood something of. I made an attempt,\nthough almost against my inclination, and after several efforts, having\nlearned the moves, my progress was so rapid, that before the end of the\nfirst sitting I gave him the rook, which in the beginning he had given\nme. Nothing more was necessary; behold me fascinated with chess! I buy\na board, with the rest of the apparatus, and shutting myself up in my\nchamber, pass whole days and nights in studying all the varieties of the\ngame, being determined by playing alone, without end or relaxation,\nto drive them into my head, right or wrong. After incredible efforts,\nduring two or three months passed in this curious employment, I go to\nthe coffee-house, thin, sallow, and almost stupid; I seat myself, and\nagain attack M. Bagueret: he beats me, once, twice, twenty times; so\nmany combinations were fermenting in my head, and my imagination was so\nstupefied, that all appeared confusion. I tried to exercise myself with\nPhilidor's or Stamina's book of instructions, but I was still equally\nperplexed, and, after having exhausted myself with fatigue, was further\nto seek than ever, and whether I abandoned my chess for a time, or\nresolved to surmount every difficulty by unremitted practice, it was the\nsame thing. I could never advance one step beyond the improvement of\nthe first sitting, nay, I am convinced that had I studied it a thousand\nages, I should have ended by being able to give Bagueret the rook and\nnothing more.\n\nIt will be said my time was well employed, and not a little of it passed\nin this occupation, nor did I quit my first essay till unable to persist\nin it, for on leaving my apartment I had the appearance of a corpse,\nand had I continued this course much longer I should certainly have been\none.\n\nAny one will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially\nin the ardor of youth, that such a head should suffer the body to enjoy\ncontinued health; the alteration of mine had an effect on my temper,\nmoderating the ardor of my chimerical fancies, for as I grew weaker\nthey became more tranquil, and I even lost, in some measure, my rage\nfor travelling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy; vapors\nsucceeded passions, languor became sorrow: I wept and sighed without\ncause, and felt my life ebbing away before I had enjoyed it. I only\ntrembled to think of the situation in which I should leave my dear Madam\nde Warens; and I can truly say, that quitting her, and leaving her in\nthese melancholy circumstances, was my only concern. At length I fell\nquite ill, and was nursed by her as never mother nursed a child.\nThe care she took of me was of real utility to her affairs, since it\ndiverted her mind from schemes, and kept projectors at a distance. How\npleasing would death have been at that time, when, if I had not tasted\nmany of the pleasures of life, I had felt but few of its misfortunes.\nMy tranquil soul would have taken her flight, without having experienced\nthose cruel ideas of the injustice of mankind which embitters both life\nand death. I should have enjoyed the sweet consolation that I still\nsurvived in the dearer part of myself: in the situation I then was, it\ncould hardly be called death; and had I been divested of my uneasiness\non her account, it would have appeared but a gentle sleep; yet even\nthese disquietudes had such an affectionate and tender turn, that their\nbitterness was tempered by a pleasing sensibility. I said to her, \"You\nare the depository of my whole being, act so that I may be happy.\"\nTwo or three times, when my disorder was most violent, I crept to her\napartment to give her my advice respecting her future conduct; and I\ndare affirm these admonitions were both wise and equitable, in which the\ninterest I took in her future concerns was strongly marked. As if tears\nhad been both nourishment and medicine, I found myself the better for\nthose I shed with her, while seated on her bed-side, and holding her\nhands between mine. The hours crept insensibly away in these nocturnal\ndiscourses; I returned to my chamber better than I had quitted it, being\ncontent and calmed by the promises she made, and the hopes with which\nshe had inspired me: I slept on them with my heart at peace, and fully\nresigned to the dispensations of Providence. God grant, that after\nhaving had so many reasons to hate life, after being agitated with so\nmany storms, after it has even become a burden, that death, which must\nterminate all, may be no more terrible than it would have been at that\nmoment!\n\nBy inconceivable care and vigilance, she saved my life; and I am\nconvinced she alone could have done this. I have little faith in the\nskill of physicians, but depend greatly on the assistance of real\nfriends, and am persuaded that being easy in those particulars on which\nour happiness depends, is more salutary than any other application. If\nthere is a sensation in life peculiarly delightful, we experienced it\nin being restored to each other; our mutual attachment did not increase,\nfor that was impossible, but it became, I know not how, more exquisitely\ntender, fresh softness being added to its former simplicity. I became\nin a manner her work; we got into the habit, though without design, of\nbeing continually with each other, and enjoying, in some measure, our\nwhole existence together, feeling reciprocally that we were not\nonly necessary, but entirely sufficient for each other's happiness.\nAccustomed to think of no subject foreign to ourselves, our happiness\nand all our desires were confined to that pleasing and singular union,\nwhich, perhaps, had no equal, which is not, as I have before observed,\nlove, but a sentiment inexpressibly more intimate, neither depending\non the senses, age, nor figure, but an assemblage of every endearing\nsensation that composes our rational existence and which can cease only\nwith our being.\n\nHow was it that this delightful crisis did not secure our mutual\nfelicity for the remainder of her life and mine? I have the consoling\nconviction that it was not my fault; nay, I am persuaded, she did not\nwilfully destroy it; the invincible peculiarity of my disposition was\ndoomed soon to regain its empire; but this fatal return was not suddenly\naccomplished, there was, thank Heaven, a short but precious interval,\nthat did not conclude by my fault, and which I cannot reproach myself\nwith having employed amiss.\n\nThough recovered from my dangerous illness, I did not regain my\nstrength; my stomach was weak, some remains of the fever kept me in a\nlanguishing condition, and the only inclination I was sensible of, was\nto end my days near one so truly dear to me; to confirm her in those\ngood resolutions she had formed; to convince her in what consisted the\nreal charms of a happy life, and, as far as depended on me, to render\nhers so; but I foresaw that in a gloomy, melancholy house, the continual\nsolitude of our tete-a-tetes would at length become too dull and\nmonotonous: a remedy presented itself: Madam de Warens had prescribed\nmilk for me, and insisted that I should take it in the country; I\nconsented, provided she would accompany me; nothing more was necessary\nto gain her compliance, and whither we should go was all that remained\nto be determined on. Our garden (which I have before mentioned) was not\nproperly in the country, being surrounded by houses and other gardens,\nand possessing none of those attractions so desirable in a rural\nretreat; besides, after the death of Anet, we had given up this place\nfrom economical principles, feeling no longer a desire to rear plants,\nand other views making us not regret the loss of that little retreat.\nImproving the distaste I found she began to imbibe for the town, I\nproposed to abandon it entirely, and settle ourselves in an agreeable\nsolitude, in some small house, distant enough from the city to avoid the\nperpetual intrusion of her hangers-on. She followed my advice, and this\nplan, which her good angel and mine suggested, might fully have secured\nour happiness and tranquility till death had divided us--but this was\nnot the state we were appointed to; Madam de Warens was destined to\nendure all the sorrows of indigence and poverty, after having passed the\nformer part of her life in abundance, that she might learn to quit it\nwith the less regret; and myself, by an assemblage of misfortunes of all\nkinds, was to become a striking example to those who, inspired with\na love of justice and the public good, and trusting too implicitly\nto their own innocence, shall openly dare to assert truth to mankind,\nunsupported by cabals, or without having previously formed parties to\nprotect them.\n\nAn unhappy fear furnished some objections to our plan: she did not dare\nto quit her ill-contrived house, for fear of displeasing the proprietor.\n\"Your proposed retirement is charming,\" said she, \"and much to my taste,\nbut we are necessitated to remain here, for, on quitting this dungeon,\nI hazard losing the very means of life, and when these fail us in the\nwoods, we must again return to seek them in the city. That we may have\nthe least possible cause for being reduced to this necessity, let us\nnot leave this house entirely, but pay a small pension to the Count\nof Saint-Laurent, that he may continue mine. Let us seek some little\nhabitation, far enough from the town to be at peace, yet near enough to\nreturn when it may appear convenient.\"\n\nThis mode was finally adopted; and after some small search, we fixed\nat Charmettes, on an estate belonging to M. de Conzie, at a very small\ndistance from Chambery; but as retired and solitary as if it had been a\nhundred leagues off. The spot we had concluded on was a valley between\ntwo tolerably high hills, which ran north and south; at the bottom,\namong the trees and pebbles, ran a rivulet, and above the declivity,\non either side, were scattered a number of houses, forming altogether a\nbeautiful retreat for those who love a peaceful romantic asylum. After\nhaving examined two or three of these houses, we chose that which we\nthought the most pleasing, which was the property of a gentleman of the\narmy, called M. Noiret. This house was in good condition, before it a\ngarden, forming a terrace; below that on the declivity an orchard, and\non the ascent, behind the house, a vineyard: a little wood of chestnut\ntrees opposite; a fountain just by, and higher up the hill, meadows\nfor the cattle; in short, all that could be thought necessary for\nthe country retirement we proposed to establish. To the best of my\nremembrance, we took possession of it toward the latter end of the\nsummer of 1736. I was delighted on going to sleep there--\"Oh!\" said I,\nto this dear friend, embracing her with tears of tenderness and delight,\n\"this is the abode of happiness and innocence; if we do not find them\nhere together it will be in vain to seek them elsewhere.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\n\n               Hoc erat in votis: Modus agri non ita magnus\n               Hortus ubi, et tecto vicinus aqua fons;\n               Et paulum sylvae super his foret.\n\n\n|I cannot add, 'auctius acque di melius fecere'; but no matter, the\nformer is enough for my purpose; I had no occasion to have any property\nthere, it was sufficient that I enjoyed it; for I have long since both\nsaid and felt, that the proprietor and possessor are two very different\npeople, even leaving husbands and lovers out of the question.\n\nAt this moment began the short happiness of my life, those peaceful\nand rapid moments, which have given me a right to say, I have lived.\nPrecious and ever-regretted moments! Ah! recommence your delightful\ncourse; pass more slowly through my memory, if possible, than you\nactually did in your fugitive succession. How shall I prolong, according\nto my inclination, this recital at once so pleasing and simple? How\nshall I continue to relate the same occurrences, without wearying my\nreaders with the repetition, any more than I was satiated with the\nenjoyment? Again, if all this consisted of facts, actions, or words, I\ncould somehow or other convey an idea of it; but how shall I describe\nwhat was neither said nor done, nor even thought, but enjoyed, felt,\nwithout being able to particularize any other object of my happiness\nthan the bare idea? I rose with the sun, and was happy; I walked, and\nwas happy; I saw Madam de Warens, and was happy; I quitted her, and\nstill was happy!--Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills,\nor strolled along the valley; read, was idle, worked in the garden, or\ngathered fruits, happiness continually accompanied me; it was fixed on\nno particular object, it was within me, nor could I depart from it a\nsingle moment.\n\nNothing that passed during that charming epocha, nothing that I did,\nsaid, or thought, has escaped my memory. The time that preceded or\nfollowed it, I only recollect by intervals, unequally and confused;\nbut here I remember all as distinctly as if it existed at this moment.\nImagination, which in my youth was perpetually anticipating the future,\nbut now takes a retrograde course, makes some amends by these charming\nrecollections for the deprivation of hope, which I have lost forever. I\nno longer see anything in the future that can tempt my wishes, it is a\nrecollection of the past alone that can flatter me, and the remembrance\nof the period I am now describing is so true and lively, that it\nsometimes makes me happy, even in spite of my misfortunes.\n\nOf these recollections I shall relate one example, which may give some\nidea of their force and precision. The first day we went to sleep at\nCharmettes, the way being up-hill, and Madam de Warens rather heavy, she\nwas carried in a chair, while I followed on foot. Fearing the chairmen\nwould be fatigued, she got out about half-way, designing to walk the\nrest of it. As we passed along, she saw something blue in the hedge,\nand said, \"There's some periwinkle in flower yet!\" I had never seen\nany before, nor did I stop to examine this: my sight is too short to\ndistinguish plants on the ground, and I only cast a look at this as I\npassed: an interval of near thirty years had elapsed before I saw any\nmore periwinkle, at least before I observed it, when being at Cressier\nin 1764, with my friend, M. du Peyrou, we went up a small mountain,\non the summit of which there is a level spot, called, with reason,\n'Belle-vue', I was then beginning to herbalize;--walking and looking\namong the bushes, I exclaimed with rapture, \"Ah, there's some\nperiwinkle!\" Du Peyrou, who perceived my transport, was ignorant of\nthe cause, but will some day be informed: I hope, on reading this. The\nreader may judge by this impression, made by so small an incident, what\nan effect must have been produced by every occurrence of that time.\n\nMeantime, the air of the country did not restore my health; I was\nlanguishing and became more so; I could not endure milk, and was obliged\nto discontinue the use of it. Water was at this time the fashionable\nremedy for every complaint; accordingly I entered on a course of it, and\nso indiscreetly, that it almost released me, not only from my illness\nbut also from my life. The water I drank was rather hard and difficult\nto pass, as water from mountains generally is; in short, I managed so\nwell, that in the course of two months I totally ruined my stomach,\nwhich until that time had been very good, and no longer digesting\nanything properly, had no reason to expect a cure. At this time\nan accident happened, as singular in itself as in its subsequent\nconsequences, which can only terminate with my existence.\n\nOne morning, being no worse than usual, while putting up the leaf of\na small table, I felt a sudden and almost inconceivable revolution\nthroughout my whole frame. I know not how to describe it better than\nas a kind of tempest, which suddenly rose in my blood, and spread in\na moment over every part of my body. My arteries began beating so\nviolently that I not only felt their motion, but even heard it,\nparticularly that of the carotids, attended by a loud noise in my ears,\nwhich was of three, or rather four, distinct kinds. For instance, first\na grave hollow buzzing; then a more distinct murmur, like the running of\nwater; then an extremely sharp hissing, attended by the beating I before\nmentioned, and whose throbs I could easily count, without feeling my\npulse, or putting a hand to any part of my body. This internal tumult\nwas so violent that it has injured my auricular organs, and rendered me,\nfrom that time, not entirely deaf, but hard of hearing.\n\nMy surprise and fear may easily be conceived; imagining it was the\nstroke of death, I went to bed, and the physician being sent for,\ntrembling with apprehension, I related my case; judging it past all\ncure. I believe the doctor was of the same opinion; however he performed\nhis office, running over a long string of causes and effects beyond my\ncomprehension, after which, in consequence of this sublime theory, he\nset about, 'in anima vili', the experimental part of his art, but\nthe means he was pleased to adopt in order to effect a cure were so\ntroublesome, disgusting, and followed by so little effect, that I soon\ndiscontinued it, and after some weeks, finding I was neither better nor\nworse, left my bed, and returned to my usual method of living; but the\nbeating of my arteries and the buzzing in my ears has never quitted me a\nmoment during the thirty years' time which has elapsed since that time.\n\nTill now, I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of repose,\nwith other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it, even to\nthis time, persuaded me I had but a short time to live. This idea\ntranquillized me for a time: I became less anxious about a cure, and\nbeing persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ the\nremainder of it as usefully as possible. This was practicable by a\nparticular indulgence of Nature, which, in this melancholy state,\nexempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I should\nhave experienced. I was incommoded by the noise, but felt no pain,\nnor was it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnal\nwakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath, which is not\nviolent enough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I\nattempted to run, or use any degree of exertion.\n\nThis accident, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my body,\nonly killed my passions, and I have reason to thank Heaven for the happy\neffect produced by it on my soul. I can truly say, I only began to live\nwhen I considered myself as entering the grave; for, estimating at their\nreal value those things I was quitting; I began to employ myself on\nnobler objects, namely by anticipating those I hoped shortly to have\nthe contemplation of, and which I had hitherto too much neglected. I\nhad often made light of religion, but was never totally devoid of\nit; consequently, it cost me less pain to employ my thoughts on that\nsubject, which is generally thought melancholy, though highly pleasing\nto those who make it an object of hope and consolation; Madam de\nWarens, therefore, was more useful to me on this occasion than all the\ntheologians in the world would have been.\n\nShe, who brought everything into a system, had not failed to do as much\nby religion; and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinity\nto each other. Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous,\nbeing made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, and\nprejudices derived from education. Men, in general, make God like\nthemselves; the virtuous make Him good, and the profligate make Him\nwicked; ill-tempered and bilious devotees see nothing but hell, because\nthey would willingly damn all mankind; while loving and gentle souls\ndisbelieve it altogether; and one of the astonishments I could never\novercome, is to see the good Fenelon speak of it in his Telemachus as if\nhe really gave credit to it; but I hope he lied in that particular, for\nhowever strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely must\nlie sometimes. Madam de Warens spoke truth with me, and that soul, made\nup without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angry God,\nsaw only clemency and forgiveness, where devotees bestowed inflexible\njustice, and eternal punishment.\n\nShe frequently said there would be no justice in the Supreme Being\nshould He be strictly just to us; because, not having bestowed what was\nnecessary to render us essentially good, it would be requiring more than\nhe had given. The most whimsical idea was, that not believing in hell,\nshe was firmly persuaded of the reality of purgatory. This arose from\nher not knowing what to do with the wicked, being loathed to damn them\nutterly, nor yet caring to place them with the good till they had become\nso; and we must really allow, that both in this world and the next, the\nwicked are very troublesome company.\n\nIt is clearly seen that the doctrine of original sin and the redemption\nof mankind is destroyed by this system; consequently that the basis of\nthe Christian dispensation, as generally received, is shaken, and\nthat the Catholic faith cannot subsist with these principles; Madam de\nWarens, notwithstanding, was a good Catholic, or at least pretended to\nbe one, and certainly desired to become such, but it appeared to her\nthat the Scriptures were too literally and harshly explained, supposing\nthat all we read of everlasting torments were figurative threatenings,\nand the death of Jesus Christ an example of charity, truly divine, which\nshould teach mankind to love God and each other; in a word, faithful to\nthe religion she had embraced, she acquiesced in all its professions of\nfaith, but on a discussion of each particular article, it was plain\nshe thought diametrically opposite to that church whose doctrines she\nprofessed to believe. In these cases she exhibited simplicity of art, a\nfrankness more eloquent than sophistry, which frequently embarrassed her\nconfessor; for she disguised nothing from him. \"I am a good Catholic,\"\nshe would say, \"and will ever remain so; I adopt with all the powers of\nmy soul the decisions of our holy Mother Church; I am not mistress of\nmy faith, but I am of my will, which I submit to you without reserve; I\nwill endeavor to believe all,--what can you require more?\"\n\nHad there been no Christian morality established, I am persuaded she\nwould have lived as if regulated by its principles, so perfectly did\nthey seem to accord with her disposition. She did everything that\nwas required; and she would have done the same had there been no such\nrequisition: but all this morality was subordinate to the principles\nof M. Tavel, or rather she pretended to see nothing in religion that\ncontradicted them; thus she would have favored twenty lovers in a day,\nwithout any idea of a crime, her conscience being no more moved in that\nparticular than her passions. I know that a number of devotees are\nnot more scrupulous, but the difference is, they are seduced by\nconstitution, she was blinded by her sophisms. In the midst of\nconversations the most affecting, I might say the most edifying, she\nwould touch on this subject, without any change of air or manner, and\nwithout being sensible of any contradiction in her opinions; so much was\nshe persuaded that our restrictions on that head are merely political,\nand that any person of sense might interpret, apply, or make exceptions\nto them, without any danger of offending the Almighty.\n\nThough I was far enough from being of the same opinion in this\nparticular, I confess I dared not combat hers; indeed, as I was\nsituated, it would have been putting myself in rather awkward\ncircumstances, since I could only have sought to establish my opinion\nfor others, myself being an exception. Besides, I entertained but little\nhopes of making her alter hers, which never had any great influence on\nher conduct, and at the time I am speaking of none; but I have\npromised faithfully to describe her principles, and I will perform my\nengagement--I now return to myself.\n\nFinding in her all those ideas I had occasion for to secure me from\nthe fears of death and its future consequences, I drew confidence and\nsecurity from this source; my attachment became warmer than ever, and I\nwould willingly have transmitted to her my whole existence, which seemed\nready to abandon me. From this redoubled attachment, a persuasion that I\nhad but a short time to live, and profound security on my future state,\narose an habitual and even pleasing serenity, which, calming every\npassion that extends our hopes and fears, made me enjoy without\ninquietude or concern the few days which I imagined remained for me.\nWhat contributed to render them still snore agreeable was an endeavor to\nencourage her rising taste for the country, by every amusement I could\npossibly devise, wishing to attach her to her garden, poultry, pigeons,\nand cows: I amused myself with them and these little occupations, which\nemployed my time without injuring my tranquillity, were more serviceable\nthan a milk diet, or all the remedies bestowed on my poor shattered\nmachine, even to effecting the utmost possible reestablishment of it.\n\nThe vintage and gathering in our fruit employed the remainder of the\nyear; we became more and more attached to a rustic life, and the society\nof our honest neighbors. We saw the approach of winter with regret,\nand returned to the city as if going into exile. To me this return was\nparticularly gloomy, who never expected to see the return of spring,\nand thought I took an everlasting leave of Charmettes. I did not quit\nit without kissing the very earth and trees, casting back many a wishful\nlook as I went towards Chambery.\n\nHaving left my scholars for so long a time, and lost my relish for the\namusements of the town, I seldom went out, conversing only with Madam de\nWarens and a Monsieur Salomon, who had lately become our physician.\nHe was an honest man, of good understanding, a great Cartesian, spoke\ntolerably well on the system of the world, and his agreeable and\ninstructive conversations were more serviceable than his prescriptions.\nI could never bear that foolish trivial mode of conversation which is so\ngenerally adopted; but useful instructive discourse has always given\nme great pleasure, nor was I ever backward to join in it. I was much\npleased with that of M. Salomon; it appeared to me, that when in his\ncompany, I anticipated the acquisition of that sublime knowledge which\nmy soul would enjoy when freed from its mortal fetters. The inclination\nI had for him extended to the subjects which he treated on, and I began\nto look after books which might better enable me to understand his\ndiscourse. Those which mingled devotion with science were most agreeable\nto me, particularly Port Royal's Oratory, and I began to read or rather\nto devour them. One fell into my hands written by Father Lami, called\n'Entretiens sur les Sciences', which was a kind of introduction to the\nknowledge of those books it treated of. I read it over a hundred times,\nand resolved to make this my guide; in short, I found (notwithstanding\nmy ill state of health) that I was irresistibly drawn towards study,\nand though looking on each day as the last of my life, read with as much\navidity as if certain I was to live forever.\n\nI was assured that reading would injure me; but on the contrary, I am\nrather inclined to think it was serviceable, not only to my soul, but\nalso to my body; for this application, which soon became delightful,\ndiverted my thoughts from my disorders, and I soon found myself much\nless affected by them. It is certain, however, that nothing gave me\nabsolute ease, but having no longer any acute pain, I became accustomed\nto languishment and wakefulness; to thinking instead of acting; in\nshort, I looked on the gradual and slow decay of my body as inevitably\nprogressive and only to be terminated by death.\n\nThis opinion not only detached me from all the vain cares of life, but\ndelivered me from the importunity of medicine, to which hitherto, I\nhad been forced to submit, though contrary to my inclination. Salomon,\nconvinced that his drugs were unavailing, spared me the disagreeable\ntask of taking them, and contented himself with amusing the grief of my\npoor Madam de Warens by some of those harmless preparations, which\nserve to flatter the hopes of the patient and keep up the credit of\nthe doctor. I discontinued the strict regimen I had latterly observed,\nresumed the use of wine, and lived in every respect like a man in\nperfect health, as far as my strength would permit, only being careful\nto run into no excess; I even began to go out and visit my acquaintance,\nparticularly M. de Conzie, whose conversation was extremely pleasing\nto me. Whether it struck me as heroic to study to my last hour, or that\nsome hopes of life yet lingered in the bottom of my heart, I cannot\ntell, but the apparent certainty of death, far from relaxing my\ninclination for improvement, seemed to animate it, and I hastened to\nacquire knowledge for the other world, as if convinced I should only\npossess that portion I could carry with me. I took a liking to the shop\nof a bookseller, whose name was Bouchard, which was frequented by some\nmen of letters, and as the spring (whose return I had never expected\nto see again) was approaching, furnished myself with some books for\nCharmettes, in case I should have the happiness to return there.\n\nI had that happiness, and enjoyed it to the utmost extent. The rapture\nwith which I saw the trees put out their first bud, is inexpressible!\nThe return of spring seemed to me like rising from the grave into\nparadise. The snow was hardly off the ground when we left our dungeon\nand returned to Charmettes, to enjoy the first warblings of the\nnightingale. I now thought no more of dying, and it is really singular,\nthat from this time I never experienced any dangerous illness in the\ncountry. I have suffered greatly, but never kept my bed, and have often\nsaid to those about me, on finding myself worse than ordinary, \"Should\nyou see me at the point of death, carry me under the shade of an oak,\nand I promise you I shall recover.\"\n\nThough weak, I resumed my country occupations, as far as my strength\nwould permit, and conceived a real grief at not being able to manage our\ngarden without help; for I could not take five or six strokes with the\nspade without being out of breath and overcome with perspiration; when I\nstooped the beating redoubled, and the blood flew with such violence to\nmy head, that I was instantly obliged to stand upright. Being therefore\nconfined to less fatiguing employments, I busied myself about the\ndove-house, and was so pleased with it that I sometimes passed several\nhours there without feeling a moment's weariness. The pigeon is very\ntimid and difficult to tame, yet I inspired mine with so much confidence\nthat they followed me everywhere, letting me catch them at pleasure, nor\ncould I appear in the garden without having two or three on my arms or\nhead in an instant, and notwithstanding the pleasure I took in them,\ntheir company became so troublesome that I was obliged to lessen\nthe familiarity. I have ever taken great pleasure in taming animals,\nparticularly those that are wild and fearful. It appeared delightful to\nme, to inspire them with a confidence which I took care never to abuse,\nwishing them to love me freely.\n\nI have already mentioned that I purchased some books: I did not forget\nto read them, but in a manner more proper to fatigue than instruct me.\nI imagined that to read a book profitably, it was necessary to be\nacquainted with every branch of knowledge it even mentioned; far from\nthinking that the author did not do this himself, but drew assistance\nfrom other books, as he might see occasion. Full of this silly idea, I\nwas stopped every moment, obliged to run from one book to another, and\nsometimes, before I could reach the tenth page of what I was studying,\nfound it necessary to turn over a whole library. I was so attached to\nthis ridiculous method, that I lost a prodigious deal of time and had\nbewildered my head to such a degree, that I was hardly capable of doing,\nseeing or comprehending anything. I fortunately perceived, at length,\nthat I was in the wrong road, which would entangle me in an inextricable\nlabyrinth, and quitted it before I was irrevocably lost.\n\nWhen a person has any real taste for the sciences, the first thing\nhe perceives in the pursuit of them is that connection by which they\nmutually attract, assist, and enlighten each other, and that it is\nimpossible to attain one without the assistance of the rest. Though the\nhuman understanding cannot grasp all, and one must ever be regarded\nas the principal object, yet if the rest are totally neglected, the\nfavorite study is generally obscure; I was convinced that my resolution\nto improve was good and useful in itself, but that it was necessary\nI should change my method; I, therefore, had recourse to the\nencyclopaedia. I began by a distribution of the general mass of human\nknowledge into its various branches, but soon discovered that I must\npursue a contrary course, that I must take each separately, and trace\nit to that point where it united with the rest: thus I returned to the\ngeneral synthetical method, but returned thither with a conviction that\nI was going right. Meditation supplied the want of knowledge, and a\nvery natural reflection gave strength to my resolutions, which was, that\nwhether I lived or died, I had no time to lose; for having learned but\nlittle before the age of five-and-twenty, and then resolving to learn\neverything, was engaging to employ the future time profitably. I was\nignorant at what point accident or death might put a period to my\nendeavors, and resolved at all events to acquire with the utmost\nexpedition some idea of every species of knowledge, as well to try\nmy natural disposition, as to judge for myself what most deserved\ncultivation.\n\nIn the execution of my plan, I experienced another advantage which I had\nnever thought of; this was, spending a great deal of time profitably.\nNature certainly never meant me for study, since attentive application\nfatigues me so much, that I find it impossible to employ myself half an\nhour together intently on any one subject; particularly while following\nanother person's ideas, for it has frequently happened that I have\npursued my own for a much longer period with success. After reading\na few pages of an author with close application, my understanding is\nbewildered, and should I obstinately continue, I tire myself to no\npurpose, a stupefaction seizes me, and I am no longer conscious of what\nI read; but in a succession of various subjects, one relieves me from\nthe fatigue of the other, and without finding respite necessary, I can\nfollow them with pleasure.\n\nI took advantage of this observation in the plan of my studies, taking\ncare to intermingle them in such a manner that I was never weary: it\nis true that domestic and rural concerns furnished many pleasing\nrelaxations; but as my eagerness for improvement increased, I contrived\nto find opportunities for my studies, frequently employing myself\nabout two things at the same time, without reflecting that both were\nconsequently neglected.\n\nIn relating so many trifling details, which delight me, but frequently\ntire my reader, I make use of the caution to suppress a great number,\nthough, perhaps, he would have no idea of this, if I did not take care\nto inform him of it: for example, I recollect with pleasure all the\ndifferent methods I adopted for the distribution of my time, in such a\nmanner as to produce the utmost profit and pleasure. I may say, that\nthe portion of my life which I passed in this retirement, though in\ncontinual ill-health, was that in which I was least idle and least\nwearied. Two or three months were thus employed in discovering the bent\nof my genius; meantime, I enjoyed, in the finest season of the year, and\nin a spot it rendered delightful, the charms of a life whose worth I was\nso highly sensible of, in such a society, as free as it was charming; if\na union so perfect, and the extensive knowledge I purposed to acquire,\ncan be called society. It seemed to me as if I already possessed the\nimprovements I was only in pursuit of: or rather better, since the\npleasure of learning constituted a great part of my happiness.\n\nI must pass over these particulars, which were to me the height of\nenjoyment, but are too trivial to bear repeating: indeed, true happiness\nis indescribable, it is only to be felt, and this consciousness of\nfelicity is proportionately more, the less able we are to describe it;\nbecause it does not absolutely result from a concourse of favorable\nincidents, but is an affection of the mind itself. I am frequently\nguilty of repetitions, but should be infinitely more so, did I repeat\nthe same thing as often as it recurs with pleasure to my mind. When at\nlength my variable mode of life was reduced to a more uniform course,\nthe following was nearly the distribution of time which I adopted: I\nrose every morning before the sun, and passed through a neighboring\norchard into a pleasant path, which, running by a vineyard, led towards\nChambery. While walking, I offered up my prayers, not by a vain motion\nof the lips, but a sincere elevation of my heart, to the Great Author of\ndelightful nature, whose beauties were so charmingly spread out before\nme! I never love to pray in a chamber; it seems to me that the walls and\nall the little workmanship of man interposed between God and myself: I\nlove to contemplate Him in his works, which elevate my soul, and raise\nmy thoughts to Him. My prayers were pure, I can affirm it, and therefore\nworthy to be heard:--I asked for myself and her from whom my thoughts\nwere never divided, only an innocent and quiet life, exempt from vice,\nsorrow and want; I prayed that we might die the death of the just, and\npartake of their lot hereafter: for the rest, it was rather admiration\nand contemplation than request, being satisfied that the best means to\nobtain what is necessary from the Giver of every perfect good, is rather\nto deserve than to solicit. Returning from my walk, I lengthened the way\nby taking a roundabout path, still contemplating with earnestness and\ndelight the beautiful scenes with which I was surrounded, those only\nobjects that never fatigue either the eye or the heart. As I approached\nour habitation, I looked forward to see if Madam de Warens was stirring,\nand when I perceived her shutters open, I even ran with joy towards\nthe house: if they were yet shut I went into the garden to wait their\nopening, amusing myself, meantime, by a retrospection of what I had read\nthe preceding evening, or in gardening. The moment the shutter drew back\nI hastened to embrace her, frequently half asleep; and this salute, pure\nas it was affectionate, even from its innocence, possessed a charm which\nthe senses can never bestow. We usually breakfasted on milk-coffee; this\nwas the time of day when we had most leisure, and when we chatted with\nthe greatest freedom. These sittings, which were usually pretty long,\nhave given me a fondness for breakfasts, and I infinitely prefer those\nof England, or Switzerland, which are considered as a meal, at which all\nthe family assemble, than those of France, where they breakfast alone in\ntheir several apartments, or more frequently have none at all. After\nan hour or two passed in discourse, I went to my study till dinner;\nbeginning with some philosophical work, such as the logic of Port-Royal,\nLocke's Essays, Mallebranche, Leibnitz, Descartes, etc. I soon found\nthat these authors perpetually contradict each other, and formed the\nchimerical project of reconciling them, which cost me much labor\nand loss of time, bewildering my head without any profit. At length\n(renouncing this idea) I adopted one infinitely more profitable, to\nwhich I attribute all the progress I have since made, notwithstanding\nthe defects of my capacity; for 'tis certain I had very little for\nstudy. On reading each author, I acquired a habit of following all\nhis ideas, without suffering my own or those of any other writer to\ninterfere with them, or entering into any dispute on their utility. I\nsaid to myself, \"I will begin by laying up a stock of ideas, true\nor false, but clearly conceived, till my understanding shall be\nsufficiently furnished to enable me to compare and make choice of those\nthat are most estimable.\" I am sensible this method is not without\nits inconveniences, but it succeeded in furnishing me with a fund of\ninstruction. Having passed some years in thinking after others, without\nreflection, and almost without reasoning, I found myself possessed of\nsufficient materials to set about thinking on my own account, and when\njourneys of business deprived me of the opportunities of consulting\nbooks, I amused myself with recollecting and comparing what I had read,\nweighing every opinion on the balance of reason, and frequently judging\nmy masters. Though it was late before I began to exercise my judicial\nfaculties, I have not discovered that they had lost their vigor, and\non publishing my own ideas, have never been accused of being a servile\ndisciple or of swearing 'in verba magistri'.\n\nFrom these studies I passed to the elements of geometry, for I never\nwent further, forcing my weak memory to retain them by going the same\nground a hundred and a hundred times over. I did not admire Euclid,\nwho rather seeks a chain of demonstration than a connection of ideas: I\npreferred the geometry of Father Lama, who from that time became one of\nmy favorite authors, and whose works I yet read with pleasure. Algebra\nfollowed, and Father Lama was still my guide: when I made some progress,\nI perused Father Reynaud's Science of Calculation, and then his Analysis\nDemonstrated; but I never went far enough thoroughly to understand the\napplication of algebra to geometry. I was not pleased with this method\nof performing operations by rule without knowing what I was about:\nresolving geometrical problems by the help of equations seemed like\nplaying a tune by turning round a handle. The first time I found by\ncalculation that the square of a binocular figure was composed of the\nsquare of each of its parts, and double the product of one by the\nother; though convinced that my multiplication was right, I could not\nbe satisfied till I had made and examined the figure: not but I\nadmire algebra when applied to abstract quantities, but when used\nto demonstrate dimensions, I wished to see the operation, and unless\nexplained by lines, could not rightly comprehend it.\n\nAfter this came Latin: it was my most painful study, and in which\nI never made great progress. I began by Port-Royal's Rudiments, but\nwithout success; I lost myself in a crowd of rules; and in studying the\nlast forgot all that preceded it. A study of words is not calculated\nfor a man without memory, and it was principally an endeavor to make\nmy memory more retentive, that urged me obstinately to persist in this\nstudy, which at length I was obliged to relinquish. As I understood\nenough to read an easy author by the aid of a dictionary, I followed\nthat method, and found it succeed tolerably well. I likewise applied\nmyself to translation, not by writing, but mentally, and by exercise and\nperseverance attained to read Latin authors easily, but have never been\nable to speak or write that language, which has frequently embarrassed\nme when I have found myself (I know not by what means) enrolled among\nmen of letters.\n\nAnother inconvenience that arose from this manner of learning is, that\nI never understood prosody, much less the rules of versification; yet,\nanxious to understand the harmony of the language, both in prose and\nverse, I have made many efforts to obtain it, but am convinced, that\nwithout a master it is almost impossible. Having learned the composition\nof the hexameter, which is the easiest of all verses, I had the patience\nto measure out the greater part of Virgil into feet and quantity, and\nwhenever I was dubious whether a syllable was long or short, immediately\nconsulted my Virgil. It may easily be conceived that I ran into many\nerrors in consequence of those licenses permitted by the rules of\nversification; and it is certain, that if there is an advantage in\nstudying alone, there are also great inconveniences and inconceivable\nlabor, as I have experienced more than any one.\n\nAt twelve I quitted my books, and if dinner was not ready, paid my\nfriends, the pigeons, a visit, or worked in the garden till it was, and\nwhen I heard myself called, ran very willingly, and with a good appetite\nto partake of it, for it is very remarkable, that let me be ever so\nindisposed my appetite never fails. We dined very agreeably, chatting\ntill Madam de Warens could eat. Two or three times a week, when it was\nfine, we drank our coffee in a cool shady arbor behind the house, that I\nhad decorated with hops, and which was very refreshing during the heat;\nwe usually passed an hour in viewing our flowers and vegetables, or in\nconversation relative to our manner of life, which greatly increased the\npleasure of it. I had another little family at the end of the garden;\nthese were several hives of bees, which I never failed to visit once a\nday, and was frequently accompanied by Madam de Warens. I was greatly\ninterested in their labor, and amused myself seeing them return to the\nhives, their little thighs so loaded with the precious store that they\ncould hardly walk. At first, curiosity made me indiscreet, and they\nstung me several times, but afterwards, we were so well acquainted, that\nlet me approach as near as I would, they never molested me, though the\nhives were full and the bees ready to swarm. At these times I have been\nsurrounded, having them on my hands and face without apprehending any\ndanger. All animals are distrustful of man, and with reason, but when\nonce assured he does not mean to injure them, their confidence becomes\nso great that he must be worse than a barbarian who abuses it.\n\nAfter this I returned to my books; but my afternoon employment ought\nrather to bear the name of recreation and amusement, than labor or\nstudy. I have never been able to bear application after dinner, and in\ngeneral any kind of attention is painful to me during the heat of the\nday. I employed myself, 'tis true, but without restraint or rule, and\nread without studying. What I most attended to at these times, was\nhistory and geography, and as these did not require intense application,\nmade as much progress in them as my weak memory would permit. I had\nan inclination to study Father Petau, and launched into the gloom of\nchronology, but was disgusted at the critical part, which I found had\nneither bottom nor banks; this made me prefer the more exact measurement\nof time by the course of the celestial bodies. I should even have\ncontracted a fondness for astronomy, had I been in possession of\ninstruments, but was obliged to content myself with some of the elements\nof that art, learned from books, and a few rude observations made with a\ntelescope, sufficient only to give me a general idea of the situation of\nthe heavenly bodies; for my short sight is insufficient to distinguish\nthe stars without the help of a glass.\n\nI recollect an adventure on this subject, the remembrance of which has\noften diverted me. I had bought a celestial planisphere to study the\nconstellations by, and, having fixed it on a frame, when the nights were\nfine and the sky clear, I went into the garden; and fixing the frame\non four sticks, something higher than myself, which I drove into the\nground, turned the planisphere downwards, and contrived to light it\nby means of a candle (which I put in a pail to prevent the wind from\nblowing it out) and then placed in the centre of the above-mentioned\nfour supporters; this done, I examined the stars with my glass, and from\ntime to time referring to my planisphere, endeavored to distinguish the\nvarious constellations. I think I have before observed that our garden\nwas on a terrace, and lay open to the road. One night, some country\npeople passing very late, saw me in a most grotesque habit, busily\nemployed in these observations: the light, which struck directly on the\nplanisphere, proceeding from a cause they could not divine (the candle\nbeing concealed by the sides of the pail), the four stakes supporting a\nlarge paper, marked over with various uncouth figures, with the motion\nof the telescope, which they saw turning backwards and forwards,\ngave the whole an air of conjuration that struck them with horror and\namazement. My figure was by no means calculated to dispel their fears; a\nflapped hat put on over my nightcap, and a short cloak about my shoulder\n(which Madam de Warens had obliged me to put on) presented in their idea\nthe image of a real sorcerer. Being near midnight, they made no doubt\nbut this was the beginning of some diabolical assembly, and having\nno curiosity to pry further into these mysteries, they fled with all\npossible speed, awakened their neighbors, and described this most\ndreadful vision. The story spread so fast that the next day the whole\nneighborhood was informed that a nocturnal assembly of witches was held\nin the garden that belonged to Monsieur Noiret, and I am ignorant what\nmight have been the consequence of this rumor if one of the countrymen\nwho had been witness to my conjurations had not the same day carried\nhis complaint to two Jesuits, who frequently came to visit us, and who,\nwithout knowing the foundation of the story, undeceived and satisfied\nthem. These Jesuits told us the whole affair, and I acquainted them\nwith the cause of it, which altogether furnished us with a hearty laugh.\nHowever, I resolved for the future to make my observations without\nlight, and consult my planisphere in the house. Those who have read\nVenetian magic, in the 'Letters from the Mountain', may find that I long\nsince had the reputation of being a conjurer.\n\nSuch was the life I led at Charmettes when I had no rural employments,\nfor they ever had the preference, and in those that did not exceed\nmy strength, I worked like a peasant; but my extreme weakness left me\nlittle except the will; besides, as I have before observed, I wished\nto do two things at once, and therefore did neither well. I obstinately\npersisted in forcing my memory to retain a great deal by heart, and for\nthat purpose, I always carried some book with me, which, while at\nwork, I studied with inconceivable labor. I was continually repeating\nsomething, and am really amazed that the fatigue of these vain and\ncontinual efforts did not render me entirely stupid. I must have learned\nand relearned the Eclogues of Virgil twenty times over, though at this\ntime I cannot recollect a single line of them. I have lost or spoiled\na great number of books by a custom I had of carrying them with me into\nthe dove-house, the garden, orchard or vineyard, when, being busy about\nsomething else, I laid my book at the foot of a tree, on the hedge,\nor the first place that came to hand, and frequently left them there,\nfinding them a fortnight after, perhaps, rotted to pieces, or eaten by\nthe ants or snails; and this ardor for learning became so far a madness\nthat it rendered me almost stupid, and I was perpetually muttering some\npassage or other to myself.\n\nThe writings of Port-Royal, and those of the Oratory, being what I\nmost read, had made me half a Jansenist, and, notwithstanding all my\nconfidence, their harsh theology sometimes alarmed me. A dread of hell,\nwhich till then I had never much apprehended, by little and little\ndisturbed my security, and had not Madam de Warens tranquillized my\nsoul, would at length have been too much for me. My confessor, who was\nhers likewise, contributed all in his power to keep up my hopes. This\nwas a Jesuit, named Father Hemet; a good and wise old man, whose memory\nI shall ever hold in veneration. Though a Jesuit, he had the simplicity\nof a child, and his manners, less relaxed than gentle, were precisely\nwhat was necessary to balance the melancholy impressions made on me\nby Jansenism. This good man and his companion, Father Coppier, came\nfrequently to visit us at Charmette, though the road was very rough and\ntedious for men of their age. These visits were very comfortable to me,\nwhich may the Almighty return to their souls, for they were so old\nthat I cannot suppose them yet living. I sometimes went to see them at\nChambery, became acquainted at their convent, and had free access to\nthe library. The remembrance of that happy time is so connected with\nthe idea of those Jesuits, that I love one on account of the other, and\nthough I have ever thought their doctrines dangerous, could never find\nmyself in a disposition to hate them cordially.\n\nI should like to know whether there ever passed such childish notions\nin the hearts of other men as sometimes do in mine. In the midst of my\nstudies, and of a life as innocent as man could lead, notwithstanding\nevery persuasion to the contrary, the dread of hell frequently tormented\nme. I asked myself, \"What state am I in? Should I die at this\ninstant, must I be damned?\" According to my Jansenists the matter\nwas indubitable, but according to my conscience it appeared quite\nthe contrary: terrified and floating in this cruel uncertainty, I had\nrecourse to the most laughable expedient to resolve my doubts, for which\nI would willingly shut up any man as a lunatic should I see him practise\nthe same folly. One day, meditating on this melancholy subject, I\nexercised myself in throwing stones at the trunks of trees, with my\nusual dexterity, that is to say, without hitting any of them. In the\nheight of this charming exercise, it entered my mind to make a kind of\nprognostic, that might calm my inquietude; I said, \"I will throw this\nstone at the tree facing me; if I hit my mark, I will consider it as\na sign of salvation; if I miss, as a token of damnation.\" While I said\nthis, I threw the stone with a trembling hand and beating breast but\nso happily that it struck the body of the tree, which truly was not a\ndifficult matter, for I had taken care to choose one that was very large\nand very near me. From that moment I never doubted my salvation: I know\nnot on recollecting this trait, whether I ought to laugh or shudder at\nmyself. Ye great geniuses, who surely laugh at my folly, congratulate\nyourselves on your superior wisdom, but insult not my unhappiness, for I\nswear to you that I feel it most sensibly.\n\nThese troubles, these alarms, inseparable, perhaps, from devotion, were\nonly at intervals; in general, I was tranquil, and the impression made\non my soul by the idea of approaching death, was less that of melancholy\nthan a peaceful languor, which even had its pleasures. I have found\namong my old papers a kind of congratulation and exhortation which I\nmade to myself on dying at an age when I had the courage to meet death\nwith serenity, without having experienced any great evils, either of\nbody or mind. How much justice was there in the thought! A preconception\nof what I had to suffer made me fear to live, and it seemed that I\ndreaded the fate which must attend my future days. I have never been so\nnear wisdom as during this period, when I felt no great remorse for the\npast, nor tormenting fear for the future; the reigning sentiment of my\nsoul being the enjoyment of the present. Serious people usually possess\na lively sensuality, which makes them highly enjoy those innocent\npleasures that are allowed them. Worldlings (I know not why) impute this\nto them as a crime: or rather, I well know the cause of this imputation,\nit is because they envy others the enjoyment of those simple and pure\ndelights which they have lost the relish of. I had these inclinations,\nand found it charming to gratify them in security of conscience. My yet\ninexperienced heart gave in to all with the calm happiness of a child,\nor rather (if I dare use the expression) with the raptures of an angel;\nfor in reality these pure delights are as serene as those of paradise.\nDinners on the grass at Montagnole, suppers in our arbor, gathering in\nthe fruits, the vintage, a social meeting with our neighbors; all these\nwere so many holidays, in which Madam de Warens took as much pleasure as\nmyself. Solitary walks afforded yet purer pleasure, because in them our\nhearts expanded with greater freedom: one particularly remains in my\nmemory; it was on a St. Louis' day, whose name Madam de Warens bore:\nwe set out together early and unattended, after having heard a mass\nat break of day in a chapel adjoining our house, from a Carmelite, who\nattended for that purpose. As I proposed walking over the hills opposite\nour dwelling, which we had not yet visited, we sent our provisions on\nbefore; the excursion being to last the whole day. Madam de Warens,\nthough rather corpulent, did not walk ill, and we rambled from hill to\nhill and wood to wood, sometimes in the sun, but oftener in the shade,\nresting from time to time, and regardless how the hours stole away;\nspeaking of ourselves, of our union, of the gentleness of our fate, and\noffering up prayers for its duration, which were never heard. Everything\nconspired to augment our happiness: it had rained for several days\nprevious to this, there was no dust, the brooks were full and rapid, a\ngentle breeze agitated the leaves, the air was pure, the horizon free\nfrom clouds, serenity reigned in the sky as in our hearts. Our dinner\nwas prepared at a peasant's house, and shared with him and his family,\nwhose benedictions we received. These poor Savoyards are the worthiest\nof people! After dinner we regained the shade, and while I was picking\nup bits of dried sticks, to boil our coffee, Madam de Warens amused\nherself with herbalizing among the bushes, and with the flowers I had\ngathered for her in my way. She made me remark in their construction a\nthousand natural beauties, which greatly amused me, and which ought to\nhave given me a taste for botany; but the time was not yet come, and my\nattention was arrested by too many other studies. Besides this, an\nidea struck me, which diverted my thoughts from flowers and plants: the\nsituation of my mind at that moment, all that we had said or done that\nday, every object that had struck me, brought to my remembrance the kind\nof waking dream I had at Annecy seven or eight years before, and which\nI have given an account of in its place. The similarity was so striking\nthat it affected me even to tears: in a transport of tenderness I\nembraced Madam de Warens. \"My dearest friend,\" said I, \"this day has\nlong since been promised me: I can see nothing beyond it: my happiness,\nby your means, is at its height; may it never decrease; may it continue\nas long as I am sensible of its value--then it can only finish with my\nlife.\"\n\nThus happily passed my days, and the more happily as I perceived nothing\nthat could disturb or bring them to a conclusion; not that the cause of\nmy former uneasiness had absolutely ceased, but I saw it take another\ncourse, which I directed with my utmost care to useful objects, that\nthe remedy might accompany the evil. Madam de Warens naturally loved the\ncountry, and this taste did not cool while with me. By little and little\nshe contracted a fondness for rustic employments, wished to make the\nmost of her land, and had in that particular a knowledge which she\npractised with pleasure.\n\nNot satisfied with what belonged to the house, she hired first a field,\nthen a meadow, transferring her enterprising humor to the objects of\nagriculture, and instead of remaining unemployed in the house, was in\nthe way of becoming a complete farmer. I was not greatly pleased to see\nthis passion increase, and endeavored all I could to oppose it; for\nI was certain she would be deceived, and that her liberal extravagant\ndisposition would infallibly carry her expenses beyond her profits;\nhowever, I consoled myself by thinking the produce could not be useless,\nand would at least help her to live. Of all the projects she could form,\nthis appeared the least ruinous: without regarding it, therefore, in the\nlight she did, as a profitable scheme, I considered it as a perpetual\nemployment, which would keep her from more ruinous enterprises, and out\nof the reach of impostors. With this idea, I ardently wished to recover\nmy health and strength, that I might superintend her affairs, overlook\nher laborers, or, rather, be the principal one myself. The exercise this\nnaturally obliged me to take, with the relaxation it procured me from\nbooks and study, was serviceable to my health.\n\nThe winter following, Barillot returning from Italy, brought me some\nbooks; and among others, the 'Bontempi' and 'la Cartella per Musica', of\nFather Banchieri; these gave me a taste for the history of music and for\nthe theoretical researches of that pleasing art. Barillot remained some\ntime with us, and as I had been of age some months, I determined to go\nto Geneva the following spring, and demand my mother's inheritance, or\nat least that part which belonged to me, till it could be ascertained\nwhat had become of my brother. This plan was executed as it had\nbeen resolved: I went to Geneva; my father met me there, for he had\noccasionally visited Geneva a long time since, without its being\nparticularly noticed, though the decree that had been pronounced against\nhim had never been reversed; but being esteemed for his courage, and\nrespected for his probity, the situation of his affairs was pretended\nto be forgotten; or perhaps, the magistrates, employed with the great\nproject that broke out some little time after, were not willing to alarm\nthe citizens by recalling to their memory, at an improper time, this\ninstance of their former partiality.\n\nI apprehended that I should meet with difficulties, on account of having\nchanged my religion, but none occurred; the laws of Geneva being less\nharsh in that particular than those of Berne, where, whoever changes\nhis religion, not only loses his freedom, but his property. My rights,\nhowever, were not disputed: but I found my patrimony, I know not how,\nreduced to very little, and though it was known almost to a certainty\nthat my brother was dead, yet, as there was no legal proof, I could not\nlay claim to his share, which I left without regret to my father, who\nenjoyed it as long as he lived. No sooner were the necessary formalities\nadjusted, and I had received my money, some of which I expended in\nbooks, than I flew with the remainder to Madam de Warens; my heart beat\nwith joy during the journey, and the moment in which I gave the money\ninto her hands, was to me a thousand times more delightful than that\nwhich gave it into mine. She received this with a simplicity common to\ngreat souls, who, doing similar actions without effort, see them without\nadmiration; indeed it was almost all expended for my use, for it\nwould have been employed in the same manner had it come from any other\nquarter.\n\nMy health was not yet re-established; I decayed visibly, was pale as\ndeath, and reduced to an absolute skeleton; the beating of my arteries\nwas extreme, my palpitations were frequent: I was sensible of a\ncontinual oppression, and my weakness became at length so great, that I\ncould scarcely move or step without danger of suffocation, stoop without\nvertigoes, or lift even the smallest weight, which reduced me to the\nmost tormenting inaction for a man so naturally stirring as myself.\nIt is certain my disorder was in a great measure hypochondriacal. The\nvapors is a malady common to people in fortunate situations: the tears I\nfrequently shed, without reason; the lively alarms I felt on the falling\nof a leaf, or the fluttering of a bird; inequality of humor in the\ncalm of a most pleasing life; lassitude which made me weary even of\nhappiness, and carried sensibility to extravagance, were an instance of\nthis. We are so little formed for felicity, that when the soul and\nbody do not suffer together, they must necessarily endure separate\ninconveniences, the good state of the one being almost always injurious\nto the happiness of the other. Had all the pleasure of life courted\nme, my weakened frame would not have permitted the enjoyment of them,\nwithout my being able to particularize the real seat of my complaint;\nyet in the decline of life; after having encountered very serious and\nreal evils, my body seemed to regain its strength, as if on purpose\nto encounter additional misfortunes; and, at the moment I write this,\nthough infirm, near sixty, and overwhelmed with every kind of sorrow, I\nfeel more ability to suffer than I ever possessed for enjoyment when in\nthe very flower of my age, and in the bosom of real happiness.\n\nTo complete me, I had mingled a little physiology among my other\nreadings: I set about studying anatomy, and considering the multitude,\nmovement, and wonderful construction of the various parts that composed\nthe human machine; my apprehensions were instantly increased, I expected\nto feel mine deranged twenty times a day, and far from being surprised\nto find myself dying, was astonished that I yet existed! I could not\nread the description of any malady without thinking it mine, and, had I\nnot been already indisposed, I am certain I should have become so from\nthis study. Finding in every disease symptoms similar to mine, I fancied\nI had them all, and, at length, gained one more troublesome than any\nI yet suffered, which I had thought myself delivered from; this was,\na violent inclination to seek a cure; which it is very difficult\nto suppress, when once a person begins reading physical books. By\nsearching, reflecting, and comparing, I became persuaded that the\nfoundation of my complaint was a polypus at the heart, and Doctor\nSalomon appeared to coincide with the idea. Reasonably this opinion\nshould have confirmed my former resolution of considering myself past\ncure; this, however, was not the case; on the contrary; I exerted every\npower of my understanding in search of a remedy for a polypus, resolving\nto undertake this marvellous cure.\n\nIn a journey which Anet had made to Montpelier, to see the physical\ngarden there, and visit Monsieur Sauvages, the demonstrator, he had\nbeen informed that Monsieur Fizes had cured a polypus similar to that\nI fancied myself afflicted with: Madam de Warens, recollecting this\ncircumstance, mentioned it to me, and nothing more was necessary to\ninspire me with a desire to consult Monsieur Fizes. The hope of recovery\ngave me courage and strength to undertake the journey; the money from\nGeneva furnished the means; Madam de Warens, far from dissuading,\nentreated me to go: behold me, therefore, without further ceremony, set\nout for Montpelier!--but it was not necessary to go so far to find the\ncure I was in search of.\n\nFinding the motion of the horse too fatiguing, I had hired a chaise at\nGrenoble, and on entering Moirans, five or six other chaises arrived in\na rank after mine. The greater part of these were in the train of a new\nmarried lady called Madam du Colombier; with her was a Madam de Larnage,\nnot so young or handsome as the former, yet not less amiable. The bride\nwas to stop at Romans, but the other lady was to pursue her route as far\nas Saint-Andiol, near the bridge du St. Esprit. With my natural\ntimidity it will not be conjectured that I was very ready at forming an\nacquaintance with these fine ladies, and the company that attended\nthem; but travelling the same road, lodging at the same inns, and being\nobliged to eat at the same table, the acquaintance seemed unavoidable,\nas any backwardness on my part would have got me the character of a very\nunsociable being: it was formed then, and even sooner than I desired,\nfor all this bustle was by no means convenient to a person in ill\nhealth, particularly to one of my humor. Curiosity renders these\nvixens extremely insinuating; they accomplish their design of becoming\nacquainted with a man by endeavoring to turn his brain, and this\nwas precisely what happened to me. Madam du Colombier was too much\nsurrounded by her young gallants to have any opportunity of paying much\nattention to me; besides, it was not worthwhile, as we were to separate\nin so short a time; but Madam de Larnage (less attended to than her\nyoung friend) had to provide herself for the remainder of the journey;\nbehold me, then, attacked by Madam de Larnage, and adieu to poor\nJean Jacques, or rather farewell to fever, vapors, and polypus; all\ncompletely vanished when in her presence. The ill state of my health was\nthe first subject of our conversation; they saw I was indisposed, knew I\nwas going to Montpelier, but my air and manner certainly did not exhibit\nthe appearance of a libertine, since it was clear by what followed they\ndid not suspect I was going there for a reason that carries many that\nroad.\n\nIn the morning they sent to inquire after my health and invite me to\ntake chocolate with them, and when I made my appearance asked how I had\npassed the night. Once, according to my praiseworthy custom of speaking\nwithout thought, I replied, \"I did not know,\" which answer naturally\nmade them conclude I was a fool: but, on questioning me further; the\nexamination turned out so far to my advantage, that I rather rose in\ntheir opinion, and I once heard Madam du Colombier say to her friend,\n\"He is amiable, but not sufficiently acquainted with the world.\" These\nwords were a great encouragement, and assisted me in rendering myself\nagreeable.\n\nAs we became more familiar, it was natural to give each other some\nlittle account of whence we came and who we were: this embarrassed me\ngreatly, for I was sensible that in good company and among women of\nspirit, the very name of a new convert would utterly undo me. I know not\nby what whimsicality I resolved to pass for an Englishman; however, in\nconsequence of that determination I gave myself out for a Jacobite, and\nwas readily believed. They called me Monsieur Dudding, which was the\nname I assumed with my new character, and a cursed Marquis Torignan,\nwho was one of the company, an invalid like myself, and both old and\nill-tempered,took it in his head to begin a long conversation with\nme. He spoke of King James, of the Pretender, and the old court of\nSt. Germain's; I sat on thorns the whole time, for I was totally\nunacquainted with all these except what little I had picked up in the\naccount of Earl Hamilton, and from the gazettes; however, I made such\nfortunate use of the little I did know as to extricate myself from this\ndilemma, happy in not being questioned on the English language, which I\ndid not know a single word of.\n\nThe company were all very agreeable; we looked forward to the moment of\nseparation with regret, and therefore made snails' journeys. We arrived\none Sunday at St. Marcelein's; Madam de Larnage would go to mass; I\naccompanied her, and had nearly ruined all my affairs, for by my modest\nreserved countenance during the service, she concluded me a bigot, and\nconceived a very indifferent opinion of me, as I learned from her own\naccount two days after. It required a great deal of gallantry on my part\nto efface this ill impression, or rather Madam de Larnage (who was not\neasily disheartened) determined to risk the first advances, and see how\nI should behave. She made several, but far from being presuming on my\nfigure, I thought she was making sport of me: full of this ridiculous\nidea there was no folly I was not guilty of.\n\nMadam de Larnage persisted in such caressing behavior, that a much wiser\nman than myself could hardly have taken it seriously. The more obvious\nher advances were, the more I was confirmed in my mistake, and\nwhat increased my torment, I found I was really in love with her. I\nfrequently said to myself, and sometimes to her, sighing, \"Ah! why is\nnot all this real? then should I be the most fortunate of men.\" I am\ninclined to think my stupidity did but increase her resolution, and make\nher determined to get the better of it.\n\nWe left Madam du Colombier at Romans; after which Madam de Larnage, the\nMarquis de Torignan, and myself continued our route slowly, and in\nthe most agreeable manner. The marquis, though indisposed, and rather\nill-humored, was an agreeable companion, but was not best pleased\nat seeing the lady bestow all her attentions on me, while he passed\nunregarded; for Madam de Larnage took so little care to conceal her\ninclination, that he perceived it sooner than I did, and his sarcasms\nmust have given me that confidence I could not presume to take from the\nkindness of the lady, if by a surmise, which no one but myself could\nhave blundered on, I had not imagined they perfectly understood each\nother, and were agreed to turn my passion into ridicule. This foolish\nidea completed my stupidity, making me act the most ridiculous part,\nwhile, had I listened to the feelings of my heart, I might have been\nperforming one far more brilliant. I am astonished that Madam de Larnage\nwas not disgusted at my folly, and did not discard me with disdain; but\nshe plainly perceived there was more bashfulness than indifference in my\ncomposition.\n\nWe arrived at Valence to dinner, and according to our usual custom\npassed the remainder of the day there. We lodged out of the city, at the\nSt. James, an inn I shall never forget. After dinner, Madam de Larnage\nproposed a walk; she knew the marquis was no walker, consequently, this\nwas an excellent plan for a tete-a-tete, which she was predetermined to\nmake the most of. While we were walking round the city by the side of\nthe moats, I entered on a long history of my complaint, to which she\nanswered in so tender an accent, frequently pressing my arm, which she\nheld to her heart, that it required all my stupidity not to be convinced\nof the sincerity of her attachment. I have already observed that she was\namiable; love rendered her charming, adding all the loveliness of youth:\nand she managed her advances with so much art, that they were sufficient\nto have seduced the most insensible: I was, therefore, in very uneasy\ncircumstances, and frequently on the point of making a declaration; but\nthe dread of offending her, and the still greater of being laughed at,\nridiculed, made table-talk, and complimented on my enterprise by the\nsatirical marquis, had such unconquerable power over me, that, though\nashamed of my ridiculous bashfulness, I could not take courage to\nsurmount it. I had ended the history of my complaints, which I felt the\nridiculousness of at this time; and not knowing how to look, or what to\nsay, continued silent, giving the finest opportunity in the world for\nthat ridicule I so much dreaded. Happily, Madam de Larnage took a more\nfavorable resolution, and suddenly interrupted this silence by throwing\nher arms round my neck, while, at the same instant, her lips spoke too\nplainly on mine to be any longer misunderstood. This was reposing that\nconfidence in me the want of which has almost always prevented me from\nappearing myself: for once I was at ease, my heart, eyes and tongue,\nspoke freely what I felt; never did I make better reparation for my\nmistakes, and if this little conquest had cost Madam de Larnage some\ndifficulties, I have reason to believe she did not regret them.\n\nWas I to live a hundred years, I should never forget this charming\nwoman. I say charming, for though neither young nor beautiful, she\nwas neither old nor ugly, having nothing in her appearance that could\nprevent her wit and accomplishments from producing all their effects. It\nwas possible to see her without falling in love, but those she favored\ncould not fail to adore her; which proves, in my opinion, that she was\nnot generally so prodigal of her favors. It is true, her inclination for\nme was so sudden and lively, that it scarce appears excusable; though\nfrom the short, but charming interval I passed with her, I have reason\nto think her heart was more influenced than her passions.\n\nOur good intelligence did not escape the penetration of the marquis; not\nthat he discontinued his usual raillery; on the contrary, he treated\nme as a sighing, hopeless swain, languishing under the rigors of his\nmistress; not a word, smile, or look escaped him by which I could\nimagine he suspected my happiness; and I should have thought\nhim completely deceived, had not Madam de Larnage, who was more\nclear-sighted than myself, assured me of the contrary; but he was a\nwell-bred man, and it was impossible to behave with more attention\nor greater civility, than he constantly paid me (notwithstanding his\nsatirical sallies), especially after my success, which, as he was\nunacquainted with my stupidity, he perhaps gave me the honor of\nachieving. It has already been seen that he was mistaken in this\nparticular; but no matter, I profited by his error, for being conscious\nthat the laugh was on my side, I took all his sallies in good part,\nand sometimes parried them with tolerable success; for, proud of the\nreputation of wit which Madam de Larnage had thought fit to discover in\nme, I no longer appeared the same man.\n\nWe were both in a country and season of plenty, and had everywhere\nexcellent cheer, thanks to the good cares of the marquis; though I would\nwillingly have relinquished this advantage to have been more satisfied\nwith the situation of our chambers; but he always sent his footman on\nto provide them; and whether of his own accord, or by the order of his\nmaster, the rogue always took care that the marquis' chamber should be\nclose by Madam de Larnage's, while mine was at the further end of the\nhouse: but that made no great difference, or perhaps it rendered our\nrendezvous the more charming; this happiness lasted four or five days,\nduring which time I was intoxicated with delight, which I tasted pure\nand serene without any alloy; an advantage I could never boast before;\nand, I may add, it is owing to Madam de Larnage that I did not go out of\nthe world without having tasted real pleasure.\n\nIf the sentiment I felt for her was not precisely love, it was at least\na very tender return of what she testified for me; our meetings were\nso delightful, that they possessed all the sweets of love; without that\nkind of delirium which affects the brain, and even tends to diminish our\nhappiness. I never experienced true love but once in my life, and that\nwas not with Madam de Larnage, neither did I feel that affection for her\nwhich I had been sensible of, and yet continued to possess, for Madam de\nWarens; but for this very reason, our tete-a-tetes were a hundred times\nmore delightful. When with Madam de Warens, my felicity was always\ndisturbed by a secret sadness, a compunction of heart, which I found it\nimpossible to surmount. Instead of being delighted at the acquisition of\nso much happiness, I could not help reproaching myself for contributing\nto render her I loved unworthy: on the contrary, with Madam de Lamage,\nI was proud of my happiness, and gave in to it without repugnance, while\nmy triumph redoubled every other charm.\n\nI do not recollect exactly where we quitted the marquis, who resided\nin this country, but I know we were alone on our arrival at Montelimar,\nwhere Madam de Larnage made her chambermaid get into my chaise, and\naccommodate me with a seat in hers. It will easily be believed, that\ntravelling in this manner was by no means displeasing to me, and that I\nshould be very much puzzled to give any account of the country we passed\nthrough. She had some business at Montelimar, which detained her there\ntwo or three days; during this time she quitted me but one quarter of\nan hour, for a visit she could not avoid, which embarrassed her with a\nnumber of invitations she had no inclination to accept, and therefore\nexcused herself by pleading some indisposition; though she took care\nthis should not prevent our walking together every day, in the most\ncharming country, and under the finest sky imaginable. Oh! these three\ndays! what reason have I to regret them! Never did such happiness return\nagain.\n\nThe amours of a journey cannot be very durable: it was necessary we\nshould part, and I must confess it was almost time; not that I was weary\nof my happiness, but I might as well have been. We endeavored to comfort\neach other for the pain of parting, by forming plans for our reunion;\nand it was concluded, that after staying five or six weeks at Montpelier\n(which would give Madam de Larnage time to prepare for my reception in\nsuch a manner as to prevent scandal) I should return to Saint-Andiol,\nand spend the winter under her direction. She gave me ample instruction\non what it was necessary I should know, on what it would be proper to\nsay; and how I should conduct myself. She spoke much and earnestly on\nthe care of my health, conjured me to consult skilful physicians, and be\nattentive and exact in following their prescriptions whatever they might\nhappen to be. I believe her concern was sincere, for she loved me, and\ngave proofs of her affection less equivocal than the prodigality of her\nfavors; for judging by my mode of travelling, that I was not in very\naffluent circumstances (though not rich herself), on our parting, she\nwould have had me share the contents of her purse, which she had brought\npretty well furnished from Grenoble, and it was with great difficulty I\ncould make her put up with a denial. In a word, we parted; my heart\nfull of her idea, and leaving in hers (if I am not mistaken) a firm\nattachment to me.\n\nWhile pursuing the remainder of my journey, remembrance ran over\neverything that had passed from the commencement of it, and I was well\nsatisfied at finding myself alone in a comfortable chaise, where I could\nruminate at ease on the pleasures I had enjoyed, and those which awaited\nmy return. I only thought of Saint-Andiol; of the life I was to lead\nthere; I saw nothing but Madam de Larnage, or what related to her;\nthe whole universe besides was nothing to me--even Madam de Warens was\nforgotten!--I set about combining all the details by which Madam de\nLarnage had endeavored to give me in advance an idea of her house,\nof the neighborhood, of her connections, and manner of life, finding\neverything charming.\n\nShe had a daughter, whom she had often described in the warmest terms of\nmaternal affection: this daughter was fifteen, lively, charming, and of\nan amiable disposition. Madam de Larnage promised me her friendship; I\nhad not forgotten that promise, and was curious to know how Mademoiselle\nde Larnage would treat her mother's 'bon ami'. These were the subjects\nof my reveries from the bridge of St. Esprit to Remoulin: I had been\nadvised to visit the Pont-du-Gard; hitherto I had seen none of the\nremaining monuments of Roman magnificence, and I expected to find this\nworthy the hands by which it was constructed; for once, the reality\nsurpassed my expectation; this was the only time in my life it ever did\nso, and the Romans alone could have produced that effect. The view of\nthis noble and sublime work, struck me the more forcibly, from being in\nthe midst of a desert, where silence and solitude render the majestic\nedifice more striking, and admiration more lively, for though called a\nbridge it is nothing more than an aqueduct. One cannot help exclaiming,\nwhat strength could have transported these enormous stones so far from\nany quarry? And what motive could have united the labors of so many\nmillions of men, in a place that no one inhabited? I remained here whole\nhours, in the most ravishing contemplation, and returned pensive and\nthoughtful to my inn. This reverie was by no means favorable to Madam\nde Larnage; she had taken care to forewarn me against the girls of\nMontpelier, but not against the Pont-du-Gard--it is impossible to\nprovide for every contingency.\n\nOn my arrival at Nismes, I went to see the amphitheatre, which is a far\nmore magnificent work than even the Pont-du-Gard, yet it made a much\nless impression on me, perhaps, because my admiration had been already\nexhausted on the former object; or that the situation of the latter, in\nthe midst of a city, was less proper to excite it. This vast and superb\ncircus is surrounded by small dirty houses, while yet smaller and\ndirtier fill up the area, in such a manner that the whole produces an\nunequal and confused effect, in which regret and indignation stifle\npleasure and surprise. The amphitheatre at Verona is a vast deal\nsmaller, and less beautiful than that at Nismes, but preserved with all\npossible care and neatness, by which means alone it made a much stronger\nand more agreeable impression on me. The French pay no regard to these\nthings, respect no monument of antiquity; ever eager to undertake, they\nnever finish, nor preserve anything that is already finished to their\nhands.\n\nI was so much better, and had gained such an appetite by exercise,\nthat I stopped a whole day at Pont-du-Lunel, for the sake of good\nentertainment and company, this being deservedly esteemed at that time\nthe best inn in Europe; for those who kept it, knowing how to make\nits fortunate situation turn to advantage, took care to provide both\nabundance and variety. It was really curious to find in a lonely\ncountry-house, a table every day furnished with sea and fresh-water\nfish, excellent game, and choice wines, served up with all the attention\nand care, which are only to be expected among the great or opulent, and\nall this for thirty five sous each person: but the Pont-du-Lunel did not\nlong remain on this footing, for the proprietor, presuming too much on\nits reputation, at length lost it entirely.\n\nDuring this journey, I really forgot my complaints, but recollected them\nagain on my arrival at Montpelier. My vapors were absolutely gone, but\nevery other complaint remained, and though custom had rendered them less\ntroublesome, they were still sufficient to make any one who had been\nsuddenly seized with them, suppose himself attacked by some mortal\ndisease. In effect they were rather alarming than painful, and made\nthe mind suffer more than the body, though it apparently threatened\nthe latter with destruction. While my attention was called off by the\nvivacity of my passions, I paid no attention to my health; but as my\ncomplaints were not altogether imaginary, I thought of them seriously\nwhen the tumult had subsided. Recollecting the salutary advice of Madam\nde Larnage, and the cause of my journey, I consulted the most famous\npractitioners, particularly Monsieur Fizes; and through superabundance\nof precaution boarded at a doctor's who was an Irishman, and named\nFitz-Morris.\n\nThis person boarded a number of young gentlemen who were studying\nphysic; and what rendered his house very commodious for an invalid, he\ncontented himself with a moderate pension for provisions, lodging, etc.,\nand took nothing of his boarders for attendance as a physician. He\neven undertook to execute the orders of M. Fizes, and endeavored to\nre-establish my health. He certainly acquitted himself very well in this\nemployment; as to regimen, indigestions were not to be gained at his\ntable; and though I am not much hurt at privations of that kind, the\nobjects of comparison were so near, that I could not help thinking with\nmyself sometimes, that M. de Torignan was a much better provider than\nM. Fitz-Morris; notwithstanding, as there was no danger of dying with\nhunger, and all the youths were gay and good-humored, I believe this\nmanner of living was really serviceable, and prevented my falling into\nthose languors I had latterly been so subject to. I passed the morning\nin taking medicines, particularly, I know not what kind of waters, but\nbelieve they were those of Vals, and in writing to Madam de Larnage: for\nthe correspondence was regularly kept up, and Rousseau kindly undertook\nto receive these letters for his good friend Dudding. At noon I took\na walk to the Canourgue, with some of our young boarders, who were all\nvery good lads; after this we assembled for dinner; when this was over,\nan affair of importance employed the greater part of us till night; this\nwas going a little way out of town to take our afternoon's collation,\nand make up two or three parties at mall, or mallet. As I had neither\nstrength nor skill, I did not play myself but I betted on the game, and,\ninterested for the success of my wager, followed the players and their\nballs over rough and stony roads, procuring by this means both an\nagreeable and salutary exercise. We took our afternoon's refreshment\nat an inn out of the city. I need not observe that these meetings were\nextremely merry, but should not omit that they were equally innocent,\nthough the girls of the house were very pretty. M. Fitz-Morris (who\nwas a great mall player himself) was our president; and I must observe,\nnotwithstanding the imputation of wildness that is generally bestowed\non students, that I found more virtuous dispositions among these youths\nthan could easily be found among an equal number of men: they were\nrather noisy than fond of wine, and more merry than libertine.\n\nI accustomed myself so much to this mode of life, and it accorded so\nentirely with my humor, that I should have been very well content with a\ncontinuance of it. Several of my fellow-boarders were Irish, from whom\nI endeavored to learn some English words, as a precaution for\nSaint-Andiol. The time now drew near for my departure; every letter\nMadam de Larnage wrote, she entreated me not to delay it, and at length\nI prepared to obey her.\n\nI was convinced that the physicians (who understood nothing of\nmy disorder) looked on my complaint as imaginary, and treated me\naccordingly, with their waters and whey. In this respect physicians and\nphilosophers differ widely from theologians; admitting the truth only\nof what they can explain, and making their knowledge the measure\nof possibilities. These gentlemen understood nothing of my illness,\ntherefore concluded I could not be ill; and who would presume to doubt\nthe profound skill of a physician? I plainly saw they only meant to\namuse, and make me swallow my money; and judging their substitute at\nSaint-Andiol would do me quite as much service, and be infinitely more\nagreeable, I resolved to give her the preference; full, therefore, of\nthis wise resolution, I quitted Montpelier.\n\nI set off towards the end of November, after a stay of six weeks or\ntwo months in that city, where I left a dozen louis, without either my\nhealth or understanding being the better for it, except from a short\ncourse of anatomy begun under M. Fitz-Morris, which I was soon obliged\nto abandon, from the horrid stench of the bodies he dissected, which I\nfound it impossible to endure.\n\nNot thoroughly satisfied in my own mind on the rectitude of this\nexpedition, as I advanced towards the Bridge of St. Esprit (which was\nequally the road to Saint-Andiol and to Chambery) I began to reflect on\nMadam de Warens, the remembrance of whose letters, though less frequent\nthan those from Madam de Larnage, awakened in my heart a remorse that\npassion had stifled in the first part of my journey, but which became\nso lively on my return, that, setting just estimate on the love of\npleasure, I found myself in such a situation of mind that I could listen\nwholly to the voice of reason. Besides, in continuing to act the part\nof an adventurer, I might be less fortunate than I had been in the\nbeginning; for it was only necessary that in all Saint-Andiol there\nshould be one person who had been in England, or who knew the English or\nanything of their language, to prove me an impostor. The family of Madam\nde Larnage might not be pleased with me, and would, perhaps, treat me\nunpolitely; her daughter too made me uneasy, for, spite of myself, I\nthought more of her than was necessary. I trembled lest I should fall\nin love with this girl, and that very fear had already half done the\nbusiness. Was I going, in return for the mother's kindness, to seek the\nruin of the daughter? To sow dissension, dishonor, scandal, and hell\nitself, in her family? The very idea struck me with horror, and I took\nthe firmest resolution to combat and vanquish this unhappy attachment,\nshould I be so unfortunate as to experience it. But why expose myself\nto this danger? How miserable must the situation be to live with the\nmother, whom I should be weary of, and sigh for the daughter, without\ndaring to make known my affection! What necessity was there to seek this\nsituation, and expose myself to misfortunes, affronts and remorse, for\nthe sake of pleasures whose greatest charm was already exhausted? For\nI was sensible this attachment had lost its first vivacity. With these\nthoughts were mingled reflections relative to my situation and duty\nto that good and generous friend, who already loaded with debts, would\nbecome more so from the foolish expenses I was running into, and whom I\nwas deceiving so unworthily. This reproach at length became so keen that\nit triumphed over every temptation, and on approaching the bridge of St.\nEsprit I formed the resolution to burn my whole magazine of letters from\nSaint-Andiol, and continue my journey right forward to Chambery.\n\nI executed this resolution courageously, with some sighs I confess, but\nwith the heart-felt satisfaction, which I enjoyed for the first time in\nmy life, of saying, \"I merit my own esteem, and know how to prefer duty\nto pleasure.\" This was the first real obligation I owed my books,\nsince these had taught me to reflect and compare. After the virtuous\nprinciples I had so lately adopted, after all the rules of wisdom and\nhonor I had proposed to myself, and felt so proud to follow, the shame\nof possessing so little stability, and contradicting so egregiously my\nown maxims, triumphed over the allurements of pleasure. Perhaps, after\nall, pride had as much share in my resolution as virtue; but if this\npride is not virtue itself, its effects are so similar that we are\npardonable in deceiving ourselves.\n\nOne advantage resulting from good actions is that they elevate the soul\nto a disposition of attempting still better; for such is human weakness,\nthat we must place among our good deeds an abstinence from those crimes\nwe are tempted to commit. No sooner was my resolution confirmed than I\nbecame another man, or rather, I became what I was before I had erred,\nand saw in its true colors what the intoxication of the moment had\neither concealed or disguised. Full of worthy sentiments and wise\nresolutions, I continued my journey, intending to regulate my future\nconduct by the laws of virtue, and dedicate myself without reserve to\nthat best of friends, to whom I vowed as much fidelity in future as I\nfelt real attachment. The sincerity of this return to virtue appeared to\npromise a better destiny; but mine, alas! was fixed, and already\nbegun: even at the very moment when my heart, full of good and virtuous\nsentiments, was contemplating only innocence and happiness through life,\nI touched on the fatal period that was to draw after it the long chain\nof my misfortunes!\n\nMy impatience to arrive at Chambery had made me use more diligence than\nI meant to do. I had sent a letter from Valence, mentioning the day and\nhour I should arrive, but I had gained half a day on this calculation,\nwhich time I passed at Chaparillan, that I might arrive exactly at the\ntime I mentioned. I wished to enjoy to its full extent the pleasure\nof seeing her, and preferred deferring this happiness a little, that\nexpectancy might increase the value of it. This precaution had always\nsucceeded; hitherto my arrival had caused a little holiday; I expected\nno less this time, and these preparations, so dear to me, would have\nbeen well worth the trouble of contriving them.\n\nI arrived then exactly at the hour, and while at a considerable\ndistance, looked forward with an expectancy of seeing her on the road to\nmeet me. The beating of my heart increased as I drew near the house; at\nlength I arrived, quite out of breath; for I had left my chaise in the\ntown. I see no one in the garden, at the door, or at the windows; I am\nseized with terror, fearful that some accident has happened. I enter;\nall is quiet; the laborers are eating their luncheon in the kitchen, and\nfar from observing any preparation, the servants seem surprised to see\nme, not knowing I was expected. I go up-stairs, at length see her!--that\ndear friend! so tenderly, truly, and entirely beloved. I instantly ran\ntowards her, and threw myself at her feet. \"Ah! child!\" said she, \"art\nthou returned then!\" embracing me at the same time. \"Have you had a good\njourney? How do you do?\" This reception amused me for some moments. I\nthen asked, whether she had received my letter? she answered \"Yes.\"--\"I\nshould have thought not,\" replied I; and the information concluded\nthere. A young man was with her at this time. I recollected having\nseen him in the house before my departure, but at present he seemed\nestablished there; in short, he was so; I found my place already\nsupplied!\n\nThis young man came from the country of Vaud; his father, named\nVintzenried, was keeper of the prison, or, as he expressed himself,\nCaptain of the Castle of Chillon. This son of the captain was a\njourneyman peruke-maker, and gained his living in that capacity when he\nfirst presented himself to Madam de Warens, who received him kindly, as\nshe did all comers, particularly those from her own country. He was a\ntall, fair, silly youth; well enough made, with an unmeaning face, and a\nmind of the same description, speaking always like the beau in a comedy,\nand mingling the manners and customs of his former situation with a long\nhistory of his gallantry and success; naming, according to his account,\nnot above half the marchionesses who had favored him and pretending\nnever to have dressed the head of a pretty woman, without having\nlikewise decorated her husband's; vain, foolish, ignorant and insolent;\nsuch was the worthy substitute taken in my absence, and the companion\noffered me on my return!\n\nO! if souls disengaged from their terrestrial bonds, yet view from\nthe bosom of eternal light what passes here below, pardon, dear and\nrespectable shade, that I show no more favor to your failings than my\nown, but equally unveil both. I ought and will be just to you as to\nmyself; but how much less will you lose by this resolution than I shall!\nHow much do your amiable and gentle disposition, your inexhaustible\ngoodness of heart, your frankness and other amiable virtues, compensate\nfor your foibles, if a subversion of reason alone can be called such.\nYou had errors, but not vices; your conduct was reprehensible, but your\nheart was ever pure.\n\nThe new-comer had shown himself zealous and exact in all her little\ncommissions, which were ever numerous, and he diligently overlooked the\nlaborers. As noisy and insolent as I was quiet and forbearing, he was\nseen or rather heard at the plough, in the hay-loft, wood-house, stable,\nfarm-yard, at the same instant. He neglected the gardening, this labor\nbeing too peaceful and moderate; his chief pleasure was to load or drive\nthe cart, to saw or cleave wood; he was never seen without a hatchet\nor pick-axe in his hand, running, knocking and hallooing with all his\nmight. I know not how many men's labor he performed, but he certainly\nmade noise enough for ten or a dozen at least. All this bustle imposed\non poor Madam de Warens; she thought this young man a treasure, and,\nwilling to attach him to herself, employed the means she imagined\nnecessary for that purpose, not forgetting what she most depended on,\nthe surrender of her person.\n\nThose who have thus far read this work should be able to form some\njudgment of my heart; its sentiments were the most constant and sincere,\nparticularly those which had brought me back to Chambery; what a sudden\nand complete overthrow was this to my whole being! but to judge fully of\nthis, the reader must place himself for a moment in my situation. I saw\nall the future felicity I had promised myself vanish in a moment; all\nthe charming ideas I had indulged so affectionately, disappear entirely;\nand I, who even from childhood had not been able to consider my\nexistence for a moment as separate from hers, for the first time saw\nmyself utterly alone. This moment was dreadful, and those that succeeded\nit were ever gloomy. I was yet young, but the pleasing sentiments of\nenjoyment and hope, which enliven youth, were extinguished. From that\nhour my existence seemed half annihilated. I contemplated in advance the\nmelancholy remains of an insipid life, and if at any time an image\nof happiness glanced through my mind, it was not that which appeared\nnatural to me, and I felt that even should I obtain it I must still be\nwretched.\n\nI was so dull of apprehension, and my confidence in her was so great,\nthat, notwithstanding the familiar tone of the new-comer, which I\nlooked on as an effect of the easy disposition of Madam de Warens, which\nrendered her free with everyone, I never should have suspected his real\nsituation had not she herself informed me of it; but she hastened\nto make this avowal with a freedom calculated to inflame me with\nresentment, could my heart have turned to that point. Speaking of this\nconnection as quite immaterial with respect to herself, she reproached\nme with negligence in the care of the family, and mentioned my frequent\nabsence, as though she had been in haste to supply my place. \"Ah!\" said\nI, my heart bursting with the most poignant grief, \"what do you dare to\ninform me of? Is this the reward of an attachment like mine? Have you so\nmany times preserved my life, for the sole purpose of taking from me\nall that could render it desirable? Your infidelity will bring me to the\ngrave, but you will regret my loss!\" She answered with a tranquillity\nsufficient to distract me, that I talked like a child; that people did\nnot die from such slight causes; that our friendship need be no less\nsincere, nor we any less intimate, for that her tender attachment to me\ncould neither diminish nor end but with herself; in a word she gave me\nto understand that my happiness need not suffer any decrease from the\ngood fortune of this new favorite.\n\nNever did the purity, truth and force of my attachment to her appear\nmore evident; never did I feel the sincerity and honesty of my soul more\nforcibly, than at that moment. I threw myself at her feet, embracing\nher knees with torrents of tears. \"No, madam,\" replied I, with the most\nviolent agitation, \"I love you too much to disgrace you thus far,\nand too truly to share you; the regret that accompanied the first\nacquisition of your favors has continued to increase with my affection.\nI cannot preserve them by so violent an augmentation of it. You shall\never have my adoration: be worthy of it; to me that is more necessary\nthan all you can bestow. It is to you, O my dearest friend! that I\nresign my rights; it is to the union of our hearts that I sacrifice my\npleasure; rather would I perish a thousand times than thus degrade her I\nlove.\"\n\nI preserved this resolution with a constancy worthy, I may say, of the\nsentiment that gave it birth. From this moment I saw this beloved woman\nbut with the eyes of a real son. It should be remarked here, that this\nresolve did not meet her private approbation, as I too well perceived;\nyet she never employed the least art to make me renounce it either by\ninsinuating proposals, caresses, or any of those means which women so\nwell know how to employ without exposing themselves to violent censure,\nand which seldom fail to succeed. Reduced to seek a fate independent of\nhers, and not able to devise one, I passed to the other extreme, placing\nmy happiness so absolutely in her, that I became almost regardless of\nmyself. The ardent desire to see her happy, at any rate, absorbed all my\naffections; it was in vain she endeavored to separate her felicity from\nmine, I felt I had a part in it, spite of every impediment.\n\nThus those virtues whose seeds in my heart begun to spring up with my\nmisfortunes: they had been cultivated by study, and only waited the\nfermentation of adversity to become prolific. The first-fruit of this\ndisinterested disposition was to put from my heart every sentiment of\nhatred and envy against him who had supplanted me. I even sincerely\nwished to attach myself to this young man; to form and educate him; to\nmake him sensible of his happiness, and, if possible, render him worthy\nof it; in a word, to do for him what Anet had formerly done for me.\nBut the similarity of dispositions was wanting. More insinuating and\nenlightened than Anet, I possessed neither his coolness, fortitude,\nnor commanding strength of character, which I must have had in order to\nsucceed. Neither did the young man possess those qualities which Anet\nfound in me; such as gentleness, gratitude, and above all, the knowledge\nof a want of his instructions, and an ardent desire to render them\nuseful. All these were wanting; the person I wished to improve, saw in\nme nothing but an importunate, chattering pedant: while on the contrary\nhe admired his own importance in the house, measuring the services\nhe thought he rendered by the noise he made, and looking on his saws,\nhatchets, and pick-axes, as infinitely more useful than all my old\nbooks: and, perhaps, in this particular, he might not be altogether\nblamable; but he gave himself a number of airs sufficient to make anyone\ndie with laughter. With the peasants he assumed the airs of a country\ngentleman; presently he did as much with me, and at length with Madam de\nWarens herself. His name, Vintzenried, did not appear noble enough,\nhe therefore changed it to that of Monsieur de Courtilles, and by the\nlatter appellation he was known at Chambery, and in Maurienne, where he\nmarried.\n\nAt length this illustrious personage gave himself such airs of\nconsequence, that he was everything in the house, and myself nothing.\nWhen I had the misfortune to displease him, he scolded Madam de Warens,\nand a fear of exposing her to his brutality rendered me subservient to\nall his whims, so that every time he cleaved wood (an office which he\nperformed with singular pride) it was necessary I should be an idle\nspectator and admirer of his prowess. This lad was not, however, of a\nbad disposition; he loved Madam de Warens, indeed it was impossible to\ndo otherwise; nor had he any aversion even to me, and when he happened\nto be out of his airs would listen to our admonitions, and frankly own\nhe was a fool; yet notwithstanding these acknowledgements his follies\ncontinued in the same proportion. His knowledge was so contracted, and\nhis inclinations so mean, that it was useless to reason, and almost\nimpossible to be pleased with him. Not content with a most charming\nwoman, he amused himself with an old red-haired, toothless waiting-maid,\nwhose unwelcome service Madam de Warens had the patience to endure,\nthough it was absolutely disgusting. I soon perceived this new\ninclination, and was exasperated at it; but I saw something else, which\naffected me yet more, and made a deeper impression on me than anything\nhad hitherto done; this was a visible coldness in the behavior of Madam\nde Warens towards me.\n\nThe privation I had imposed on myself, and which she affected to\napprove, is one of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive.\nTake the most sensible, the most philosophic female, one the least\nattached to pleasure, and slighting her favors, if within your reach,\nwill be found the most unpardonable crime, even though she may care\nnothing for the man. This rule is certainly without exception; since\na sympathy so natural and ardent was impaired in her, by an abstinence\nfounded only on virtue, attachment and esteem, I no longer found with\nher that union of hearts which constituted all the happiness of mine;\nshe seldom sought me but when we had occasion to complain of this\nnew-comer, for when they were agreed, I enjoyed but little of her\nconfidence, and, at length, was scarcely ever consulted in her affairs.\nShe seemed pleased, indeed, with my company, but had I passed whole days\nwithout seeing her she would hardly have missed me.\n\nInsensibly, I found myself desolate and alone in that house where I had\nformerly been the very soul; where, if I may so express myself, I had\nenjoyed a double life, and by degrees, I accustomed myself to disregard\neverything that passed, and even those who dwelt there. To avoid\ncontinual mortifications, I shut myself up with my books, or else wept\nand sighed unnoticed in the woods. This life soon became insupportable;\nI felt that the presence of a woman so dear to me, while estranged from\nher heart, increased my unhappiness, and was persuaded, that, ceasing to\nsee her, I should feel myself less cruelly separated.\n\nI resolved, therefore, to quit the house, mentioned it to her, and she,\nfar from opposing my resolution, approved it. She had an acquaintance\nat Grenoble, called Madam de Deybens, whose husband was on terms of\nfriendship with Monsieur Malby, chief Provost of Lyons. M. Deybens\nproposed my educating M. Malby's children; I accepted this offer, and\ndeparted for Lyons without causing, and almost without feeling, the\nleast regret at a separation, the bare idea of which, a few months\nbefore, would have given us both the most excruciating torments.\n\nI had almost as much knowledge as was necessary for a tutor, and\nflattered myself that my method would be unexceptionable; but the year I\npassed at M. Malby's was sufficient to undeceive me in that particular.\nThe natural gentleness of my disposition seemed calculated for the\nemployment, if hastiness had not been mingled with it. While things went\nfavorably, and I saw the pains (which I did not spare) succeed, I was\nan angel; but a devil when they went contrary. If my pupils did not\nunderstand me, I was hasty, and when they showed any symptoms of an\nuntoward disposition, I was so provoked that I could have killed them;\nwhich behavior was not likely to render them either good or wise. I had\ntwo under my care, and they were of very different tempers. St. Marie,\nwho was between eight and nine years old, had a good person and quick\napprehension, was giddy, lively, playful and mischievous; but his\nmischief was ever good-humored. The younger one, named Condillac,\nappeared stupid and fretful, was headstrong as a mule, and seemed\nincapable of instruction. It may be supposed that between both I did not\nwant employment, yet with patience and temper I might have succeeded;\nbut wanting both, I did nothing worth mentioning, and my pupils profited\nvery little. I could only make use of three means, which are very\nweak, and often pernicious with children; namely, sentiment, reasoning,\npassion. I sometimes exerted myself so much with St. Marie, that I could\nnot refrain from tears, and wished to excite similar sensations in him;\nas if it was reasonable to suppose a child could be susceptible to such\nemotions. Sometimes I exhausted myself in reasoning, as if persuaded he\ncould comprehend me; and as he frequently formed very subtle arguments,\nconcluded he must be reasonable, because he bid fair to be so good a\nlogician.\n\nThe little Condillac was still more embarrassing; for he neither\nunderstood, answered, nor was concerned at anything; he was of an\nobstinacy beyond belief, and was never happier than when he had\nsucceeded in putting me in a rage; then, indeed, he was the philosopher,\nand I the child. I was conscious of all my faults, studied the tempers\nof my pupils, and became acquainted with them; but where was the use of\nseeing the evil, without being able to apply a remedy? My penetration\nwas unavailing, since it never prevented any mischief; and everything I\nundertook failed, because all I did to effect my designs was precisely\nwhat I ought not to have done.\n\nI was not more fortunate in what had only reference to myself, than\nin what concerned my pupils. Madam Deybens, in recommending me to\nher friend Madam de Malby, had requested her to form my manners, and\nendeavor to give me an air of the world. She took some pains on this\naccount, wishing to teach me how to do the honors of the house; but I\nwas so awkward, bashful, and stupid, that she found it necessary to stop\nthere. This, however, did not prevent me from falling in love with her,\naccording to my usual custom; I even behaved in such a manner, that she\ncould not avoid observing it; but I never durst declare my passion;\nand as the lady never seemed in a humor to make advances, I soon became\nweary of my sighs and ogling, being convinced they answered no manner of\npurpose.\n\nI had quite lost my inclination for little thieveries while with Madam\nde Warens; indeed, as everything belonged to me, there was nothing\nto steal; besides, the elevated notions I had imbibed ought to have\nrendered me in future above such meanness, and generally speaking they\ncertainly did so; but this rather proceeded from my having learned\nto conquer temptations, than having succeeded in rooting out the\npropensity, and I should even now greatly dread stealing, as in my\ninfancy, were I yet subject to the same inclinations. I had a proof of\nthis at M. Malby's, when, though surrounded by a number of little things\nthat I could easily have pilfered, and which appeared no temptation, I\ntook it into my head to covert some white Arbois wine, some glasses of\nwhich I had drank at table, and thought delicious. It happened to be\nrather thick, and as I fancied myself an excellent finer of wine, I\nmentioned my skill, and this was accordingly trusted to my care, but\nin attempting to mend, I spoiled it, though to the sight only, for it\nremained equally agreeable to the taste. Profiting by this opportunity,\nI furnished myself from time to time with a few bottles to drink in my\nown apartment; but unluckily, I could never drink without eating; the\ndifficulty lay therefore, in procuring bread. It was impossible to make\na reserve of this article, and to have it brought by the footman was\ndiscovering myself, and insulting the master of the house; I could not\nbear to purchase it myself; how could a fine gentleman, with a sword\nat his side, enter a baker's shop to buy a small loaf of bread? it was\nutterly impossible. At length I recollected the thoughtless saying of\na great princess, who, on being informed that the country people had no\nbread, replied, \"Then let them eat pastry!\" Yet even this resource was\nattended with a difficulty. I sometimes went out alone for this very\npurpose, running over the whole city, and passing thirty pastry cook's\nshops, without daring to enter any one of them. In the first place,\nit was necessary there should be only one person in the shop, and that\nperson's physiognomy must be so encouraging as to give me confidence to\npass the threshold; but when once the dear little cake was procured, and\nI shut up in my chamber with that and a bottle of wine, taken cautiously\nfrom the bottom of a cupboard, how much did I enjoy drinking my wine,\nand reading a few pages of a novel; for when I have no company I always\nwish to read while eating; it seems a substitute for society, and I\ndispatch alternately a page and a morsel; 'tis indeed, as if my book\ndined with me.\n\nI was neither dissolute nor sottish, never in my whole life having been\nintoxicated with liquor; my little thefts were not very indiscreet, yet\nthey were discovered; the bottles betrayed me, and though no notice was\ntaken of it, I had no longer the management of the cellar. In all this\nMonsieur Malby conducted himself with prudence and politeness, being\nreally a very deserving man, who, under a manner as harsh as his\nemployment, concealed a real gentleness of disposition and uncommon\ngoodness of heart: he was judicious, equitable, and (what would not be\nexpected from an officer of the Marechausse) very humane.\n\nSensible of his indulgence, I became greatly attached to him, which\nmade my stay at Lyons longer than it would otherwise have been; but at\nlength, disgusted with an employment which I was not calculated for, and\na situation of great confinement, consequently disagreeable to me,\nafter a year's trial, during which time I spared no pains to fulfill\nmy engagement, I determined to quit my pupils; being convinced I should\nnever succeed in educating them properly. Monsieur Malby saw this as\nclearly as myself, though I am inclined to think he would never have\ndismissed me had I not spared him the trouble, which was an excess of\ncondescension in this particular, that I certainly cannot justify.\n\nWhat rendered my situation yet more insupportable was the comparison I\nwas continually drawing between the life I now led and that which I\nhad quitted; the remembrance of my dear Charmettes, my garden, trees,\nfountain and orchard, but, above all, the company of her who was born\nto give life and soul to every other enjoyment. On calling to mind our\npleasures and innocent life, I was seized with such oppressions and\nheaviness of heart, as deprived me of the power of performing anything\nas it should be. A hundred times was I tempted instantly to set off on\nfoot to my dear Madam de Warens, being persuaded that could I once more\nsee her, I should be content to die that moment: in fine, I could\nno longer resist the tender emotions which recalled me back to\nher, whatever it might cost me. I accused myself of not having been\nsufficiently patient, complaisant and kind; concluding I might yet live\nhappily with her on the terms of tender friendship, and by showing more\nfor her than I had hitherto done. I formed the finest projects in the\nworld, burned to execute them, left all, renounced everything, departed,\nfled, and arriving in all the transports of my early youth, found myself\nonce more at her feet. Alas! I should have died there with joy, had I\nfound in her reception, in her embrace, or in her heart, one-quarter of\nwhat I had formerly found there, and which I yet found the undiminished\nwarmth of.\n\nFearful illusions of transitory things, how often dost thou torment us\nin vain! She received me with that excellence of heart which could only\ndie with her; but I sought the influence there which could never be\nrecalled, and had hardly been half an hour with her before I was once\nmore convinced that my former happiness had vanished forever, and that\nI was in the same melancholy situation which I had been obliged to fly\nfrom; yet without being able to accuse any person with my unhappiness,\nfor Courtilles really was not to blame, appearing to see my return\nwith more pleasure than dissatisfaction. But how could I bear to be a\nsecondary person with her to whom I had been everything, and who could\nnever cease being such to me? How could I live an alien in that house\nwhere I had been the child? The sight of every object that had been\nwitness to my former happiness, rendered the comparison yet more\ndistressing; I should have suffered less in any other habitation,\nfor this incessantly recalled such pleasing remembrances, that it was\nirritating the recollection of my loss.\n\nConsumed with vain regrets, given up to the most gloomy melancholy, I\nresumed the custom of remaining alone, except at meals; shut up with my\nbooks, I sought to give some useful diversion to my ideas, and feeling\nthe imminent danger of want, which I had so long dreaded, I sought means\nto prepare for and receive it, when Madam de Warens should have no other\nresource. I had placed her household on a footing not to become worse;\nbut since my departure everything had been altered. He who now managed\nher affairs was a spendthrift, and wished to make a great appearance;\nsuch as keeping a good horse with elegant trappings; loved to appear gay\nin the eyes of the neighbors, and was perpetually undertaking something\nhe did not understand. Her pension was taken up in advance, her rent was\nin arrears, debts of every kind continued to accumulate; I could plainly\nforesee that her pension would be seized, and perhaps suppressed;\nin short, I expected nothing but ruin and misfortune, and the moment\nappeared to approach so rapidly that I already felt all its horrors.\n\nMy closet was my only amusement, and after a tedious search for remedies\nfor the sufferings of my mind, I determined to seek some against the\nevil of distressing circumstances, which I daily expected would fall\nupon us, and returning to my old chimeras, behold me once more\nbuilding castles in the air to relieve this dear friend from the cruel\nextremities into which I saw her ready to fall. I did not believe myself\nwise enough to shine in the republic of letters, or to stand any chance\nof making a fortune by that means; a new idea, therefore, inspired\nme with that confidence, which the mediocrity of my talents could not\nimpart.\n\nIn ceasing to teach music I had not abandoned the thoughts of it; on the\ncontrary, I had studied the theory sufficiently to consider myself well\ninformed on the subject. When reflecting on the trouble it had cost me\nto read music, and the great difficulty I yet experienced in singing at\nsight, I began to think the fault might as well arise from the manner of\nnoting as from my own dulness, being sensible it was an art which most\npeople find difficult to understand. By examining the formation of the\nsigns, I was convinced they were frequently very ill devised. I had\nbefore thought of marking the gamut by figures, to prevent the trouble\nof having lines to draw, on noting the plainest air; but had been\nstopped by the difficulty of the octaves, and by the distinction of\nmeasure and quantity: this idea returned again to my mind, and on\na careful revision of it, I found the difficulties by no means\ninsurmountable. I pursued it successfully, and was at length able to\nnote any music whatever by figures, with the greatest exactitude and\nsimplicity. From this moment I supposed my fortune made, and in the\nardor of sharing it with her to whom I owed everything, thought only\nof going to Paris, not doubting that on presenting my project to the\nAcademy, it would be adopted with rapture. I had brought some money from\nLyons; I augmented this stock by the sale of my books, and in the course\nof a fortnight my resolution was both formed and executed: in short,\nfull of the magnificent ideas it had inspired, and which were common to\nme on every occasion, I departed from Savoy with my new system of music,\nas I had formerly done from Turin with my heron-fountain.\n\nSuch have been the errors and faults of my youth; I have related the\nhistory of them with a fidelity which my heart approves; if my riper\nyears were dignified with some virtues, I should have related them with\nthe same frankness; it was my intention to have done this, but I must\nforego this pleasing task and stop here. Time, which renders justice to\nthe characters of most men, may withdraw the veil; and should my memory\nreach posterity, they may one day discover what I had to say--they will\nthen understand why I am now silent.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\n\n|After two years' silence and patience, and notwithstanding my\nresolutions, I again take up my pen: Reader, suspend your judgment as to\nthe reasons which force me to such a step: of these you can be no judge\nuntil you shall have read my book.\n\nMy peaceful youth has been seen to pass away calmly and agreeably\nwithout any great disappointments or remarkable prosperity. This\nmediocrity was mostly owing to my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt\nin undertaking than easy to discourage; quitting repose for violent\nagitations, but returning to it from lassitude and inclinations, and\nwhich, placing me in an idle and tranquil state for which alone I felt\nI was born, at a distance from the paths of great virtues and still\nfurther from those of great vices, never permitted me to arrive at\nanything great, either good or bad. What a different account will I\nsoon have to give of myself! Fate, which for thirty years forced my\ninclinations, for thirty others has seemed to oppose them; and this\ncontinued opposition, between my situation and inclinations, will appear\nto have been the source of enormous faults, unheard of misfortunes,\nand every virtue except that fortitude which alone can do honor to\nadversity.\n\nThe history of the first part of my life was written from memory, and\nis consequently full of errors. As I am obliged to write the second part\nfrom memory also, the errors in it will probably be still more numerous.\nThe agreeable remembrance of the finest portion of my years, passed\nwith so much tranquillity and innocence, has left in my heart a\nthousand charming impressions which I love incessantly to call to my\nrecollection. It will soon appear how different from these those of the\nrest of my life have been. To recall them to my mind would be to renew\ntheir bitterness. Far from increasing that of my situation by these\nsorrowful reflections, I repel them as much as possible, and in this\nendeavor often succeed so well as to be unable to find them at will.\nThis facility of forgetting my misfortunes is a consolation which Heaven\nhas reserved to me in the midst of those which fate has one day to\naccumulate upon my head. My memory, which presents to me no objects\nbut such as are agreeable, is the happy counterpoise of my terrified\nimagination, by which I foresee nothing but a cruel futurity.\n\nAll the papers I had collected to aid my recollection, and guide me in\nthis undertaking, are no longer in my possession, nor can I ever again\nhope to regain them.\n\nI have but one faithful guide on which I can depend: this is the chain\nof the sentiments by which the succession of my existence has been\nmarked, and by these the events which have been either the cause or the\neffect of the manner of it. I easily forget my misfortunes, but I cannot\nforget my faults, and still less my virtuous sentiments. The remembrance\nof these is too dear to me ever to suffer them to be effaced from my\nmind. I may omit facts, transpose events, and fall into some errors of\ndates; but I cannot be deceived in what I have felt, nor in that which\nfrom sentiment I have done; and to relate this is the chief end of my\npresent work. The real object of my confessions is to communicate an\nexact knowledge of what I interiorly am and have been in every situation\nof my life. I have promised the history of my mind, and to write it\nfaithfully I have no need of other memoirs: to enter into my own heart,\nas I have hitherto done, will alone be sufficient.\n\nThere is, however, and very happily, an interval of six or seven years,\nrelative to which I have exact references, in a collection of\nletters copied from the originals, in the hands of M. du Peyrou. This\ncollection, which concludes in 1760, comprehends the whole time of my\nresidence at the hermitage, and my great quarrel with those who called\nthemselves my friends; that memorable epocha of my life, and the source\nof all my other misfortunes. With respect to more recent original\nletters which may remain in my possession, and are but few in number,\ninstead of transcribing them at the end of this collection, too\nvoluminous to enable me to deceive the vigilance of my Arguses, I will\ncopy them into the work whenever they appear to furnish any explanation,\nbe this either for or against myself; for I am not under the least\napprehension lest the reader should forget I make my confession, and\nbe induced to believe I make my apology; but he cannot expect I shall\nconceal the truth when it testifies in my favor.\n\nThe second part, it is likewise to be remembered, contains nothing in\ncommon with the first, except truth; nor has any other advantage over\nit, but the importance of the facts; in everything else, it is inferior\nto the former. I wrote the first with pleasure, with satisfaction,\nand at my ease, at Wootton, or in the castle Trie: everything I had to\nrecollect was a new enjoyment. I returned to my closet with an increased\npleasure, and, without constraint, gave that turn to my descriptions\nwhich most flattered my imagination.\n\nAt present my head and memory are become so weak as to render me almost\nincapable of every kind of application: my present undertaking is the\nresult of constraint, and a heart full of sorrow. I have nothing to\ntreat of but misfortunes, treacheries, perfidies, and circumstances\nequally afflicting. I would give the world, could I bury in the\nobscurity of time every thing I have to say, and which, in spite of\nmyself, I am obliged to relate. I am, at the same time, under the\nnecessity of being mysterious and subtle, of endeavoring to impose and\nof descending to things the most foreign to my nature. The ceiling under\nwhich I write has eyes; the walls of my chamber have ears. Surrounded\nby spies and by vigilant and malevolent inspectors, disturbed, and my\nattention diverted, I hastily commit to paper a few broken sentences,\nwhich I have scarcely time to read, and still less to correct. I know\nthat, notwithstanding the barriers which are multiplied around me, my\nenemies are afraid truth should escape by some little opening. What\nmeans can I take to introduce it to the world? This, however, I attempt\nwith but few hopes of success. The reader will judge whether or not such\na situation furnishes the means of agreeable descriptions, or of giving\nthem a seductive coloring! I therefore inform such as may undertake\nto read this work, that nothing can secure them from weariness in the\nprosecution of their task, unless it be the desire of becoming more\nfully acquainted with a man whom they already know, and a sincere love\nof justice and truth.\n\nIn my first part I brought down my narrative to my departure with\ninfinite regret for Paris, leaving my heart at Charmettes, and, there\nbuilding my last castle in the air, intending some day to return to the\nfeet of mamma, restored to herself, with the treasures I should have\nacquired, and depending upon my system of music as upon a certain\nfortune.\n\nI made some stay at Lyons to visit my acquaintance, procure letters of\nrecommendation to Paris, and to sell my books of geometry which I had\nbrought with me. I was well received by all whom I knew. M. and Madam\nde Malby seemed pleased to see me again, and several times invited me to\ndinner. At their house I became acquainted with the Abbe de Malby, as\nI had already done with the Abbe de Condillac, both of whom were on\na visit to their brother. The Abbe de Malby gave me letters to Paris;\namong others, one to M. de Pontenelle, and another to the Comte de\nCaylus. These were very agreeable acquaintances, especially the first,\nto whose friendship for me his death only put a period, and from whom,\nin our private conversations, I received advice which I ought to have\nmore exactly followed.\n\nI likewise saw M. Bordes, with whom I had been long acquainted, and who\nhad frequently obliged me with the greatest cordiality and the most real\npleasure. He it was who enabled me to sell my books; and he also gave\nme from himself good recommendations to Paris. I again saw the intendant\nfor whose acquaintance I was indebted to M. Bordes, and who introduced\nme to the Duke de Richelieu, who was then passing through Lyons. M.\nPallu presented me. The Duke received me well, and invited me to come\nand see him at Paris; I did so several times; although this great\nacquaintance, of which I shall frequently have occasion to speak, was\nnever of the most trifling utility to me.\n\nI visited the musician David, who, in one of my former journeys, and in\nmy distress, had rendered me service. He had either lent or given me\na cap and a pair of stockings, which I have never returned, nor has he\never asked me for them, although we have since that time frequently\nseen each other. I, however, made him a present, something like an\nequivalent. I would say more upon this subject, were what I have\nowned in question; but I have to speak of what I have done, which,\nunfortunately, is far from being the same thing.\n\nI also saw the noble and generous Perrichon, and not without feeling the\neffects of his accustomed munificence; for he made me the same present\nhe had previously done to the elegant Bernard, by paying for my place\nin the diligence. I visited the surgeon Parisot, the best and most\nbenevolent of men; as also his beloved Godefroi, who had lived with him\nten years, and whose merit chiefly consisted in her gentle manners and\ngoodness of heart. It was impossible to see this woman without pleasure,\nor to leave her without regret. Nothing better shows the inclinations of\na man, than the nature of his attachments.\n\n     [Unless he be deceived in his choice, or that she, to whom he\n     attaches himself, changes her character by an extraordinary\n     concurrence of causes, which is not absolutely impossible.  Were\n     this consequence to be admitted without modification, Socrates must\n     be judged of by his wife Xantippe, and Dion by his friend Calippus,\n     which would be the most false and iniquitous judgment ever made.\n     However, let no injurious application be here made to my wife.  She\n     is weak and more easily deceived than I at first imagined, but by\n     her pure and excellent character she is worthy of all my esteem.]\n\nThose who had once seen the gentle Godefroi, immediately knew the good\nand amiable Parisot.\n\nI was much obliged to all these good people, but I afterwards neglected\nthem all; not from ingratitude, but from that invincible indolence which\nso often assumes its appearance. The remembrance of their services has\nnever been effaced from my mind, nor the impression they made from\nmy heart; but I could more easily have proved my gratitude, than\nassiduously have shown them the exterior of that sentiment. Exactitude\nin correspondence is what I never could observe; the moment I began\nto relax, the shame and embarrassment of repairing my fault made me\naggravate it, and I entirely desist from writing; I have, therefore,\nbeen silent, and appeared to forget them. Parisot and Perrichon took not\nthe least notice of my negligence, and I ever found them the same. But,\ntwenty years afterwards it will be seen, in M. Bordes, to what a degree\nthe self-love of a wit can make him carry his vengeance when he feels\nhimself neglected.\n\nBefore I leave Lyons, I must not forget an amiable person, whom I again\nsaw with more pleasure than ever, and who left in my heart the most\ntender remembrance. This was Mademoiselle Serre, of whom I have spoken\nin my first part; I renewed my acquaintance with her whilst I was at M.\nde Malby's.\n\nBeing this time more at leisure, I saw her more frequently, and she made\nthe most sensible impressions on my heart. I had some reason to believe\nher own was not unfavorable to my pretensions; but she honored me with\nher confidence so far as to remove from me all temptation to allure her\npartiality.\n\nShe had no fortune, and in this respect exactly resembled myself; our\nsituations were too similar to permit us to become united; and with the\nviews I then had, I was far from thinking of marriage. She gave me\nto understand that a young merchant, one M. Geneve, seemed to wish to\nobtain her hand. I saw him once or twice at her lodgings; he appeared\nto me to be an honest man, and this was his general character. Persuaded\nshe would be happy with him, I was desirous he should marry her, which\nhe afterwards did; and that I might not disturb their innocent love, I\nhastened my departure; offering up, for the happiness of that charming\nwoman, prayers, which, here below were not long heard. Alas! her time\nwas very short, for I afterwards heard she died in the second or\nthird year after her marriage. My mind, during the journey, was wholly\nabsorbed in tender regret. I felt, and since that time, when these\ncircumstances have been present to my recollection, have frequently done\nthe same; that although the sacrifices made to virtue and our duty may\nsometimes be painful, we are well rewarded by the agreeable remembrance\nthey leave deeply engraven in our hearts.\n\nI this time saw Paris in as favorable a point of view as it had appeared\nto me in an unfavorable one at my first journey; not that my ideas\nof its brilliancy arose from the splendor of my lodgings; for in\nconsequence of an address given me by M. Bordes, I resided at the Hotel\nSt. Quentin, Rue des Cordiers, near the Sorbonne; a vile street, a\nmiserable hotel, and a wretched apartment: but nevertheless a house\nin which several men of merit, such as Gresset, Bordes, Abbe Malby,\nCondillac, and several others, of whom unfortunately I found not one,\nhad taken up their quarters; but I there met with M. Bonnefond, a man\nunacquainted with the world, lame, litigious, and who affected to be\na purist. To him I owe the acquaintance of M. Roguin, at present\nthe oldest friend I have and by whose means I became acquainted with\nDiderot, of whom I shall soon have occasion to say a good deal.\n\nI arrived at Paris in the autumn of 1741, with fifteen louis in my\npurse, and with my comedy of Narcissus and my musical project in my\npocket. These composed my whole stock; consequently I had not much\ntime to lose before I attempted to turn the latter to some advantage. I\ntherefore immediately thought of making use of my recommendations.\n\nA young man who arrives at Paris, with a tolerable figure, and announces\nhimself by his talents, is sure to be well received. This was my good\nfortune, which procured me some pleasure without leading to anything\nsolid. Of all the persons to whom I was recommended, three only were\nuseful to me. M. Damesin, a gentleman of Savoy, at that time equerry,\nand I believe favorite, of the Princess of Carignan; M. de Boze,\nSecretary of the Academy of Inscriptions, and keeper of the medals of\nthe king's cabinet; and Father Castel, a Jesuit, author of the 'Clavecin\noculaire'.--[ocular harpsichord.]\n\nAll these recommendations, except that to M. Damesin, were given me by\nthe Abbe de Malby.\n\nM. Damesin provided me with that which was most needful, by means of two\npersons with whom he brought me acquainted. One was M. Gase, 'president\na mortier' of the parliament of Bordeaux, and who played very well\nupon the violin; the other, the Abbe de Leon, who then lodged in the\nSorbonne, a young nobleman; extremely amiable, who died in the flower\nof his age, after having, for a few moments, made a figure in the world\nunder the name of the Chevalier de Rohan. Both these gentlemen had an\ninclination to learn composition. In this I gave them lessons for a few\nmonths, by which means my decreasing purse received some little aid.\nThe Abbe Leon conceived a friendship for me, and wished me to become his\nsecretary; but he was far from being rich, and all the salary he could\noffer me was eight hundred livres, which, with infinite regret, I\nrefused; since it was insufficient to defray the expenses of my lodging,\nfood, and clothing.\n\nI was well received by M. de Boze. He had a thirst for knowledge, of\nwhich he possessed not a little, but was somewhat pedantic. Madam de\nBoze much resembled him; she was lively and affected. I sometimes dined\nwith them, and it is impossible to be more awkward than I was in\nher presence. Her easy manner intimidated me, and rendered mine more\nremarkable. When she presented me a plate, I modestly put forward my\nfork to take one of the least bits of what she offered me, which made\nher give the plate to her servant, turning her head aside that I might\nnot see her laugh. She had not the least suspicion that in the head of\nthe rustic with whom she was so diverted there was some small portion of\nwit. M. de Boze presented me to M. de Reaumur, his friend, who came to\ndine with him every Friday, the day on which the Academy of Sciences\nmet. He mentioned to him my project, and the desire I had of having it\nexamined by the academy. M. de Reaumur consented to make the proposal,\nand his offer was accepted. On the day appointed I was introduced and\npresented by M. de Reaumur, and on the same day, August 22d, 1742, I\nhad the honor to read to the academy the memoir I had prepared for that\npurpose. Although this illustrious assembly might certainly well be\nexpected to inspire me with awe, I was less intimidated on this occasion\nthan I had been in the presence of Madam de Boze, and I got tolerably\nwell through my reading and the answers I was obliged to give. The\nmemoir was well received, and acquired me some compliments by which\nI was equally surprised and flattered, imagining that before such an\nassembly, whoever was not a member of it could not have commonsense. The\npersons appointed to examine my system were M. Mairan, M. Hellot, and M.\nde Fouchy, all three men of merit, but not one of them understood\nmusic, at least not enough of composition to enable them to judge of my\nproject.\n\nDuring my conference with these gentlemen, I was convinced with no less\ncertainty than surprise, that if men of learning have sometimes fewer\nprejudices than others, they more tenaciously retain those they have.\nHowever weak or false most of their objections were, and although I\nanswered them with great timidity, and I confess, in bad terms, yet with\ndecisive reasons, I never once made myself understood, or gave them any\nexplanation in the least satisfactory. I was constantly surprised at the\nfacility with which, by the aid of a few sonorous phrases, they refuted,\nwithout having comprehended me. They had learned, I know not where, that\na monk of the name of Souhaitti had formerly invented a mode of noting\nthe gamut by ciphers: a sufficient proof that my system was not new.\nThis might, perhaps, be the case; for although I had never heard of\nFather Souhaitti, and notwithstanding his manner of writing the seven\nnotes without attending to the octaves was not, under any point of\nview, worthy of entering into competition with my simple and commodious\ninvention for easily noting by ciphers every possible kind of music,\nkeys, rests, octaves, measure, time, and length of note; things on which\nSouhaitti had never thought: it was nevertheless true, that with respect\nto the elementary expression of the seven notes, he was the first\ninventor.\n\nBut besides their giving to this primitive invention more importance\nthan was due to it, they went still further, and, whenever they spoke of\nthe fundamental principles of the system, talked nonsense. The greatest\nadvantage of my scheme was to supersede transpositions and keys, so that\nthe same piece of music was noted and transposed at will by means of\nthe change of a single initial letter at the head of the air. These\ngentlemen had heard from the music-masters of Paris that the method\nof executing by transposition was a bad one; and on this authority\nconverted the most evident advantage of my system into an invincible\nobjection against it, and affirmed that my mode of notation was good\nfor vocal music, but bad for instrumental; instead of concluding as they\nought to have done, that it was good for vocal, and still better for\ninstrumental. On their report the academy granted me a certificate full\nof fine compliments, amidst which it appeared that in reality it judged\nmy system to be neither new nor useful. I did not think proper to\nornament with such a paper the work entitled 'Dissertation sur la\nmusique moderne', by which I appealed to the public.\n\nI had reason to remark on this occasion that, even with a narrow\nunderstanding, the sole but profound knowledge of a thing is preferable\nfor the purpose of judging of it, to all the lights resulting from a\ncultivation of the sciences, when to these a particular study of that in\nquestion has not been joined. The only solid objection to my system was\nmade by Rameau. I had scarcely explained it to him before he discovered\nits weak part. \"Your signs,\" said he, \"are very good inasmuch as they\nclearly and simply determine the length of notes, exactly represent\nintervals, and show the simple in the double note, which the common\nnotation does not do; but they are objectionable on account of their\nrequiring an operation of the mind, which cannot always accompany the\nrapidity of execution. The position of our notes,\" continued he, \"is\ndescribed to the eye without the concurrence of this operation. If two\nnotes, one very high and the other very low, be joined by a series of\nintermediate ones, I see at the first glance the progress from one to\nthe other by conjoined degrees; but in your system, to perceive this\nseries, I must necessarily run over your ciphers one after the other;\nthe glance of the eye is here useless.\" The objection appeared to me\ninsurmountable, and I instantly assented to it. Although it be simple\nand striking, nothing can suggest it but great knowledge and practice\nof the art, and it is by no means astonishing that not one of the\nacademicians should have thought of it. But what creates much surprise\nis, that these men of great learning, and who are supposed to possess\nso much knowledge, should so little know that each ought to confine\nhis judgment to that which relates to the study with which he has been\nconversant.\n\nMy frequent visits to the literati appointed to examine my system and\nthe other academicians gave me an opportunity of becoming acquainted\nwith the most distinguished men of letters in Paris, and by this means\nthe acquaintance that would have been the consequence of my sudden\nadmission amongst them, which afterwards came to pass, was already\nestablished. With respect to the present moment, absorbed in my new\nsystem of music, I obstinately adhered to my intention of effecting a\nrevolution in the art, and by that means of acquiring a celebrity which,\nin the fine arts, is in Paris mostly accompanied by fortune. I shut\nmyself in my chamber and labored three or four months with inexpressible\nardor, in forming into a work for the public eye, the memoir I had read\nbefore the academy. The difficulty was to find a bookseller to take\nmy manuscript; and this on account of the necessary expenses for new\ncharacters, and because booksellers give not their money by handfuls to\nyoung authors; although to me it seemed but just my work should render\nme the bread I had eaten while employed in its composition.\n\nBonnefond introduced me to Quillau the father, with whom I agreed to\ndivide the profits, without reckoning the privilege, of which I paid the\nwhole expense. Such were the future proceedings of this Quillau that I\nlost the expenses of my privilege, never having received a farthing from\nthat edition; which, probably, had but very middling success,\nalthough the Abbe des Fontaines promised to give it celebrity, and,\nnotwithstanding the other journalists, had spoken of it very favorably.\n\nThe greatest obstacle to making the experiment of my system was the\nfear, in case of its not being received, of losing the time necessary to\nlearn it. To this I answered, that my notes rendered the ideas so clear,\nthat to learn music by means of the ordinary characters, time would be\ngained by beginning with mine. To prove this by experience, I taught\nmusic gratis to a young American lady, Mademoiselle des Roulins, with\nwhom M. Roguin had brought me acquainted. In three months she read every\nkind of music, by means of my notation, and sung at sight better than\nI did myself, any piece that was not too difficult. This success was\nconvincing, but not known; any other person would have filled the\njournals with the detail, but with some talents for discovering useful\nthings, I never have possessed that of setting them off to advantage.\n\nThus was my airy castle again overthrown; but this time I was thirty\nyears of age, and in Paris, where it is impossible to live for a trifle.\nThe resolution I took upon this occasion will astonish none but those by\nwhom the first part of these memoirs has not been read with attention.\nI had just made great and fruitless efforts, and was in need of\nrelaxation. Instead of sinking with despair I gave myself up quietly to\nmy indolence and to the care of Providence; and the better to wait for\nits assistance with patience, I lay down a frugal plan for the slow\nexpenditure of a few louis, which still remained in my possession,\nregulating the expense of my supine pleasures without retrenching it;\ngoing to the coffee-house but every other day, and to the theatre but\ntwice a week. With respect to the expenses of girls of easy virtue, I\nhad no retrenchment to make; never having in the whole course of my life\napplied so much as a farthing to that use except once, of which I\nshall soon have occasion to speak. The security, voluptuousness, and\nconfidence with which I gave myself up to this indolent and solitary\nlife, which I had not the means of continuing for three months, is one\nof the singularities of my life, and the oddities of my disposition. The\nextreme desire I had the public should think of me was precisely what\ndiscouraged me from showing myself; and the necessity of paying visits\nrendered them to such a degree insupportable, that I ceased visiting\nthe academicians and other men of letters, with whom I had cultivated an\nacquaintance. Marivaux, the Abbe Malby, and Fontenelle, were almost\nthe only persons whom I sometimes went to see. To the first I showed\nmy comedy of Narcissus. He was pleased with it, and had the goodness\nto make in it some improvements. Diderot, younger than these, was much\nabout my own age. He was fond of music, and knew it theoretically;\nwe conversed together, and he communicated to me some of his literary\nprojects. This soon formed betwixt us a more intimate connection, which\nlasted fifteen years, and which probably would still exist were not\nI, unfortunately, and by his own fault, of the same profession with\nhimself.\n\nIt would be impossible to imagine in what manner I employed this short\nand precious interval which still remained to me, before circumstances\nforced me to beg my bread:--in learning by memory passages from the\npoets which I had learned and forgotten a hundred times. Every morning\nat ten o'clock, I went to walk in the Luxembourg with a Virgil and a\nRousseau in my pocket, and there, until the hour of dinner, I passed\naway the time in restoring to my memory a sacred ode or a bucolic,\nwithout being discouraged by forgetting, by the study of the morning,\nwhat I had learned the evening before. I recollected that after the\ndefeat of Nicias at Syracuse the captive Athenians obtained a livelihood\nby reciting the poems of Homer. The use I made of this erudition to ward\noff misery was to exercise my happy memory by learning all the poets by\nrote.\n\nI had another expedient, not less solid, in the game of chess, to which\nI regularly dedicated, at Maugis, the evenings on which I did not go to\nthe theatre. I became acquainted with M. de Legal, M. Husson, Philidor,\nand all the great chess players of the day, without making the least\nimprovement in the game. However, I had no doubt but, in the end, I\nshould become superior to them all, and this, in my own opinion, was\na sufficient resource. The same manner of reasoning served me in every\nfolly to which I felt myself inclined. I said to myself: whoever excels\nin anything is sure to acquire a distinguished reception in society.\nLet us therefore excel, no matter in what, I shall certainly be sought\nafter; opportunities will present themselves, and my own merit will do\nthe rest. This childishness was not the sophism of my reason; it was\nthat of my indolence. Dismayed at the great and rapid efforts which\nwould have been necessary to call forth my endeavors, I strove to\nflatter my idleness, and by arguments suitable to the purpose, veiled\nfrom my own eyes the shame of such a state.\n\nI thus calmly waited for the moment when I was to be without money; and\nhad not Father Castel, whom I sometimes went to see in my way to the\ncoffee-house, roused me from my lethargy, I believe I should have seen\nmyself reduced to my last farthing without the least emotion. Father\nCastel was a madman, but a good man upon the whole; he was sorry to\nsee me thus impoverish myself to no purpose. \"Since musicians and the\nlearned,\" said he, \"do not sing by your scale, change the string, and\napply to the women. You will perhaps succeed better with them. I have\nspoken of you to Madam de Beuzenval; go to her from me; she is a good\nwoman who will be glad to see the countryman of her son and husband. You\nwill find at her house Madam de Broglie, her daughter, who is a woman of\nwit. Madam Dupin is another to whom I also have mentioned you; carry her\nyour work; she is desirous of seeing you, and will receive you well. No\nthing is done in Paris without the women. They are the curves, of which\nthe wise are the asymptotes; they incessantly approach each other, but\nnever touch.\"\n\nAfter having from day to day delayed these very disagreeable steps, I at\nlength took courage, and called upon Madam de Beuzenval. She received\nme with kindness; and Madam de Broglio entering the chamber, she said to\nher: \"Daughter, this is M. Rousseau, of whom Father Castel has spoken\nto us.\" Madam de Broglie complimented me upon my work, and going to\nher harpsichord proved to me she had already given it some attention.\nPerceiving it to be about one o'clock, I prepared to take my leave.\nMadam de Beuzenval said to me: \"You are at a great distance from the\nquarter of the town in which you reside; stay and dine here.\" I did\nnot want asking a second time. A quarter of an hour afterwards, I\nunderstood, by a word, that the dinner to which she had invited me was\nthat of her servants' hall. Madam de Beuzenval was a very good kind of\nwoman, but of a confined understanding, and too full of her illustrious\nPolish nobility: she had no idea of the respect due to talents. On this\noccasion, likewise, she judged me by my manner rather than by my dress,\nwhich, although very plain, was very neat, and by no means announced a\nman to dine with servants. I had too long forgotten the way to the place\nwhere they eat to be inclined to take it again. Without suffering my\nanger to appear, I told Madam de Beuzenval that I had an affair of a\ntrifling nature which I had just recollected obliged me to return home,\nand I immediately prepared to depart. Madam de Broglie approached her\nmother, and whispered in her ear a few words which had their effect.\nMadam de Beuzenval rose to prevent me from going, and said, \"I expect\nthat you will do us the honor to dine with us.\" In this case I thought\nto show pride would be a mark of folly, and I determined to stay. The\ngoodness of Madam de Broglie had besides made an impression upon me, and\nrendered her interesting in my eyes. I was very glad to dine with her,\nand hoped, that when she knew me better, she would not regret having\nprocured me that honor. The President de Lamoignon, very intimate in the\nfamily, dined there also. He, as well as Madam de Broglie, was a master\nof all the modish and fashionable small talk jargon of Paris. Poor Jean\nJacques was unable to make a figure in this way. I had sense enough not\nto pretend to it, and was silent. Happy would it have been for me, had\nI always possessed the same wisdom; I should not be in the abyss into\nwhich I am now fallen. I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being\nunable to justify to Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor.\n\nAfter dinner I thought of my ordinary resource. I had in my pocket an\nepistle in verse, written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons. This\nfragment was not without some fire, which I increased by my manner of\nreading, and made them all three shed tears. Whether it was vanity, or\nreally the truth, I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say\nto her mother: \"Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was\nfitter to dine with us than with your women?\" Until then my heart had\nbeen rather burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied.\nMadam de Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too\nfar, thought I should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become\na favorite with fine ladies. To guide my inexperience she gave me the\nconfessions of the Count de -----. \"This book,\" said she, \"is a Mentor,\nof which you will stand in need in the great world. You will do well by\nsometimes consulting it.\" I kept the book upwards of twenty years with\na sentiment of gratitude to her from whose hand I had received it,\nalthough I frequently laughed at the opinion the lady seemed to have\nof my merit in gallantry. From the moment I had read the work, I was\ndesirous of acquiring the friendship of the author. My inclination led\nme right; he is the only real friend I ever possessed amongst men of\nletters.\n\n     [I have so long been of the same opinion, and so perfectly convinced\n     of its being well founded, that since my return to Paris I confided\n     to him the manuscript of my confessions.  The suspicious J. J.\n     never suspected perfidy and falsehood until he had been their\n     victim.]\n\nFrom this time I thought I might depend on the services of Madam the\nBaroness of Beuzenval, and the Marchioness of Broglie, and that they\nwould not long leave me without resource. In this I was not deceived.\nBut I must now speak of my first visit to Madam Dupin, which produced\nmore lasting consequences.\n\nMadam Dupin was, as every one in Paris knows, the daughter of Samuel\nBernard and Madam Fontaine. There were three sisters, who might be\ncalled the three graces. Madam de la Touche who played a little prank,\nand went to England with the Duke of Kingston. Madam Darby, the eldest\nof the three; the friend, the only sincere friend of the Prince of\nConti; an adorable woman, as well by her sweetness and the goodness\nof her charming character, as by her agreeable wit and incessant\ncheerfulness. Lastly, Madam Dupin, more beautiful than either of her\nsisters, and the only one who has not been reproached with some levity\nof conduct.\n\nShe was the reward of the hospitality of M. Dupin, to whom her mother\ngave her in marriage with the place of farmer general and an immense\nfortune, in return for the good reception he had given her in his\nprovince. When I saw her for the first time, she was still one of the\nfinest women in Paris. She received me at her toilette, her arms were\nuncovered, her hair dishevelled, and her combing-cloth ill-arranged.\nThis scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I became\nconfused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by Madam\nDupin.\n\n[Illustration: 0268]\n\nMy confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. She\nkindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my\nplan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner,\nand placed me at table by her side. Less than this would have turned\nmy brain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the\npermission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twice\nor thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak, but never dared\nattempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural timidity.\nPermission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, and\nin my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it against\nmyself.\n\nMadam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I found\nnothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me. Her house,\nat that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented by\nsocieties the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composed\nwere chosen on account of some distinguished merit. She was fond of\nseeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men\nof letters, and fine women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes,\nambassadors, and blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of\nForcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey,\npassed for her intimate friends. The Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint\nPierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, M. de Buffon, and M.\nde Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner\ndid not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe,\nas it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had no\nreason to flatter himself he should be able to take a distinguished part\nin the midst of such superior talents. I therefore had not courage to\nspeak; but no longer able to contain myself, I took a resolution\nto write. For the first two days she said not a word to me upon the\nsubject. On the third day, she returned me my letter, accompanying it\nwith a few exhortations which froze my blood. I attempted to speak, but\nmy words expired upon my lips; my sudden passion was extinguished with\nmy hopes, and after a declaration in form I continued to live with her\nupon the same terms as before, without so much as speaking to her even\nby the language of the eyes.\n\nI thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived. M. de Francueil,\nson to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much the same with\nherself and me. He had wit, a good person, and might have pretensions.\nThis was said to be the case, and probably proceeded from his\nmother-in-law's having given him an ugly wife of a mild disposition,\nwith whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon the best of\nterms. M. de Francueil was fond of talents in others, and cultivated\nthose he possessed. Music, which he understood very well, was a means\nof producing a connection between us. I frequently saw him, and he soon\ngained my friendship. He, however, suddenly gave me to understand that\nMadam Dupin thought my visits too frequent, and begged me to discontinue\nthem. Such a compliment would have been proper when she returned my\nletter; but eight or ten days afterwards, and without any new cause, it\nappeared to me ill-timed. This rendered my situation the more singular,\nas M. and Madam de Francueil still continued to give me the same good\nreception as before.\n\nI however made the intervals between my visits longer, and I should\nentirely have ceased calling on them, had not Madam Dupin, by another\nunexpected caprice, sent to desire I would for a few days take care\nof her son, who changing his preceptor, remained alone during that\ninterval. I passed eight days in such torments as nothing but the\npleasure of obeying Madam Dupin could render supportable: I would not\nhave undertaken to pass eight other days like them had Madam Dupin given\nme herself for the recompense.\n\nM. de Francueil conceived a friendship for me, and I studied with him.\nWe began together a course of chemistry at Rouelles. That I might be\nnearer at hand, I left my hotel at Quentin, and went to lodge at the\nTennis Court, Rue Verdelet, which leads into the Rue Platiere, where M.\nDupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I contracted an\ninflammation of the lungs that had liked to have carried me off. In\nmy younger days I frequently suffered from inflammatory disorders,\npleurisies, and especially quinsies, to which I was very subject, and\nwhich frequently brought me near enough to death to familiarize me to\nits image.\n\nDuring my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, and\nto lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding\nthe fire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in\nan inactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. The evening\npreceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by Royer;\nthe name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in favor of the\ntalents of others, which has ever made me distrustful of my own, I\nstill thought the music feeble, and devoid of animation and invention.\nI sometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I could do better\nthan that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the composition of an\nopera, and the importance I heard men of the profession affix to such\nan undertaking, instantly discouraged me, and made me blush at having\nso much as thought of it. Besides, where was I to find a person to write\nthe words, and one who would give himself the trouble of turning the\npoetry to my liking? These ideas of music and the opera had possession\nof my mind during my illness, and in the delirium of my fever I composed\nsongs, duets, and choruses. I am certain I composed two or three little\npieces, 'di prima infenzione', perhaps worthy of the admiration of\nmasters, could they have heard them executed. Oh, could an account be\ntaken of the dreams of a man in a fever, what great and sublime things\nwould sometimes proceed from his delirium!\n\nThese subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention during\nmy convalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and frequent\nmeditations, and which were often involuntary, and made such an\nimpression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both words and music.\nThis was not the first time I had undertaken so difficult a task.\nWhilst I was at Chambery I had composed an opera entitled 'Iphis and\nAnaxarete', which I had the good sense to throw into the fire. At Lyons\nI had composed another, entitled 'La Decouverte du Nouveau Monde',\nwhich, after having read it to M. Bordes, the Abbes Malby, Trublet, and\nothers, had met the same fate, notwithstanding I had set the prologue\nand the first act to music, and although David, after examining the\ncomposition, had told me there were passages in it worthy of Buononcini.\n\nBefore I began the work I took time to consider of my plan. In a heroic\nballet I proposed three different subjects, in three acts, detached\nfrom each other, set to music of a different character, taking for each\nsubject the amours of a poet. I entitled this opera Les Muses Galantes.\nMy first act, in music strongly characterized, was Tasso; the second in\ntender harmony, Ovid; and the third, entitled Anacreon, was to partake\nof the gayety of the dithyrambus. I tried my skill on the first act, and\napplied to it with an ardor which, for the first time, made me feel the\ndelightful sensation produced by the creative power of composition. One\nevening, as I entered the opera, feeling myself strongly incited and\noverpowered by my ideas, I put my money again into my pocket, returned\nto my apartment, locked the door, and, having close drawn all the\ncurtains, that every ray of light might be excluded, I went to bed,\nabandoning myself entirely to this musical and poetical 'oestrum', and\nin seven or eight hours rapidly composed the greatest part of an act. I\ncan truly say my love for the Princess of Ferrara (for I was Tasso for\nthe moment) and my noble and lofty sentiment with respect to her unjust\nbrother, procured me a night a hundred times more delicious than one\npassed in the arms of the princess would have been. In the morning but\na very little of what I had done remained in my head, but this little,\nalmost effaced by sleep and lassitude, still sufficiently evinced the\nenergy of the pieces of which it was the scattered remains.\n\nI this time did, not proceed far with my undertaking, being interrupted\nby other affairs. Whilst I attached myself to the family of Dupin, Madam\nde Beuzenval and Madam de Broglie, whom I continued to visit, had not\nforgotten me. The Count de Montaigu, captain in the guards, had just\nbeen appointed ambassador to Venice. He was an ambassador made by\nBarjac, to whom he assiduously paid his court. His brother, the\nChevalier de Montaigu, 'gentilhomme de la manche' to the dauphin, was\nacquainted with these ladies, and with the Abbe Alary of the French\nacademy, whom I sometimes visited. Madam de Broglie having heard the\nambassador was seeking a secretary, proposed me to him. A conference was\nopened between us. I asked a salary of fifty guineas, a trifle for an\nemployment which required me to make some appearance. The ambassador was\nunwilling to give more than a thousand livres, leaving me to make the\njourney at my own expense. The proposal was ridiculous. We could not\nagree, and M. de Francueil, who used all his efforts to prevent my\ndeparture, prevailed.\n\nI stayed, and M. de Montaigu set out on his journey, taking with him\nanother secretary, one M. Follau, who had been recommended to him by the\noffice of foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice than they\nquarrelled. Follau perceiving he had to do with a madman, left him\nthere, and M. de Montaigu having nobody with him, except a young abbe\nof the name of Binis, who wrote under the secretary, and was unfit to\nsucceed him, had recourse to me. The chevalier, his brother, a man of\nwit, by giving me to understand there were advantages annexed to the\nplace of secretary, prevailed upon me to accept the thousand livres.\nI was paid twenty louis in advance for my journey, and immediately\ndeparted.\n\nAt Lyons I would most willingly have taken the road to Mount Cenis, to\nsee my poor mamma. But I went down the Rhone, and embarked at Toulon, as\nwell on account of the war, and from a motive of economy, as to obtain\na passport from M. de Mirepoix, who then commanded in Provence, and to\nwhom I was recommended. M. de Montaigu not being able to do without me,\nwrote letter after letter, desiring I would hasten my journey; this,\nhowever, an accident considerably prolonged.\n\nIt was at the time of the plague at Messina, and the English fleet had\nanchored there, and visited the Felucca, on board of which I was,\nand this circumstance subjected us, on our arrival, after a long and\ndifficult voyage, to a quarantine of one-and-twenty days.\n\nThe passengers had the choice of performing it on board or in the\nLazaretto, which we were told was not yet furnished. They all chose\nthe Felucca. The insupportable heat, the closeness of the vessel, the\nimpossibility of walking in it, and the vermin with which it swarmed,\nmade me at all risks prefer the Lazaretto. I was therefore conducted to\na large building of two stories, quite empty, in which I found neither\nwindow, bed, table, nor chair, not so much as even a joint-stool or\nbundle of straw. My night sack and my two trunks being brought me, I was\nshut in by great doors with huge locks, and remained at full liberty to\nwalk at my ease from chamber to chamber and story to story, everywhere\nfinding the same solitude and nakedness.\n\nThis, however, did not induce me to repent that I had preferred the\nLazaretto to the Felucca; and, like another Robinson Crusoe, I began to\narrange myself for my one-and twenty days, just as I should have done\nfor my whole life. In the first place, I had the amusement of destroying\nthe vermin I had caught in the Felucca. As soon as I had got clear of\nthese, by means of changing my clothes and linen, I proceeded to furnish\nthe chamber I had chosen. I made a good mattress with my waistcoats and\nshirts; my napkins I converted, by sewing them together, into sheets; my\nrobe de chambre into a counterpane; and my cloak into a pillow. I made\nmyself a seat with one of my trunks laid flat, and a table with the\nother. I took out some writing paper and an inkstand, and distributed,\nin the manner of a library, a dozen books which I had with me. In a\nword, I so well arranged my few movables, that except curtains and\nwindows, I was almost as commodiously lodged in this Lazeretto,\nabsolutely empty as it was, as I had been at the Tennis Court in the Rue\nVerdelet. My dinners were served with no small degree of pomp; they were\nescorted by two grenadiers with bayonets fixed; the staircase was my\ndining-room, the landing-place my table, and the steps served me for a\nseat; and as soon as my dinner was served up a little bell was rung to\ninform me I might sit down to table.\n\nBetween my repasts, when I did not either read or write or work at the\nfurnishing of my apartment, I went to walk in the burying-ground of the\nProtestants, which served me as a courtyard. From this place I ascended\nto a lanthorn which looked into the harbor, and from which I could see\nthe ships come in and go out. In this manner I passed fourteen days,\nand should have thus passed the whole time of the quarantine without the\nleast weariness had not M. Joinville, envoy from France, to whom I found\nmeans to send a letter, vinegared, perfumed, and half burnt, procured\neight days of the time to be taken off: these I went and spent at\nhis house, where I confess I found myself better lodged than in the\nLazaretto. He was extremely civil to me. Dupont, his secretary, was a\ngood creature: he introduced me, as well at Genoa as in the country,\nto several families, the company of which I found very entertaining and\nagreeable; and I formed with him an acquaintance and a correspondence\nwhich we kept up for a considerable length of time. I continued my\njourney, very agreeably, through Lombardy. I saw Milan, Verona, Brescie,\nand Padua, and at length arrived at Venice, where I was impatiently\nexpected by the ambassador.\n\nI found there piles of despatches, from the court and from other\nambassadors, the ciphered part of which he had not been able to read,\nalthough he had all the ciphers necessary for that purpose, never having\nbeen employed in any office, nor even seen the cipher of a minister.\nI was at first apprehensive of meeting with some embarrassment; but\nI found nothing could be more easy, and in less than a week I had\ndeciphered the whole, which certainly was not worth the trouble; for not\nto mention the little activity required in the embassy of Venice, it\nwas not to such a man as M. de Montaigu that government would confide\na negotiation of even the most trifling importance. Until my arrival he\nhad been much embarrassed, neither knowing how to dictate nor to write\nlegibly. I was very useful to him, of which he was sensible; and he\ntreated me well. To this he was also induced by another motive. Since\nthe time of M. de Froulay, his predecessor, whose head became deranged,\nthe consul from France, M. le Blond, had been charged with the affairs\nof the embassy, and after the arrival of M. de Montaigu, continued to\nmanage them until he had put him into the track. M. de Montaigu, hurt at\nthis discharge of his duty by another, although he himself was incapable\nof it, became disgusted with the consul, and as soon as I arrived\ndeprived him of the functions of secretary to the embassy to give them\nto me. They were inseparable from the title, and he told me to take it.\nAs long as I remained with him he never sent any person except myself\nunder this title to the senate, or to conference, and upon the whole it\nwas natural enough he should prefer having for secretary to the embassy\na man attached to him, to a consul or a clerk of office named by the\ncourt.\n\nThis rendered my situation very agreeable, and prevented his gentlemen,\nwho were Italians, as well as his pages, and most of his suite from\ndisputing precedence with me in his house. I made an advantageous use\nof the authority annexed to the title he had conferred upon me, by\nmaintaining his right of protection, that is, the freedom of his\nneighborhood, against the attempts several times made to infringe it;\na privilege which his Venetian officers took no care to defend. But I\nnever permitted banditti to take refuge there, although this would have\nproduced me advantages of which his excellency would not have disdained\nto partake. He thought proper, however, to claim a part of those of the\nsecretaryship, which is called the chancery. It was in time of war, and\nthere were many passports issued. For each of these passports a sequin\nwas paid to the secretary who made it out and countersigned it. All my\npredecessors had been paid this sequin by Frenchmen and others without\ndistinction. I thought this unjust, and although I was not a Frenchman,\nI abolished it in favor of the French; but I so rigorously demanded my\nright from persons of every other nation, that the Marquis de Scotti,\nbrother to the favorite of the Queen of Spain, having asked for a\npassport without taking notice of the sequin: I sent to demand it; a\nboldness which the vindictive Italian did not forget. As soon as the\nnew regulation I had made, relative to passports, was known, none but\npretended Frenchmen, who in a gibberish the most mispronounced, called\nthemselves Provencals, Picards, or Burgundians, came to demand them.\nMy ear being very fine, I was not thus made a dupe, and I am almost\npersuaded that not a single Italian ever cheated me of my sequin, and\nthat not one Frenchman ever paid it. I was foolish enough to tell M. de\nMontaigu, who was ignorant of everything that passed, what I had done.\nThe word sequin made him open his ears, and without giving me his\nopinion of the abolition of that tax upon the French, he pretended I\nought to account with him for the others, promising me at the same time\nequivalent advantages. More filled with indignation at this meanness,\nthan concern for my own interest, I rejected his proposal. He insisted,\nand I grew warm. \"No, sir,\" said I, with some heat, \"your excellency may\nkeep what belongs to you, but do not take from me that which is mine;\nI will not suffer you to touch a penny of the perquisites arising from\npassports.\" Perceiving he could gain nothing by these means he had\nrecourse to others, and blushed not to tell me that since I had\nappropriated to myself the profits of the chancery, it was but just I\nshould pay the expenses. I was unwilling to dispute upon this subject,\nand from that time I furnished at my own expense, ink, paper, wax,\nwax-candle, tape, and even a new seal, for which he never reimbursed me\nto the amount of a farthing. This, however, did not prevent my giving a\nsmall part of the produce of the passports to the Abbe de Binis, a good\ncreature, and who was far from pretending to have the least right to\nany such thing. If he was obliging to me my politeness to him was an\nequivalent, and we always lived together on the best of terms.\n\nOn the first trial I made of his talents in my official functions,\nI found him less troublesome than I expected he would have been,\nconsidering he was a man without experience, in the service of an\nambassador who possessed no more than himself, and whose ignorance and\nobstinacy constantly counteracted everything with which common-sense and\nsome information inspired me for his service and that of the king. The\nnext thing the ambassador did was to connect himself with the Marquis\nMari, ambassador from Spain, an ingenious and artful man, who, had he\nwished so to do, might have led him by the nose, yet on account of the\nunion of the interests of the two crowns he generally gave him good\nadvice, which might have been of essential service, had not the other,\nby joining his own opinion, counteracted it in the execution. The only\nbusiness they had to conduct in concert with each other was to engage\nthe Venetians to maintain their neutrality. These did not neglect to\ngive the strongest assurances of their fidelity to their engagement at\nthe same time that they publicly furnished ammunition to the Austrian\ntroops, and even recruits under pretense of desertion. M. de Montaigu,\nwho I believe wished to render himself agreeable to the republic, failed\nnot on his part, notwithstanding my representation to make me assure the\ngovernment in all my despatches, that the Venetians would never violate\nan article of the neutrality. The obstinacy and stupidity of this poor\nwretch made me write and act extravagantly: I was obliged to be the\nagent of his folly, because he would have it so, but he sometimes\nrendered my employment insupportable and the functions of it almost\nimpracticable. For example, he insisted on the greatest part of his\ndespatches to the king, and of those to the minister, being written in\ncipher, although neither of them contained anything that required that\nprecaution. I represented to him that between the Friday, the day the\ndespatches from the court arrived, and Saturday, on which ours were sent\noff, there was not sufficient time to write so much in cipher, and carry\non the considerable correspondence with which I was charged for the\nsame courier. He found an admirable expedient, which was to prepare on\nThursday the answer to the despatches we were expected to receive on the\nnext day. This appeared to him so happily imagined, that notwithstanding\nall I could say on the impossibility of the thing, and the absurdity of\nattempting its execution, I was obliged to comply during the whole time\nI afterwards remained with him, after having made notes of the few loose\nwords he spoke to me in the course of the week, and of some trivial\ncircumstances which I collected by hurrying from place to place.\nProvided with these materials I never once failed carrying to him on the\nThursday morning a rough draft of the despatches which were to be sent\noff on Saturday, excepting the few additions and corrections I hastily\nmade in answer to the letters which arrived on the Friday, and to which\nours served for answer. He had another custom, diverting enough and\nwhich made his correspondence ridiculous beyond imagination. He sent\nback all information to its respective source, instead of making it\nfollow its course. To M. Amelot he transmitted the news of the court; to\nM. Maurepas, that of Paris; to M. d' Havrincourt, the news from Sweden;\nto M. de Chetardie, that from Petersbourg; and sometimes to each of\nthose the news they had respectively sent to him, and which I was\nemployed to dress up in terms different from those in which it was\nconveyed to us. As he read nothing of what I laid before him, except the\ndespatches for the court, and signed those to other ambassadors without\nreading them, this left me more at liberty to give what turn I thought\nproper to the latter, and in these therefore I made the articles of\ninformation cross each other. But it was impossible for me to do the\nsame by despatches of importance; and I thought myself happy when M. de\nMontaigu did not take it into his head to cram into them an impromptu\nof a few lines after his manner. This obliged me to return, and hastily\ntranscribe the whole despatch decorated with his new nonsense, and honor\nit with the cipher, without which he would have refused his signature. I\nwas frequently almost tempted, for the sake of his reputation, to cipher\nsomething different from what he had written, but feeling that nothing\ncould authorize such a deception, I left him to answer for his own\nfolly, satisfying myself with having spoken to him with freedom, and\ndischarged at my own peril the duties of my station. This is what I\nalways did with an uprightness, a zeal and courage, which merited on his\npart a very different recompense from that which in the end I received\nfrom him. It was time I should once be what Heaven, which had endowed me\nwith a happy disposition, what the education that had been given me by\nthe best of women, and that I had given myself, had prepared me for,\nand I became so. Left to my own reflections, without a friend or advice,\nwithout experience, and in a foreign country, in the service of a\nforeign nation, surrounded by a crowd of knaves, who, for their own\ninterest, and to avoid the scandal of good example, endeavored\nto prevail upon me to imitate them; far from yielding to their\nsolicitations, I served France well, to which I owed nothing, and the\nambassador still better, as it was right and just I should do to the\nutmost of my power. Irreproachable in a post, sufficiently exposed to\ncensure, I merited and obtained the esteem of the republic, that of all\nthe ambassadors with whom we were in correspondence, and the affection\nof the French who resided at Venice, not even excepting the consul, whom\nwith regret I supplanted in the functions which I knew belonged to\nhim, and which occasioned me more embarrassment than they afforded me\nsatisfaction.\n\nM. de Montaigu, confiding without reserve to the Marquis Mari, who did\nnot thoroughly understand his duty, neglected it to such a degree that\nwithout me the French who were at Venice would not have perceived that\nan ambassador from their nation resided there. Always put off without\nbeing heard when they stood in need of his protection, they became\ndisgusted and no longer appeared in his company or at his table, to\nwhich indeed he never invited them. I frequently did from myself what it\nwas his duty to have done; I rendered to the French, who applied to me,\nall the services in my power. In any other country I should have done\nmore, but, on account of my employment, not being able to see persons in\nplace, I was often obliged to apply to the consul, and the consul, who\nwas settled in the country with his family, had many persons to oblige,\nwhich prevented him from acting as he otherwise would have done.\nHowever, perceiving him unwilling and afraid to speak, I ventured\nhazardous measures, which sometimes succeeded. I recollect one which\nstill makes me laugh. No person would suspect it was to me the lovers\nof the theatre at Paris, owe Coralline and her sister Camille, nothing\nhowever, can be more true. Veronese, their father, had engaged himself\nwith his children in the Italian company, and after having received two\nthousand livres for the expenses of his journey, instead of setting out\nfor France, quietly continued at Venice, and accepted an engagement in\nthe theatre of Saint Luke, to which Coralline, a child as she still was,\ndrew great numbers of people. The Duke de Greves, as first gentleman\nof the chamber, wrote to the ambassador to claim the father and the\ndaughter. M. de Montaigu when he gave me the letter, confined his\ninstructions to saying, 'voyez cela', examine and pay attention to this.\nI went to M. Blond to beg he would speak to the patrician, to whom the\ntheatre belonged, and who, I believe, was named Zustinian, that he might\ndischarge Veronese, who had engaged in the name of the king. Le Blond,\nto whom the commission was not very agreeable, executed it badly.\n\nZustinian answered vaguely, and Veronese was not discharged. I was\npiqued at this. It was during the carnival, and having taken the bahute\nand a mask, I set out for the palace Zustinian. Those who saw my gondola\narrive with the livery of the ambassador, were lost in astonishment.\nVenice had never seen such a thing. I entered, and caused myself to\nbe announced by the name of 'Una Siora Maschera'. As soon as I was\nintroduced I took off my mask and told my name. The senator turned pale\nand appeared stupefied with surprise. \"Sir;\" said I to him in Venetian,\n\"it is with much regret I importune your excellency with this visit; but\nyou have in your theatre of Saint Luke, a man of the name of Veronese,\nwho is engaged in the service of the king, and whom you have been\nrequested, but in vain, to give up: I come to claim him in the name of\nhis majesty.\" My short harangue was effectual. I had no sooner left\nthe palace than Zustinian ran to communicate the adventure to the\nstate inquisitors, by whom he was severely reprehended. Veronese was\ndischarged the same day. I sent him word that if he did not set off\nwithin a week I would have him arrested. He did not wait for my giving\nhim this intimation a second time.\n\nOn another occasion I relieved from difficulty solely by my own means,\nand almost without the assistance of any other person, the captain of a\nmerchant-ship. This was one Captain Olivet, from Marseilles; the name of\nthe vessel I have forgotten. His men had quarreled with the Sclavonians\nin the service of the republic, some violence had been committed, and\nthe vessel was under so severe an embargo that nobody except the master\nwas suffered to go on board or leave it without permission. He applied\nto the ambassador, who would hear nothing he had to say. He afterwards\nwent to the consul, who told him it was not an affair of commerce, and\nthat he could not interfere in it. Not knowing what further steps to\ntake he applied to me. I told M. de Montaigu he ought to permit me\nto lay before the senate a memoir on the subject. I do not recollect\nwhether or not he consented, or that I presented the memoir; but I\nperfectly remember that if I did it was ineffectual, and the embargo\nstill continuing, I took another method, which succeeded. I inserted a\nrelation of the affairs in one of our letters to M. de Maurepas, though\nI had difficulty in prevailing upon M. de Montaigne to suffer the\narticle to pass.\n\nI knew that our despatches, although their contents were insignificant,\nwere opened at Venice. Of this I had a proof by finding the articles\nthey contained, verbatim in the gazette, a treachery of which I had in\nvain attempted to prevail upon the ambassador to complain. My object in\nspeaking of the affair in the letter was to turn the curiosity of\nthe ministers of the republic to advantage, to inspire them with some\napprehensions, and to induce the state to release the vessel: for had it\nbeen necessary to this effect to wait for an answer from the court, the\ncaptain would have been ruined before it could have arrived. I did\nstill more, I went alongside the vessel to make inquiries of the ship's\ncompany. I took with me the Abbe Patizel, chancellor of the consulship,\nwho would rather have been excused, so much were these poor creatures\nafraid of displeasing the Senate. As I could not go on board, on account\nof the order from the states, I remained in my gondola, and there took\nthe depositions successively, interrogating each of the mariners, and\ndirecting my questions in such a manner as to produce answers which\nmight be to their advantage. I wished to prevail upon Patizel to put\nthe questions and take depositions himself, which in fact was more his\nbusiness than mine; but to this he would not consent; he never once\nopened his mouth and refused to sign the depositions after me. This\nstep, somewhat bold, was however, successful, and the vessel was\nreleased long before an answer came from the minister. The captain\nwished to make me a present; but without being angry with him on that\naccount, I tapped him on the shoulder, saying, \"Captain Olivet, can you\nimagine that he who does not receive from the French his perquisite for\npassports, which he found his established right, is a man likely to sell\nthem the king's protection?\" He, however, insisted on giving me a dinner\non board his vessel, which I accepted, and took with me the secretary\nto the Spanish embassy, M. Carrio, a man of wit and amiable manners,\nto partake of it: he has since been secretary to the Spanish embassy at\nParis and charge des affaires. I had formed an intimate connection with\nhim after the example of our ambassadors.\n\nHappy should I have been, if, when in the most disinterested manner I\ndid all the service I could, I had known how to introduce sufficient\norder into all these little details, that I might not have served others\nat my own expense. But in employments similar to that I held, in which\nthe most trifling faults are of consequence, my whole attention was\nengaged in avoiding all such mistakes as might be detrimental to my\nservice. I conducted, till the last moment, everything relative to my\nimmediate duty, with the greatest order and exactness. Excepting a few\nerrors which a forced precipitation made me commit in ciphering, and of\nwhich the clerks of M. Amelot once complained, neither the ambassador\nnor any other person had ever the least reason to reproach me with\nnegligence in any one of my functions. This is remarkable in a man so\nnegligent as I am. But my memory sometimes failed me, and I was not\nsufficiently careful in the private affairs with which I was charged;\nhowever, a love of justice always made me take the loss on myself, and\nthis voluntarily, before anybody thought of complaining. I will mention\nbut one circumstance of this nature; it relates to my departure from\nVenice, and I afterwards felt the effects of it in Paris.\n\nOur cook, whose name was Rousselot, had brought from France an old\nnote for two hundred livres, which a hairdresser, a friend of his, had\nreceived from a noble Venetian of the name of Zanetto Nani, who had had\nwigs of him to that amount. Rousselot brought me the note, begging\nI would endeavor to obtain payment of some part of it, by way of\naccommodation. I knew, and he knew it also, that the constant custom of\nnoble Venetians was, when once returned to their country, never to pay\nthe debts they had contracted abroad. When means are taken to force them\nto payment, the wretched creditor finds so many delays, and incurs such\nenormous expenses, that he becomes disgusted and concludes by giving up\nhis debtor accepting the most trifling composition. I begged M. le Blond\nto speak to Zanetto. The Venetian acknowledged the note, but did not\nagree to payment. After a long dispute he at length promised three\nsequins; but when Le Blond carried him the note even these were not\nready, and it was necessary to wait. In this interval happened my\nquarrel with the ambassador and I quitted his service. I had left the\npapers of the embassy in the greatest order, but the note of Rousselot\nwas not to be found. M. le Blond assured me he had given it me back. I\nknew him to be too honest a man to have the least doubt of the matter;\nbut it was impossible for me to recollect what I had done with it. As\nZanetto had acknowledged the debt, I desired M. le Blond to endeavor\nto obtain from him the three sequins on giving him a receipt for the\namount, or to prevail upon him to renew the note by way of duplicate.\nZanetto, knowing the note to be lost, would not agree to either. I\noffered Rousselot the three sequins from my own purse, as a discharge of\nthe debt. He refused them, and said I might settle the matter with the\ncreditor at Paris, of whom he gave me the address. The hair-dresser,\nhaving been informed of what had passed, would either have his note or\nthe whole sum for which it was given. What, in my indignation, would I\nhave given to have found this vexatious paper! I paid the two hundred\nlivres, and that in my greatest distress. In this manner the loss of the\nnote produced to the creditor the payment of the whole sum, whereas had\nit, unfortunately for him, been found, he would have had some difficulty\nin recovering even the ten crowns, which his excellency, Zanetto Nani,\nhad promised to pay.\n\nThe talents I thought I felt in myself for my employment made me\ndischarge the functions of it with satisfaction, and except the society\nof my friend de Carrio, that of the virtuous Altuna, of whom I shall\nsoon have an occasion to speak, the innocent recreations of the place\nSaint Mark, of the theatre, and of a few visits which we, for the most\npart, made together, my only pleasure was in the duties of my station.\nAlthough these were not considerable, especially with the aid of the\nAbbe de Binis, yet as the correspondence was very extensive and there\nwas a war, I was a good deal employed. I applied to business the\ngreatest part of every morning, and on the days previous to the\ndeparture of the courier, in the evenings, and sometimes till midnight.\nThe rest of my time I gave to the study of the political professions I\nhad entered upon, and in which I hoped, from my successful beginning, to\nbe advantageously employed. In fact I was in favor with every one; the\nambassador himself spoke highly of my services, and never complained\nof anything I did for him; his dissatisfaction proceeded from my having\ninsisted on quitting him, in consequence of the useless complaints I had\nfrequently made on several occasions. The ambassadors and ministers of\nthe king with whom we were in correspondence complimented him on the\nmerit of his secretary, in a manner by which he ought to have been\nflattered, but which in his poor head produced quite a contrary effect.\nHe received one in particular relative to an affair of importance, for\nwhich he never pardoned me.\n\nHe was so incapable of bearing the least constraint, that on the\nSaturday, the day of the despatches for most of the courts, he could not\ncontain himself, and wait till the business was done before he went out,\nand incessantly pressing me to hasten the despatches to the king and\nministers, he signed them with precipitation, and immediately went I\nknow not where, leaving most of the other letters without signing; this\nobliged me, when these contained nothing but news, to convert them into\njournals; but when affairs which related to the king were in question\nit was necessary somebody should sign, and I did it. This once happened\nrelative to some important advice we had just received from M. Vincent,\ncharge des affaires from the king, at Vienna. The Prince Lobkowitz\nwas then marching to Naples, and Count Gages had just made the most\nmemorable retreat, the finest military manoeuvre of the whole century,\nof which Europe has not sufficiently spoken. The despatch informed us\nthat a man, whose person M. Vincent described, had set out from Vienna,\nand was to pass by Venice, in his way into Abruzzo, where he was\nsecretly to stir up the people at the approach of the Austrians.\n\nIn the absence of M. le Comte de Montaigu, who did not give himself the\nleast concern about anything, I forwarded this advice to the Marquis de\nl'Hopital, so apropos, that it is perhaps to the poor Jean Jacques, so\nabused and laughed at, that the house of Bourbon owes the preservation\nof the kingdom of Naples.\n\nThe Marquis de l'Hopital, when he thanked his colleague, as it was\nproper he should do, spoke to him of his secretary, and mentioned the\nservice he had just rendered to the common cause. The Comte de Montaigu,\nwho in that affair had to reproach himself with negligence, thought he\nperceived in the compliment paid him by M. de l'Hopital, something like\na reproach, and spoke of it to me with signs of ill-humor. I found\nit necessary to act in the same manner with the Count de Castellane,\nambassador at Constantinople, as I had done with the Marquis de\nl'Hopital, although in things of less importance. As there was no other\nconveyance to Constantinople than by couriers, sent from time to time\nby the senate to its Bailli, advice of their departure was given to the\nambassador of France, that he might write by them to his colleague, if\nhe thought proper so to do. This advice was commonly sent a day or\ntwo beforehand; but M. de Montaigu was held in so little respect, that\nmerely for the sake of form he was sent to, a couple of hours before the\ncouriers set off. This frequently obliged me to write the despatch in\nhis absence. M. de Castellane, in his answer made honorable mention of\nme; M. de Jonville, at Genoa, did the same, and these instances of their\nregard and esteem became new grievances.\n\nI acknowledge I did not neglect any opportunity of making myself known;\nbut I never sought one improperly, and in serving well I thought I had a\nright to aspire to the natural return for essential services; the esteem\nof those capable of judging of, and rewarding them. I will not say\nwhether or not my exactness in discharging the duties of my employment\nwas a just subject of complaint from the ambassador; but I cannot\nrefrain from declaring that it was the sole grievance he ever mentioned\nprevious to our separation.\n\nHis house, which he had never put on a good footing, was constantly\nfilled with rabble; the French were ill-treated in it, and the\nascendancy was given to the Italians; of these even, the more honest\npart, they who had long been in the service of the embassy, were\nindecently discharged, his first gentleman in particular, whom he had\ntaken from the Comte de Froulay, and who, if I remember right, was\ncalled Comte de Peati, or something very like that name. The second\ngentleman, chosen by M. de Montaigu, was an outlaw highwayman from\nMantua, called Dominic Vitali, to whom the ambassador intrusted the\ncare of his house, and who had by means of flattery and sordid economy,\nobtained his confidence, and became his favorite to the great prejudice\nof the few honest people he still had about him, and of the secretary\nwho was at their head. The countenance of an upright man always gives\ninquietude to knaves. Nothing more was necessary to make Vitali conceive\na hatred against me: but for this sentiment there was still another\ncause which rendered it more cruel. Of this I must give an account, that\nI may be condemned if I am found in the wrong.\n\nThe ambassador had, according to custom, a box at each of the theaters.\nEvery day at dinner he named the theater to which it was his intention\nto go: I chose after him, and the gentlemen disposed of the other boxes.\nWhen I went out I took the key of the box I had chosen. One day, Vitali\nnot being in the way, I ordered the footman who attended on me, to bring\nme the key to a house which I named to him. Vitali, instead of sending\nthe key, said he had disposed of it. I was the more enraged at this\nas the footman delivered his message in public. In the evening Vitali\nwished to make me some apology, to which however I would not listen.\n\"To-morrow, sir,\" said I to him, \"you will come at such an hour and\napologize to me in the house where I received the affront, and in the\npresence of the persons who were witnesses to it; or after to-morrow,\nwhatever may be the consequences, either you or I will leave the\nhouse.\" This firmness intimidated him. He came to the house at the\nhour appointed, and made me a public apology, with a meanness worthy of\nhimself. But he afterwards took his measures at leisure, and at the same\ntime that he cringed to me in public, he secretly acted in so vile a\nmanner, that although unable to prevail on the ambassador to give me my\ndismission, he laid me under the necessity of resolving to leave him.\n\nA wretch like him, certainly, could not know me, but he knew enough of\nmy character to make it serviceable to his purposes. He knew I was mild\nto an excess, and patient in bearing involuntary wrongs; but haughty and\nimpatient when insulted with premeditated offences; loving decency and\ndignity in things in which these were requisite, and not more exact in\nrequiring the respect due to myself, than attentive in rendering that\nwhich I owed to others. In this he undertook to disgust me, and in this\nhe succeeded. He turned the house upside down, and destroyed the order\nand subordination I had endeavored to establish in it. A house without\na woman stands in need of rather a severe discipline to preserve that\nmodesty which is inseparable from dignity. He soon converted ours into\na place of filthy debauch and scandalous licentiousness, the haunt\nof knaves and debauchees. He procured for second gentleman to his\nexcellency, in the place of him whom he got discharged, another pimp\nlike himself, who kept a house of ill-fame, at the Cross of Malta; and\nthe indecency of these two rascals was equalled by nothing but their\ninsolence. Except the bed-chamber of the ambassador, which, however,\nwas not in very good order, there was not a corner in the whole house\nsupportable to an modest man.\n\nAs his excellency did not sup, the gentleman and myself had a private\ntable, at which the Abbe Binis and the pages also ate. In the most\npaltry ale-house people are served with more cleanliness and decency,\nhave cleaner linen, and a table better supplied. We had but one little\nand very filthy candle, pewter plates, and iron forks.\n\nI could have overlooked what passed in secret, but I was deprived of my\ngondola. I was the only secretary to an ambassador, who was obliged\nto hire one or go on foot, and the livery of his excellency no longer\naccompanied me, except when I went to the senate. Besides, everything\nwhich passed in the house was known in the city. All those who were in\nthe service of the other ambassadors loudly exclaimed; Dominic, the only\ncause of all, exclaimed louder than anybody, well knowing the indecency\nwith which we were treated was more affecting to me than to any other\nperson. Though I was the only one in the house who said nothing of the\nmatter abroad, I complained loudly of it to the ambassador, as well as\nof himself, who, secretly excited by the wretch, entirely devoted to\nhis will, daily made me suffer some new affront. Obliged to spend a good\ndeal to keep up a footing with those in the same situation with myself,\nand to make are appearance proper to my employment, I could not touch a\nfarthing of my salary, and when I asked him for money, he spoke of his\nesteem for me, and his confidence, as if either of these could have\nfilled my purse, and provided for everything.\n\nThese two banditti at length quite turned the head of their master, who\nnaturally had not a good one, and ruined him by a continual traffic, and\nby bargains, of which he was the dupe, whilst they persuaded him they\nwere greatly in his favor. They persuaded him to take upon the Brenta,\na Palazzo, at twice the rent it was worth, and divided the surplus with\nthe proprietor. The apartments were inlaid with mosaic, and ornamented\nwith columns and pilasters, in the taste of the country. M. de Montaigu,\nhad all these superbly masked by fir wainscoting, for no other reason\nthan because at Paris apartments were thus fitted up. It was for a\nsimilar reason that he only, of all the ambassadors who were at Venice,\ntook from his pages their swords, and from his footmen their canes. Such\nwas the man, who, perhaps from the same motive took a dislike to me on\naccount of my serving him faithfully.\n\nI patiently endured his disdain, his brutality, and ill-treatment, as\nlong as, perceiving them accompanied by ill-humor, I thought they had\nin them no portion of hatred; but the moment I saw the design formed of\ndepriving me of the honor I merited by my faithful services, I resolved\nto resign my employment. The first mark I received of his ill will\nwas relative to a dinner he was to give to the Duke of Modena and his\nfamily, who were at Venice, and at which he signified to me I should\nnot be present. I answered, piqued, but not angry, that having the\nhonor daily to dine at his table, if the Duke of Modena, when he came,\nrequired I should not appear at it, my duty as well as the dignity of\nhis excellency would not suffer me to consent to such a request. \"How;\"\nsaid he passionately, \"my secretary, who is not a gentleman, pretends to\ndine with a sovereign when my gentlemen do not!\" \"Yes, sir,\" replied\nI, \"the post with which your excellency has honored me, as long as\nI discharge the functions of it, so far ennobles me that my rank is\nsuperior to that of your gentlemen or of the persons calling themselves\nsuch; and I am admitted where they cannot appear. You cannot but know\nthat on the day on which you shall make your public entry, I am called\nto the ceremony by etiquette; and by an immemorial custom, to follow you\nin a dress of ceremony, and afterwards to dine with you at the palace\nof St. Mark; and I know not why a man who has a right and is to eat in\npublic with the doge and the senate of Venice should not eat in private\nwith the Duke of Modena.\" Though this argument was unanswerable, it\ndid not convince the ambassador; but we had no occasion to renew the\ndispute, as the Duke of Modena did not come to dine with him.\n\nFrom that moment he did everything in his power to make things\ndisagreeable to me; and endeavored unjustly to deprive me of my rights,\nby taking from me the pecuniary advantages annexed to my employment, to\ngive them to his dear Vitali; and I am convinced that had he dared to\nsend him to the senate, in my place, he would have done it. He commonly\nemployed the Abbe Binis in his closet, to write his private letters: he\nmade use of him to write to M. de Maurepas an account of the affair of\nCaptain Olivet, in which, far from taking the least notice of me, the\nonly person who gave himself any concern about the matter, he deprived\nme of the honor of the depositions, of which he sent him a duplicate,\nfor the purpose of attributing them to Patizel, who had not opened his\nmouth. He wished to mortify me, and please his favorite; but had\nno desire to dismiss me his service. He perceived it would be more\ndifficult to find me a successor, than M. Follau, who had already made\nhim known to the world. An Italian secretary was absolutely necessary to\nhim, on account of the answers from the senate; one who could write all\nhis despatches, and conduct his affairs, without his giving himself the\nleast trouble about anything; a person who, to the merit of serving him\nwell, could join the baseness of being the toad-eater of his gentlemen,\nwithout honor, merit, or principles. He wished to retain, and humble me,\nby keeping me far from my country, and his own, without money to return\nto either, and in which he would, perhaps, had succeeded, had he began\nwith more moderation: but Vitali, who had other views, and wished to\nforce me to extremities, carried his point. The moment I perceived, I\nlost all my trouble, that the ambassador imputed to me my services as so\nmany crimes, instead of being satisfied with them; that with him I\nhad nothing to expect, but things disagreeable at home, and injustice\nabroad; and that, in the general disesteem into which he was fallen, his\nill offices might be prejudicial to me, without the possibility of my\nbeing served by his good ones; I took my resolution, and asked him\nfor my dismission, leaving him sufficient time to provide himself with\nanother secretary. Without answering yes or no, he continued to treat\nme in the same manner, as if nothing had been said. Perceiving things\nto remain in the same state, and that he took no measures to procure\nhimself a new secretary, I wrote to his brother, and, explaining to him\nmy motives, begged he would obtain my dismission from his excellency,\nadding that whether I received it or not, I could not possibly remain\nwith him. I waited a long time without any answer, and began to be\nembarrassed: but at length the ambassador received a letter from his\nbrother, which must have remonstrated with him in very plain terms; for\nalthough he was extremely subject to ferocious rage, I never saw him so\nviolent as on this occasion. After torrents of unsufferable reproaches,\nnot knowing what more to say, he accused me of having sold his ciphers.\nI burst into a loud laughter, and asked him, in a sneering manner, if he\nthought there was in Venice a man who would be fool enough to give half\na crown for them all. He threatened to call his servants to throw me out\nof the window. Until then I had been very composed; but on this threat,\nanger and indignation seized me in my turn. I sprang to the door, and\nafter having turned a button which fastened it within: \"No, count,\" said\nI, returning to him with a grave step, \"Your servants shall have nothing\nto do with this affair; please to let it be settled between ourselves.\"\nMy action and manner instantly made him calm; fear and surprise were\nmarked in his countenance. The moment I saw his fury abated, I bid him\nadieu in a very few words, and without waiting for his answer, went to\nthe door, opened it, and passed slowly across the antechamber, through\nthe midst of his people, who rose according to custom, and who, I am of\nopinion, would rather have lent their assistance against him than\nme. Without going back to my apartment, I descended the stairs, and\nimmediately went out of the palace never more to enter it.\n\nI hastened immediately to M. le Blond and related to him what had\nhappened. Knowing the man, he was but little surprised. He kept me to\ndinner. This dinner, although without preparation, was splendid. All the\nFrench of consequence who were at Venice, partook of it. The ambassador\nhad not a single person. The consul related my case to the company. The\ncry was general, and by no means in favor of his excellency. He had not\nsettled my account, nor paid me a farthing, and being reduced to the few\nlouis I had in my pocket, I was extremely embarrassed about my return to\nFrance. Every purse was opened to me. I took twenty sequins from that of\nM. le Blond, and as many from that of M. St. Cyr, with whom, next to M.\nle Blond, I was the most intimately connected. I returned thanks to\nthe rest; and, till my departure, went to lodge at the house of the\nchancellor of the consulship, to prove to the public, the nation was not\nan accomplice in the injustice of the ambassador.\n\nHis excellency, furious at seeing me taken notice of in my misfortune,\nat the same time that, notwithstanding his being an ambassador, nobody\nwent near his house, quite lost his senses and behaved like a madman.\nHe forgot himself so far as to present a memoir to the senate to get me\narrested. On being informed of this by the Abbe de Binis, I resolved to\nremain a fortnight longer, instead of setting off the next day as I had\nintended. My conduct had been known and approved of by everybody; I was\nuniversally esteemed. The senate did not deign to return an answer\nto the extravagant memoir of the ambassador, but sent me word I might\nremain in Venice as long as I thought proper, without making myself\nuneasy about the attempts of a madman. I continued to see my friends: I\nwent to take leave of the ambassador from Spain, who received me well,\nand of the Comte de Finochietti, minister from Naples, whom I did not\nfind at home. I wrote him a letter and received from his excellency the\nmost polite and obliging answer. At length I took my departure, leaving\nbehind me, notwithstanding my embarrassment, no other debts than the two\nsums I had borrowed, and of which I have just spoken; and an account\nof fifty crowns with a shopkeeper, of the name of Morandi, which Carrio\npromised to pay, and which I have never reimbursed him, although we\nhave frequently met since that time; but with respect to the two sums of\nmoney, I returned them very exactly the moment I had it in my power.\n\nI cannot take leave of Venice without saying something of the celebrated\namusements of that city, or at least of the little part of them of which\nI partook during my residence there. It has been seen how little in\nmy youth I ran after the pleasures of that age, or those that are so\ncalled. My inclinations did not change at Venice, but my occupations,\nwhich moreover would have prevented this, rendered more agreeable to me\nthe simple recreations I permitted myself. The first and most pleasing\nof all was the society of men of merit. M. le Blond, de St. Cyr, Carrio\nAltuna, and a Forlinian gentleman, whose name I am very sorry to have\nforgotten, and whom I never call to my recollection without emotion:\nhe was the man of all I ever knew whose heart most resembled my own.\nWe were connected with two or three Englishmen of great wit and\ninformation, and, like ourselves, passionately fond of music. All these\ngentlemen had their wives, female friends, or mistresses: the latter\nwere most of them women of talents, at whose apartments there were balls\nand concerts. There was but little play; a lively turn, talents, and the\ntheatres rendered this amusement incipid. Play is the resource of none\nbut men whose time hangs heavy on their hands. I had brought with me\nfrom Paris the prejudice of that city against Italian music; but I had\nalso received from nature a sensibility and niceness of distinction\nwhich prejudice cannot withstand. I soon contracted that passion for\nItalian music with which it inspires all those who are capable of\nfeeling its excellence. In listening to barcaroles, I found I had not\nyet known what singing was, and I soon became so fond of the opera that,\ntired of babbling, eating, and playing in the boxes when I wished to\nlisten, I frequently withdrew from the company to another part of the\ntheater. There, quite alone, shut up in my box, I abandoned myself,\nnotwithstanding the length of the representation, to the pleasure of\nenjoying it at ease unto the conclusion. One evening at the theatre of\nSaint Chrysostom, I fell into a more profound sleep than I should have\ndone in my bed. The loud and brilliant airs did not disturb my repose.\nBut who can explain the delicious sensations given me by the soft\nharmony of the angelic music, by which I was charmed from sleep; what\nan awaking! what ravishment! what ecstasy, when at the same instant I\nopened my ears and eyes! My first idea was to believe I was in paradise.\nThe ravishing air, which I still recollect and shall never forget, began\nwith these words:\n\n                         Conservami la bella,\n                         Che si m'accende il cor.\n\nI was desirous of having it; I had and kept it for a time; but it was\nnot the same thing upon paper as in my head. The notes were the same but\nthe thing was different. This divine composition can never be executed\nbut in my mind, in the same manner as it was the evening on which it\nwoke me from sleep.\n\nA kind of music far superior, in my opinion, to that of operas, and\nwhich in all Italy has not its equal, nor perhaps in the whole world,\nis that of the 'scuole'. The 'scuole' are houses of charity, established\nfor the education of young girls without fortune, to whom the republic\nafterwards gives a portion either in marriage or for the cloister.\nAmongst talents cultivated in these young girls, music is in the first\nrank. Every Sunday at the church of each of the four 'scuole', during\nvespers, motettos or anthems with full choruses, accompanied by a great\norchestra, and composed and directed by the best masters in Italy, are\nsung in the galleries by girls only; not one of whom is more than twenty\nyears of age. I have not an idea of anything so voluptuous and affecting\nas this music; the richness of the art, the exquisite taste of the\nvocal part, the excellence of the voices, the justness of the execution,\neverything in these delightful concerts concurs to produce an impression\nwhich certainly is not the mode, but from which I am of opinion no heart\nis secure. Carrio and I never failed being present at these vespers of\nthe 'Mendicanti', and we were not alone. The church was always full of\nthe lovers of the art, and even the actors of the opera came there to\nform their tastes after these excellent models. What vexed me was the\niron grate, which suffered nothing to escape but sounds, and concealed\nfrom me the angels of which they were worthy. I talked of nothing else.\nOne day I spoke of it at Le Blond's; \"If you are so desirous,\" said he,\n\"to see those little girls, it will be an easy matter to satisfy your\nwishes. I am one of the administrators of the house, I will give you a\ncollation with them.\" I did not let him rest until he had fulfilled his\npromise. In entering the saloon, which contained these beauties I so\nmuch sighed to see, I felt a trembling of love which I had never before\nexperienced. M. le Blond presented to me one after the other, these\ncelebrated female singers, of whom the names and voices were all\nwith which I was acquainted. Come, Sophia,--she was horrid. Come,\nCattina,--she had but one eye. Come, Bettina,--the small-pox had\nentirely disfigured her. Scarcely one of them was without some striking\ndefect.\n\nLe Blond laughed at my surprise; however, two or three of them appeared\ntolerable; these never sung but in the choruses; I was almost in\ndespair. During the collation we endeavored to excite them, and they\nsoon became enlivened; ugliness does not exclude the graces, and I found\nthey possessed them. I said to myself, they cannot sing in this manner\nwithout intelligence and sensibility, they must have both; in fine, my\nmanner of seeing them changed to such a degree that I left the house\nalmost in love with each of these ugly faces. I had scarcely courage\nenough to return to vespers. But after having seen the girls, the danger\nwas lessened. I still found their singing delightful; and their\nvoices so much embellished their persons that, in spite of my eyes, I\nobstinately continued to think them beautiful.\n\nMusic in Italy is accompanied with so trifling an expense, that it is\nnot worth while for such as have a taste for it to deny themselves the\npleasure it affords. I hired a harpsichord, and, for half a crown, I had\nat my apartment four or five symphonists, with whom I practised once a\nweek in executing such airs, etc., as had given me most pleasure at the\nopera. I also had some symphonies performed from my 'Muses Galantes'.\nWhether these pleased the performers, or the ballet-master of St. John\nChrysostom wished to flatter me, he desired to have two of them; and I\nhad afterwards the pleasure of hearing these executed by that admirable\norchestra. They were danced to by a little Bettina, pretty and amiable,\nand kept by a Spaniard, M. Fagoaga, a friend of ours with whom we often\nwent to spend the evening. But apropos of girls of easy virtue: it\nis not in Venice that a man abstains from them. Have you nothing to\nconfess, somebody will ask me, upon this subject? Yes: I have something\nto say upon it, and I will proceed to the confession with the same\ningenuousness with which I have made my former ones.\n\nI always had a disinclination to girls of pleasure, but at Venice those\nwere all I had within my reach; most of the houses being shut against me\non account of my place. The daughters of M. le Blond were very amiable,\nbut difficult of access; and I had too much respect for the father and\nmother ever once to have the least desire for them.\n\nI should have had a much stronger inclination to a young lady named\nMademoiselle de Cataneo, daughter to the agent from the King of Prussia,\nbut Carrio was in love with her: there was even between them some\nquestion of marriage. He was in easy circumstances, and I had no\nfortune: his salary was a hundred louis (guineas) a year, and mine\namounted to no more than a thousand livres (about forty pounds sterling)\nand, besides my being unwilling to oppose a friend, I knew that in all\nplaces, and especially at Venice, with a purse so ill furnished as mine\nwas, gallantry was out of the question. I had not lost the pernicious\ncustom of deceiving my wants. Too busily employed forcibly to feel those\nproceeding from the climate, I lived upwards of a year in that city as\nchastely as I had done in Paris, and at the end of eighteen months I\nquitted it without having approached the sex, except twice by means of\nthe singular opportunities of which I am going to speak.\n\nThe first was procured me by that honest gentleman, Vitali, some time\nafter the formal apology I obliged him to make me. The conversation at\nthe table turned on the amusements of Venice. These gentlemen reproached\nme with my indifference with regard to the most delightful of them all;\nat the same time extolling the gracefulness and elegant manners of the\nwomen of easy virtue of Venice; and adding that they were superior\nto all others of the same description in any other part of the world.\nDominic said I must make the acquaintance of the most amiable of them\nall; and he offered to take me to her apartments, and assured me I\nshould be pleased with her. I laughed at this obliging offer: and Count\nPiati, a man in years and venerable, observed to me, with more candor\nthan I should have expected from an Italian, that he thought me too\nprudent to suffer myself to be taken to such a place by my enemy. In\nfact I had no inclination to do it: but notwithstanding this, by an\nincoherence I cannot myself comprehend, I at length was prevailed upon\nto go, contrary to my inclination, the sentiment of my heart, my reason,\nand even my will; solely from weakness, and being ashamed to show an\nappearance to the least mistrust; and besides, as the expression of the\ncountry is, 'per non parer troppo cogliono'--[Not to appear too great\na blockhead.]--The 'Padoana' whom we went to visit was pretty, she was\neven handsome, but her beauty was not of that kind that pleased me.\nDominic left me with her, I sent for Sorbetti, and asked her to sing. In\nabout half an hour I wished to take my leave, after having put a ducat\non the table, but this by a singular scruple she refused until she had\ndeserved it, and I from as singular a folly consented to remove her\ndoubts. I returned to the palace so fully persuaded that I should feel\nthe consequences of this step, that the first thing I did was to send\nfor the king's surgeon to ask him for ptisans. Nothing can equal\nthe uneasiness of mind I suffered for three weeks, without its being\njustified by any real inconvenience or apparent sign. I could not\nbelieve it was possible to withdraw with impunity from the arms of the\n'padoana'. The surgeon himself had the greatest difficulty in removing\nmy apprehensions; nor could he do this by any other means than by\npersuading me I was formed in such a manner as not to be easily\ninfected: and although in the experiment I exposed myself less than\nany other man would have done, my health in that respect never having\nsuffered the least inconvenience, in my opinion a proof the surgeon was\nright. However, this has never made me imprudent, and if in fact I have\nreceived such an advantage from nature I can safely assert I have never\nabused it.\n\nMy second adventure, although likewise with a common girl, was of a\nnature very different, as well in its origin as in its effects; I have\nalready said that Captain Olivet gave me a dinner on board his vessel,\nand that I took with me the secretary of the Spanish embassy. I expected\na salute of cannon.\n\nThe ship's company was drawn up to receive us, but not so much as a\npriming was burnt, at which I was mortified, on account of Carrio, whom\nI perceived to be rather piqued at the neglect. A salute of cannon was\ngiven on board merchant-ships to people of less consequence than we\nwere; I besides thought I deserved some distinguished mark of respect\nfrom the captain. I could not conceal my thoughts, because this at all\ntimes was impossible to me, and although the dinner was a very good one,\nand Olivet did the honors of it perfectly well, I began it in an ill\nhumor, eating but little, and speaking still less. At the first health,\nat least, I expected a volley; nothing. Carrio, who read what passed\nwithin, me, laughed at hearing me grumble like a child. Before dinner\nwas half over I saw a gondola approach the vessel. \"Bless me, sir,\" said\nthe captain, \"take care of yourself, the enemy approaches.\" I asked him\nwhat he meant, and he answered jocosely. The gondola made the ship's\nside, and I observed a gay young damsel come on board very lightly, and\ncoquettishly dressed, and who at three steps was in the cabin, seated by\nmy side, before I had time to perceive a cover was laid for her. She was\nequally charming and lively, a brunette, not more than twenty years of\nage. She spoke nothing but Italian, and her accent alone was sufficient\nto turn my head. As she ate and chattered she cast her eyes upon me;\nsteadfastly looked at me for a moment, and then exclaimed, \"Good Virgin!\nAh, my dear Bremond, what an age it is since I saw thee!\" Then she threw\nherself into my arms, sealed her lips to mine, and pressed me almost\nto strangling. Her large black eyes, like those of the beauties of the\nEast, darted fiery shafts into my heart, and although the surprise at\nfirst stupefied my senses, voluptuousness made a rapid progress within,\nand this to such a degree that the beautiful seducer herself was,\nnotwithstanding the spectators, obliged to restrain my ardor, for I was\nintoxicated, or rather become furious. When she perceived she had made\nthe impression she desired, she became more moderate in her caresses,\nbut not in her vivacity, and when she thought proper to explain to us\nthe real or false cause of all her petulance, she said I resembled M. de\nBremond, director of the customs of Tuscany, to such a degree as to be\nmistaken for him; that she had turned this M. de Bremond's head, and\nwould do it again; that she had quitted him because he was a fool; that\nshe took me in his place; that she would love me because it pleased her\nso to do, for which reason I must love her as long as it was agreeable\nto her, and when she thought proper to send me about my business, I must\nbe patient as her dear Bremond had been. What was said was done. She\ntook possession of me as of a man that belonged to her, gave me her\ngloves to keep, her fan, her 'cinda', and her coif, and ordered me to go\nhere or there, to do this or that, and I instantly obeyed her. She told\nme to go and send away her gondola, because she chose to make use of\nmine, and I immediately sent it away; she bid me to move from my place,\nand pray Carrio to sit down in it, because she had something to say to\nhim; and I did as she desired. They chatted a good while together, but\nspoke low, and I did not interrupt them. She called me, and I approached\nher. \"Hark thee, Zanetto,\" said she to me, \"I will not be loved in the\nFrench manner; this indeed will not be well. In the first moment of\nlassitude, get thee gone: but stay not by the way, I caution thee.\"\nAfter dinner we went to see the glass manufactory at Murano. She bought\na great number of little curiosities; for which she left me to pay\nwithout the least ceremony. But she everywhere gave away little trinkets\nto a much greater amount than of the things we had purchased. By the\nindifference with which she threw away her money, I perceived she\nannexed to it but little value. When she insisted upon a payment, I am\nof opinion it was more from a motive of vanity than avarice. She was\nflattered by the price her admirers set upon her favors.\n\nIn the evening we conducted her to her apartments. As we conversed\ntogether, I perceived a couple of pistols upon her toilette. \"Ah!\nAh!\" said I, taking one of them up, \"this is a patchbox of a new\nconstruction: may I ask what is its use? I know you have other\narms which give more fire than those upon your table.\" After a few\npleasantries of the same kind, she said to us, with an ingenuousness\nwhich rendered her still more charming, \"When I am complaisant to\npersons whom I do not love, I make them pay for the weariness they cause\nme; nothing can be more just; but if I suffer their caresses, I will\nnot bear their insults; nor miss the first who shall be wanting to me in\nrespect.\"\n\nAt taking leave of her, I made another appointment for the next day.\nI did not make her wait. I found her in 'vestito di confidenza', in an\nundress more than wanton, unknown to northern countries, and which I\nwill not amuse myself in describing, although I recollect it perfectly\nwell. I shall only remark that her ruffles and collar were edged with\nsilk network ornamented with rose-colored pompons. This, in my eyes,\nmuch enlivened a beautiful complexion. I afterwards found it to be the\nmode at Venice, and the effect is so charming that I am surprised it has\nnever been introduced in France. I had no idea of the transports which\nawaited me. I have spoken of Madam de Larnage with the transport which\nthe remembrance of her still sometimes gives me; but how old, ugly and\ncold she appeared, compared with my Zulietta! Do not attempt to form to\nyourself an idea of the charms and graces of this enchanting girl, you\nwill be far too short of truth. Young virgins in cloisters are not so\nfresh: the beauties of the seraglio are less animated: the houris of\nparadise less engaging. Never was so sweet an enjoyment offered to the\nheart and senses of a mortal. Ah! had I at least been capable of fully\ntasting of it for a single moment! I had tasted of it, but without a\ncharm. I enfeebled all its delights: I destroyed them as at will. No;\nNature has not made me capable of enjoyment. She has infused into my\nwretched head the poison of that ineffable happiness, the desire of\nwhich she first placed in my heart.\n\nIf there be a circumstance in my life, which describes my nature, it is\nthat which I am going to relate. The forcible manner in which I at\nthis moment recollect the object of my book, will here make me hold in\ncontempt the false delicacy which would prevent me from fulfilling it.\nWhoever you may be who are desirous of knowing a man, have the courage\nto read the two or three following pages, and you will become fully\nacquainted with J. J. Rousseau.\n\nI entered the chamber of a woman of easy virtue, as the sanctuary of\nlove and beauty: and in her person, I thought I saw the divinity. I\nshould have been inclined to think that without respect and esteem it\nwas impossible to feel anything like that which she made me experience.\nScarcely had I, in her first familiarities, discovered the force of her\ncharms and caresses, before I wished, for fear of losing the fruit of\nthem, to gather it beforehand. Suddenly, instead of the flame which\nconsumed me, I felt a mortal cold run through all my veins; my legs\nfailed me; and ready to faint away, I sat down and wept like a child.\n\nWho would guess the cause of my tears, and what, at this moment, passed\nwithin me? I said to myself: the object in my power is the masterpiece\nof love; her wit and person equally approach perfection; she is as good\nand generous as she is amiable and beautiful. Yet she is a miserable\nprostitute, abandoned to the public. The captain of a merchantship\ndisposed of her at will; she has thrown herself into my arms, although\nshe knows I have nothing; and my merit with which she cannot be\nacquainted, can be to her no inducement. In this there is something\ninconceivable. Either my heart deceives me, fascinates my senses, and\nmakes me the dupe of an unworthy slut, or some secret defect, of which\nI am ignorant, destroys the effect of her charms, and renders her odious\nin the eyes of those by whom her charms would otherwise be disputed. I\nendeavored, by an extraordinary effort of mind, to discover this defect,\nbut it did not so much as strike me that even the consequences to be\napprehended, might possibly have some influence. The clearness of her\nskin, the brilliancy of her complexion, her white teeth, sweet breath,\nand the appearance of neatness about her person, so far removed from\nme this idea, that, still in doubt relative to my situation after the\naffair of the 'padoana', I rather apprehended I was not sufficiently\nin health for her: and I am firmly persuaded I was not deceived in my\nopinion. These reflections, so apropos, agitated me to such a degree as\nto make me shed tears. Zuliette, to whom the scene was quite novel, was\nstruck speechless for a moment. But having made a turn in her chamber,\nand passing before her glass, she comprehended, and my eyes confirmed\nher opinion, that disgust had no part in what had happened. It was not\ndifficult for her to recover me and dispel this shamefacedness.\n\nBut, at the moment in which I was ready to faint upon a bosom, which for\nthe first time seemed to suffer the impression of the hand and lips of\na man, I perceived she had a withered 'teton'. I struck my forehead:\nI examined, and thought I perceived this teton was not formed like the\nother. I immediately began to consider how it was possible to have such\na defect, and persuaded of its proceeding from some great natural vice,\nI was clearly convinced, that, instead of the most charming person of\nwhom I could form to myself an idea, I had in my arms a species of\na monster, the refuse of nature, of men and of love. I carried my\nstupidity so far as to speak to her of the discovery I had made. She, at\nfirst, took what I said jocosely; and in her frolicsome humor, did and\nsaid things which made me die of love. But perceiving an inquietude I\ncould not conceal, she at length reddened, adjusted her dress, raised\nherself up, and without saying a word, went and placed herself at a\nwindow. I attempted to place myself by her side: she withdrew to a sofa,\nrose from it the next moment, and fanning herself as she walked about\nthe chamber, said to me in a reserved and disdainful tone of voice,\n\"Zanetto, 'lascia le donne, a studia la matematica.\"--[Leave women and\nstudy mathematics.]\n\nBefore I took leave I requested her to appoint another rendezvous\nfor the next day, which she postponed for three days, adding, with a\nsatirical smile, that I must needs be in want of repose. I was very ill\nat ease during the interval; my heart was full of her charms and graces;\nI felt my extravagance, and reproached myself with it, regretting the\nloss of the moments I had so ill employed, and which, had I chosen, I\nmight have rendered more agreeable than any in my whole life; waiting\nwith the most burning impatience for the moment in which I might repair\nthe loss, and yet, notwithstanding all my reasoning upon what I had\ndiscovered, anxious to reconcile the perfections of this adorable girl\nwith the indignity of her situation. I ran, I flew to her apartment at\nthe hour appointed. I know not whether or not her ardor would have\nbeen more satisfied with this visit, her pride at least would have been\nflattered by it, and I already rejoiced at the idea of my convincing\nher, in every respect, that I knew how to repair the wrongs I had done.\nShe spared me this justification. The gondolier whom I had sent to\nher apartment brought me for answer that she had set off, the evening\nbefore, for Florence. If I had not felt all the love I had for her\nperson when this was in my possession, I felt it in the most cruel\nmanner on losing her. Amiable and charming as she was in my eyes, I\ncould not console myself for the loss of her; but this I have never been\nable to do relative to the contemptuous idea which at her departure she\nmust have had of me.\n\nThese are my two narratives. The eighteen months I passed at Venice\nfurnished me with no other of the same kind, except a simple prospect at\nmost. Carrio was a gallant. Tired of visiting girls engaged to others,\nhe took a fancy to have one to himself, and, as we were inseparable, he\nproposed to me an arrangement common enough at Venice, which was to keep\none girl for us both. To this I consented. The question was, to find one\nwho was safe. He was so industrious in his researches that he found\nout a little girl from eleven to twelve years of age, whom her infamous\nmother was endeavoring to sell, and I went with Carrio to see her. The\nsight of the child moved me to the most lively compassion. She was fair\nand as gentle as a lamb. Nobody would have taken her for an Italian.\nLiving is very cheap in Venice; we gave a little money to the mother,\nand provided for the subsistence of her daughter. She had a voice,\nand to procure her some resource we gave her a spinnet, and a\nsinging-master. All these expenses did not cost each of us more than two\nsequins a month, and we contrived to save a much greater sum in other\nmatters; but as we were obliged to wait until she became of a riper\nage, this was sowing a long time before we could possibly reap. However,\nsatisfied with passing our evenings, chatting and innocently playing\nwith the child, we perhaps enjoyed greater pleasure than if we had\nreceived the last favors. So true is it that men are more attached to\nwomen by a certain pleasure they have in living with them, than by any\nkind of libertinism. My heart became insensibly attached to the little\nAnzoletta, but my attachment was paternal, in which the senses had\nso little share, that in proportion as the former increased, to have\nconnected it with the latter would have been less possible; and I felt I\nshould have experienced, at approaching this little creature when become\nnubile, the same horror with which the abominable crime of incest would\nhave inspired me. I perceived the sentiments of Carrio take, unobserved\nby himself, exactly the same turn. We thus prepared for ourselves,\nwithout intending it, pleasure not less delicious, but very different\nfrom that of which we first had an idea; and I am fully persuaded that\nhowever beautiful the poor child might have become, far from being the\ncorrupters of her innocence we should have been the protectors of it.\nThe circumstance which shortly afterwards befell me deprived me of the\nhappiness of taking a part in this good work, and my only merit in the\naffair was the inclination of my heart.\n\nI will now return to my journey.\n\nMy first intentions after leaving M. de Montaigu, was to retire to\nGeneva, until time and more favorable circumstances should have removed\nthe obstacles which prevented my union with my poor mamma; but the\nquarrel between me and M. de Montaigu being become public, and he having\nhad the folly to write about it to the court, I resolved to go there\nto give an account of my conduct and complain of that of a madman. I\ncommunicated my intention, from Venice, to M. du Theil, charged per\ninterim with foreign affairs after the death of M. Amelot. I set off\nas soon as my letter, and took my route through Bergamo, Como, and Domo\nD'Oscela, and crossing Saint Plomb. At Sion, M. de Chaignon, charge\ndes affaires from France, showed me great civility; at Geneva M. de la\nClosure treated me with the same polite attention. I there renewed\nmy acquaintance with M. de Gauffecourt, from whom I had some money to\nreceive. I had passed through Nion without going to see my father:\nnot that this was a matter of indifference to me, but because I was\nunwilling to appear before my mother-in-law, after the disaster which\nhad befallen me, certain of being condemned by her without being heard.\nThe bookseller, Du Villard, an old friend of my father's, reproached me\nseverely with this neglect. I gave him my reasons for it, and to repair\nmy fault, without exposing myself to meet my mother-in-law, I took a\nchaise and we went together to Nion and stopped at a public house. Du\nVillard went to fetch my father, who came running to embrace me. We\nsupped together, and, after passing an evening very agreeable to the\nwishes of my heart, I returned the next morning to Geneva with Du\nVillard, for whom I have ever since retained a sentiment of gratitude in\nreturn for the service he did me on this occasion.\n\nLyons was a little out of my direct road, but I was determined to pass\nthrough that city in order to convince myself of a knavish trick played\nme by M. de Montaigu. I had sent me from Paris a little box containing a\nwaistcoat, embroidered with gold, a few pairs of ruffles, and six pairs\nof white silk stockings; nothing more. Upon a proposition made me by\nM. de Montaigu, I ordered this box to be added to his baggage. In the\napothecary's bill he offered me in payment of my salary, and which he\nwrote out himself, he stated the weight of this box, which he called a\nbale, at eleven hundred pounds, and charged me with the carriage of it\nat an enormous rate. By the cares of M. Boy de la Tour, to whom I was\nrecommended by M. Roquin, his uncle, it was proved from the registers of\nthe customs of Lyons and Marseilles, that the said bale weighed no more\nthan forty-five pounds, and had paid carriage according to that weight.\nI joined this authentic extract to the memoir of M, de Montaigu, and\nprovided with these papers and others containing stronger facts, I\nreturned to Paris, very impatient to make use of them. During the whole\nof this long journey I had little adventures; at Como, in Valais, and\nelsewhere. I there saw many curious things, amongst others the Boroma\nislands, which are worthy of being described. But I am pressed by\ntime, and surrounded by spies. I am obliged to write in haste, and very\nimperfectly, a work which requires the leisure and tranquility I do not\nenjoy. If ever providence in its goodness grants me days more calm, I\nshall destine them to new modelling this work, should I be able to do\nit, or at least to giving a supplement, of which I perceive it stands in\nthe greatest need.--[I have given up this project.]\n\nThe news of my quarrel had reached Paris before me and on my arrival\nI found the people in all the offices, and the public in general,\nscandalized at the follies of the ambassador.\n\nNotwithstanding this, the public talk at Venice, and the unanswerable\nproof I exhibited, I could not obtain even the shadow of justice. Far\nfrom obtaining satisfaction or reparation, I was left at the discretion\nof the ambassador for my salary, and this for no other reason than\nbecause, not being a Frenchman, I had no right to national protection,\nand that it was a private affair between him and myself. Everybody\nagreed I was insulted, injured, and unfortunate; that the ambassador was\nmad, cruel, and iniquitous, and that the whole of the affair dishonored\nhim forever. But what of this! He was the ambassador, and I was nothing\nmore than the secretary.\n\nOrder, or that which is so called, was in opposition to my obtaining\njustice, and of this the least shadow was not granted me. I supposed\nthat, by loudly complaining, and by publicly treating this madman in the\nmanner he deserved, I should at length be told to hold my tongue; this\nwas what I wished for, and I was fully determined not to obey until I\nhad obtained redress. But at that time there was no minister for foreign\naffairs. I was suffered to exclaim, nay, even encouraged to do it, and\njoined with; but the affair still remained in the same state, until,\ntired of being in the right without obtaining justice, my courage at\nlength failed me, and let the whole drop.\n\nThe only person by whom I was ill received, and from whom I should have\nleast expected such an injustice, was Madam de Beuzenval. Full of\nthe prerogatives of rank and nobility, she could not conceive it was\npossible an ambassador could ever be in the wrong with respect to his\nsecretary. The reception she gave me was conformable to this prejudice.\nI was so piqued at it that, immediately after leaving her, I wrote her\nperhaps one of the strongest and most violent letters that ever came\nfrom my pen, and since that time I never once returned to her house.\nI was better received by Father Castel; but, in the midst of his\nJesuitical wheedling I perceived him faithfully to follow one of the\ngreat maxims of his society, which is to sacrifice the weak to the\npowerful. The strong conviction I felt of the justice of my cause, and\nmy natural greatness of mind did not suffer me patiently to endure this\npartiality. I ceased visiting Father Castel, and on that account, going\nto the college of the Jesuits, where I knew nobody but himself. Besides\nthe intriguing and tyrannical spirit of his brethren, so different from\nthe cordiality of the good Father Hemet, gave me such a disgust for\ntheir conversation that I have never since been acquainted with, nor\nseen anyone of them except Father Berthier, whom I saw twice or thrice\nat M. Dupin's, in conjunction with whom he labored with all his might at\nthe refutation of Montesquieu.\n\nThat I may not return to the subject, I will conclude what I have to say\nof M. de Montaigu. I had told him in our quarrels that a secretary was\nnot what he wanted, but an attorney's clerk. He took the hint, and the\nperson whom he procured to succeed me was a real attorney, who in\nless than a year robbed him of twenty or thirty thousand livres. He\ndischarged him, and sent him to prison, dismissed his gentleman with\ndisgrace, and, in wretchedness, got himself everywhere into quarrels,\nreceived affronts which a footman would not have put up with, and, after\nnumerous follies, was recalled, and sent from the capital. It is very\nprobable that among the reprimands he received at court, his affair with\nme was not forgotten. At least, a little time after his return he sent\nhis maitre d' hotel, to settle my account, and give me some money. I\nwas in want of it at that moment; my debts at Venice, debts of honor,\nif ever there were any, lay heavy upon my mind. I made use of the means\nwhich offered to discharge them, as well as the note of Zanetto Nani. I\nreceived what was offered me, paid all my debts, and remained as before,\nwithout a farthing in my pocket, but relieved from a weight which\nhad become insupportable. From that time I never heard speak of M. de\nMontaigu until his death, with which I became acquainted by means of the\nGazette. The peace of God be with that poor man! He was as fit for the\nfunctions of an ambassador as in my infancy I had been for those of\nGrapignan.--However, it was in his power to have honorably supported\nhimself by my services, and rapidly to have advanced me in a career\nto which the Comte de Gauvon had destined me in my youth, and of the\nfunctions of which I had in a more advanced age rendered myself capable.\n\nThe justice and inutility of my complaints, left in my mind seeds of\nindignation against our foolish civil institutions, by which the welfare\nof the public and real justice are always sacrificed to I know not what\nappearance of order, and which does nothing more than add the sanction\nof public authority to the oppression of the weak, and the iniquity of\nthe powerful. Two things prevented these seeds from putting forth at\nthat time as they afterwards did: one was, myself being in question in\nthe affair, and private interest, whence nothing great or noble ever\nproceeded, could not draw from my heart the divine soarings, which the\nmost pure love, only of that which is just and sublime, can produce. The\nother was the charm of friendship which tempered and calmed my wrath by\nthe ascendancy of a more pleasing sentiment. I had become acquainted at\nVenice with a Biscayan, a friend of my friend Carrio's, and worthy of\nbeing that of every honest man. This amiable young man, born with every\ntalent and virtue, had just made the tour of Italy to gain a taste for\nthe fine arts, and, imagining he had nothing more to acquire, intended\nto return by the most direct road to his own country. I told him the\narts were nothing more than a relaxation to a genius like his, fit to\ncultivate the sciences; and to give him a taste for these, I advised him\nto make a journey to Paris and reside there for six months. He took my\nadvice, and went to Paris. He was there and expected me when I arrived.\nHis lodging was too considerable for him, and he offered me the half of\nit, which I instantly accepted. I found him absorbed in the study of the\nsublimest sciences. Nothing was above his reach. He digested everything\nwith a prodigious rapidity. How cordially did he thank me for having\nprocured him this food for his mind, which was tormented by a thirst\nafter knowledge, without his being aware of it! What a treasure of light\nand virtue I found in the vigorous mind of this young man! I felt he was\nthe friend I wanted. We soon became intimate. Our tastes were not the\nsame, and we constantly disputed. Both opinionated, we never could agree\nabout anything. Nevertheless we could not separate; and, notwithstanding\nour reciprocal and incessant contradiction, we neither of us wished the\nother to be different from what he was.\n\nIgnacio Emanuel de Altuna was one of those rare beings whom only Spain\nproduces, and of whom she produces too few for her glory. He had not\nthe violent national passions common in his own country. The idea of\nvengeance could no more enter his head, than the desire of it could\nproceed from his heart. His mind was too great to be vindictive, and\nI have frequently heard him say, with the greatest coolness, that no\nmortal could offend him. He was gallant, without being tender. He played\nwith women as with so many pretty children. He amused himself with the\nmistresses of his friends, but I never knew him to have one of his own,\nnor the least desire for it. The emanations from the virtue with which\nhis heart was stored, never permitted the fire of the passions to excite\nsensual desires.\n\nAfter his travels he married, died young, and left children; and, I am\nas convinced as of my existence, that his wife was the first and only\nwoman with whom he ever tasted of the pleasures of love.\n\nExternally he was devout, like a Spaniard, but in his heart he had the\npiety of an angel. Except myself, he is the only man I ever saw whose\nprinciples were not intolerant. He never in his life asked any person\nhis opinion in matters of religion. It was not of the least consequence\nto him whether his friend was a Jew, a Protestant, a Turk, a Bigot, or\nan Atheist, provided he was an honest man. Obstinate and headstrong in\nmatters of indifference, but the moment religion was in question, even\nthe moral part, he collected himself, was silent, or simply said: \"I\nam charged with the care of myself, only.\" It is astonishing so much\nelevation of mind should be compatible with a spirit of detail carried\nto minuteness. He previously divided the employment of the day by hours,\nquarters and minutes; and so scrupulously adhered to this distribution,\nthat had the clock struck while he was reading a phrase, he would have\nshut his book without finishing it. His portions of time thus laid out,\nwere some of them set apart to studies of one kind, and others to those\nof another: he had some for reflection, conversation, divine service,\nthe reading of Locke, for his rosary, for visits, music and painting;\nand neither pleasure, temptation, nor complaisance, could interrupt this\norder: a duty he might have had to discharge was the only thing that\ncould have done it. When he gave me a list of his distribution, that I\nmight conform myself thereto, I first laughed, and then shed tears of\nadmiration. He never constrained anybody nor suffered constraint: he was\nrather rough with people, who from politeness, attempted to put it upon\nhim. He was passionate without being sullen. I have often seen him warm,\nbut never saw him really angry with any person. Nothing could be more\ncheerful than his temper: he knew how to pass and receive a joke;\nraillery was one of his distinguished talents, and with which he\npossessed that of pointed wit and repartee. When he was animated, he was\nnoisy and heard at a great distance; but whilst he loudly inveighed, a\nsmile was spread over his countenance, and in the midst of his warmth he\nused some diverting expression which made all his hearers break out\ninto a loud laugh. He had no more of the Spanish complexion than of the\nphlegm of that country. His skin was white, his cheeks finely colored,\nand his hair of a light chestnut. He was tall and well made; his body\nwas well formed for the residence of his mind.\n\nThis wise-hearted as well as wise-headed man, knew mankind, and was\nmy friend; this was my only answer to such as are not so. We were so\nintimately united, that our intention was to pass our days together.\nIn a few years I was to go to Ascoytia to live with him at his estate;\nevery part of the project was arranged the eve of his departure; nothing\nwas left undetermined, except that which depends not upon men in the\nbest concerted plans, posterior events. My disasters, his marriage, and\nfinally, his death, separated us forever. Some men would be tempted to\nsay, that nothing succeeds except the dark conspiracies of the wicked,\nand that the innocent intentions of the good are seldom or never\naccomplished. I had felt the inconvenience of dependence, and took a\nresolution never again to expose myself to it; having seen the projects\nof ambition, which circumstances had induced me to form, overturned in\ntheir birth. Discouraged in the career I had so well begun, from which,\nhowever, I had just been expelled, I resolved never more to attach\nmyself to any person, but to remain in an independent state, turning my\ntalents to the best advantage: of these I at length began to feel the\nextent, and that I had hitherto had too modest an opinion of them. I\nagain took up my opera, which I had laid aside to go to Venice; and that\nI might be less interrupted after the departure of Altuna, I returned to\nmy old hotel St. Quentin; which, in a solitary part of the town, and not\nfar from the Luxembourg, was more proper for my purpose than noisy Rue\nSt. Honor.\n\nThere the only consolation which Heaven suffered me to taste in my\nmisery, and the only one which rendered it supportable, awaited me. This\nwas not a trancient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail relative\nto the manner in which it was made.\n\nWe had a new landlady from Orleans; she took for a needlewoman a girl\nfrom her own country, of between twenty-two and twenty-three years of\nage, and who, as well as the hostess, ate at our table. This girl, named\nTheresa le Vasseur, was of a good family; her father was an officer\nin the mint of Orleans, and her mother a shopkeeper; they had many\nchildren. The function of the mint of Orleans being suppressed, the\nfather found himself without employment; and the mother having suffered\nlosses, was reduced to narrow circumstances. She quitted her business\nand came to Paris with her husband and daughter, who, by her industry,\nmaintained all the three.\n\nThe first time I saw this girl at table, I was struck with her modesty;\nand still more so with her lively yet charming look, which, with respect\nto the impression it made upon me, was never equalled. Beside M. de\nBonnefond, the company was composed of several Irish priests, Gascons\nand others of much the same description. Our hostess herself had not\nmade the best possible use of her time, and I was the only person at the\ntable who spoke and behaved with decency. Allurements were thrown out\nto the young girl. I took her part, and the joke was then turned against\nme. Had I had no natural inclination to the poor girl, compassion and\ncontradiction would have produced it in me: I was always a great friend\nto decency in manners and conversation, especially in the fair sex.\nI openly declared myself her champion, and perceived she was not\ninsensible of my attention; her looks, animated by the gratitude she\ndared not express by words, were for this reason still more penetrating.\n\nShe was very timid, and I was as much so as herself. The connection\nwhich this disposition common to both seemed to remove to a distance,\nwas however rapidly formed. Our landlady perceiving its progress, became\nfurious, and her brutality forwarded my affair with the young girl,\nwho, having no person in the house except myself to give her the least\nsupport, was sorry to see me go from home, and sighed for the return\nof her protector. The affinity our hearts bore to each other, and the\nsimilarity of our dispositions, had soon their ordinary effect. She\nthought she saw in me an honest man, and in this she was not deceived.\nI thought I perceived in her a woman of great sensibility, simple in her\nmanners, and devoid of all coquetry:--I was no more deceived in her than\nshe in me. I began by declaring to her that I would never either abandon\nor marry her. Love, esteem, artless sincerity were the ministers of my\ntriumph, and it was because her heart was tender and virtuous, that I\nwas happy without being presuming.\n\nThe apprehensions she was under of my not finding in her that for which\nI sought, retarded my happiness more than every other circumstance. I\nperceived her disconcerted and confused before she yielded her consent,\nwishing to be understood and not daring to explain herself. Far from\nsuspecting the real cause of her embarrassment, I falsely imagined it\nto proceed from another motive, a supposition highly insulting to\nher morals, and thinking she gave me to understand my health might be\nexposed to danger, I fell into so perplexed a state that, although it\nwas no restraint upon me, it poisoned my happiness during several days.\nAs we did not understand each other, our conversations upon this subject\nwere so many enigmas more than ridiculous. She was upon the point of\nbelieving I was absolutely mad; and I on my part was as near not knowing\nwhat else to think of her. At last we came to an explanation; she\nconfessed to me with tears the only fault of the kind of her whole life,\nimmediately after she became nubile; the fruit of her ignorance and the\naddress of her seducer. The moment I comprehended what she meant, I gave\na shout of joy. \"A Hymen!\" exclaimed I; \"sought for at Paris, and at\ntwenty years of age! Ah my Theresa! I am happy in possessing thee,\nvirtuous and healthy as thou art, and in not finding that for which I\nnever sought.\"\n\nAt first amusement was my only object; I perceived I had gone further\nand had given myself a companion. A little intimate connection with\nthis excellent girl, and a few reflections upon my situation, made me\ndiscover that, while thinking of nothing more than my pleasures, I had\ndone a great deal towards my happiness. In the place of extinguished\nambition, a life of sentiment, which had entire possession of my heart,\nwas necessary to me. In a word, I wanted a successor to mamma: since I\nwas never again to live with her, it was necessary some person should\nlive with her pupil, and a person, too, in whom I might find that\nsimplicity and docility of mind and heart which she had found in me.\nIt was, moreover, necessary that the happiness of domestic life should\nindemnify me for the splendid career I had just renounced. When I was\nquite alone there was a void in my heart, which wanted nothing more than\nanother heart to fill it up. Fate had deprived me of this, or at least\nin part alienated me from that for which by nature I was formed. From\nthat moment I was alone, for there never was for me the least thing\nintermediate between everything and nothing. I found in Theresa the\nsupplement of which I stood in need; by means of her I lived as happily\nas I possibly could do, according to the course of events.\n\nI at first attempted to improve her mind. In this my pains were useless.\nHer mind is as nature formed it: it was not susceptible of cultivation.\nI do not blush in acknowledging she never knew how to read well,\nalthough she writes tolerably. When I went to lodge in the Rue Neuve\ndes Petits Champs, opposite to my windows at the Hotel de Ponchartrain,\nthere was a sun-dial, on which for a whole month I used all my efforts\nto teach her to know the hours; yet, she scarcely knows them at present.\nShe never could enumerate the twelve months of the year in order, and\ncannot distinguish one numeral from another, notwithstanding all the\ntrouble I took endeavoring to teach them to her. She neither knows how\nto count money, nor to reckon the price of anything. The word which when\nshe speaks, presents itself to her mind, is frequently opposite to that\nof which she means to make use. I formerly made a dictionary of her\nphrases, to amuse M. de Luxembourg, and her 'qui pro quos' often became\ncelebrated among those with whom I was most intimate. But this person,\nso confined in her intellects, and, if the world pleases, so stupid, can\ngive excellent advice in cases of difficulty. In Switzerland, in England\nand in France, she frequently saw what I had not myself perceived; she\nhas often given me the best advice I could possibly follow; she has\nrescued me from dangers into which I had blindly precipitated myself,\nand in the presence of princes and the great, her sentiments, good\nsense, answers, and conduct have acquired her universal esteem, and\nmyself the most sincere congratulations on her merit. With persons whom\nwe love, sentiment fortifies the mind as well as the heart; and they who\nare thus attached, have little need of searching for ideas elsewhere.\n\nI lived with my Theresa as agreeably as with the finest genius in the\nworld. Her mother, proud of having been brought up under the Marchioness\nof Monpipeau, attempted to be witty, wished to direct the judgment of\nher daughter, and by her knavish cunning destroyed the simplicity of our\nintercourse.\n\nThe fatigue of this opportunity made me in some degree surmount the\nfoolish shame which prevented me from appearing with Theresa in public;\nand we took short country walks, tete-a-tete, and partook of little\ncollations, which, to me, were delicious. I perceived she loved me\nsincerely, and this increased my tenderness. This charming intimacy left\nme nothing to wish; futurity no longer gave me the least concern, or\nat most appeared only as the present moment prolonged: I had no other\ndesire than that of insuring its duration.\n\nThis attachment rendered all other dissipation superfluous and insipid\nto me. As I only went out for the purpose of going to the apartment of\nTheresa, her place of residence almost became my own. My retirement\nwas so favorable to the work I had undertaken, that, in less than three\nmonths, my opera was entirely finished, both words and music, except a\nfew accompaniments, and fillings up which still remained to be added.\nThis maneuvering business was very fatiguing to me. I proposed it to\nPhilidor, offering him at the same time a part of the profits. He came\ntwice, and did something to the middle parts in the act of Ovid; but he\ncould not confine himself to an assiduous application by the allurement\nof advantages which were distant and uncertain. He did not come a third\ntime, and I finished the work myself.\n\nMy opera completed, the next thing was to make something of it: this was\nby much the more difficult task of the two. A man living in solitude in\nParis will never succeed in anything. I was on the point of making my\nway by means of M. de la Popliniere, to whom Gauffecourt, at my return\nto Geneva, had introduced me. M. de la Popliniere was the Mecaenas of\nRameau; Madam de la Popliniere his very humble scholar. Rameau was said\nto govern in that house. Judging that he would with pleasure protect the\nwork of one of his disciples, I wished to show him what I had done.\nHe refused to examine it; saying he could not read score, it was too\nfatiguing to him. M. de la Popliniere, to obviate this difficulty,\nsaid he might hear it; and offered me to send for musicians to execute\ncertain detached pieces. I wished for nothing better. Rameau consented\nwith an ill grace, incessantly repeating that the composition of a man\nnot regularly bred to the science, and who had learned music without a\nmaster, must certainly be very fine! I hastened to copy into parts\nfive or six select passages. Ten symphonies were procured, and Albert,\nBerard, and Mademoiselle Bourbonnais undertook the vocal part. Rameau,\nthe moment he heard the overture, was purposely extravagant in his\neulogium, by which he intended it should be understood it could not\nbe my composition. He showed signs of impatience at every passage: but\nafter a counter tenor song, the air of which was noble and harmonious,\nwith a brilliant accompaniment, he could no longer contain himself;\nhe apostrophised me with a brutality at which everybody was shocked,\nmaintaining that a part of what he had heard was by a man experienced\nin the art, and the rest by some ignorant person who did not so much as\nunderstand music. It is true my composition, unequal and without rule,\nwas sometimes sublime, and at others insipid, as that of a person who\nforms himself in an art by the soarings of his own genius, unsupported\nby science, must necessarily be. Rameau pretended to see nothing in me\nbut a contemptible pilferer, without talents or taste. The rest of the\ncompany, among whom I must distinguish the master of the house, were\nof a different opinion. M. de Richelieu, who at that time frequently\nvisited M. and Madam de la Popliniere, heard them speak of my work, and\nwished to hear the whole of it, with an intention, if it pleased him, to\nhave it performed at court. The opera was executed with full choruses,\nand by a great orchestra, at the expense of the king, at M. de\nBonneval's intendant of the Menus; Francoeur directed the band. The\neffect was surprising: the duke never ceased to exclaim and applaud;\nand, at the end of one of the choruses, in the act of Tasso, he arose\nand came to me, and, pressing my hand, said: \"M. Rousseau, this is\ntransporting harmony. I never heard anything finer. I will get this\nperformed at Versailles.\"\n\nMadam de la Poliniere, who was present, said not a word. Rameau,\nalthough invited, refused to come. The next day, Madam de la Popliniere\nreceived me at her toilette very ungraciously, affected to undervalue\nmy piece, and told me, that although a little false glitter had at\nfirst dazzled M. de Richelieu, he had recovered from his error, and she\nadvised me not to place the least dependence upon my opera. The duke\narrived soon after, and spoke to me in quite a different language. He\nsaid very flattering things of my talents, and seemed as much disposed\nas ever to have my composition performed before the king. \"There is\nnothing,\" said he, \"but the act of Tasso which cannot pass at court:\nyou must write another.\" Upon this single word I shut myself up in my\napartment; and in three weeks produced, in the place of Tasso, another\nact, the subject of which was Hesiod inspired by the muses. In this I\nfound the secret of introducing a part of the history of my talents, and\nof the jealousy with which Rameau had been pleased to honor me. There\nwas in the new act an elevation less gigantic and better supported than\nin the act of Tasso. The music was as noble and the composition better;\nand had the other two acts been equal to this, the whole piece\nwould have supported a representation to advantage. But whilst I was\nendeavoring to give it the last finishing, another undertaking suspended\nthe completion of that I had in my hand. In the winter which succeeded\nthe battle of Fontenoi, there were many galas at Versailles, and several\noperas performed at the theater of the little stables. Among the number\nof the latter was the dramatic piece of Voltaire, entitled 'La Princesse\nde Navarre', the music by Rameau, the name of which has just been\nchanged to that of 'Fetes de Ramire'. This new subject required several\nchanges to be made in the divertissements, as well in the poetry as in\nthe music.\n\nA person capable of both was now sought after. Voltaire was in Lorraine,\nand Rameau also; both of whom were employed on the opera of the Temple\nof Glory, and could not give their attention to this. M. de Richelieu\nthought of me, and sent to desire I would undertake the alterations;\nand, that I might the better examine what there was to do, he gave me\nseparately the poem and the music. In the first place, I would not touch\nthe words without the consent of the author, to whom I wrote upon the\nsubject a very polite and respectful letter, such a one as was proper;\nand received from him the following answer:\n\n\"SIR: In you two talents, which hitherto have always been separated, are\nunited. These are two good reasons for me to esteem and to endeavor to\nlove you. I am sorry, on your account, you should employ these talents\nin a work which is so little worthy of them. A few months ago the Duke\nde Richelieu commanded me to make, absolutely in the twinkling of an\neye, a little and bad sketch of a few insipid and imperfect scenes to be\nadapted to divertissements which are not of a nature to be joined with\nthem. I obeyed with the greatest exactness. I wrote very fast, and very\nill. I sent this wretched production to M. de Richelieu, imagining he\nwould make no use of it, or that I should have it again to make the\nnecessary corrections. Happily it is in your hands, and you are at full\nliberty to do with it whatever you please: I have entirely lost sight of\nthe thing. I doubt not but you will have corrected all the faults\nwhich cannot but abound in so hasty a composition of such a very simple\nsketch, and am persuaded you will have supplied whatever was wanting.\n\n\"I remember that, among other stupid inattentions, no account is given\nin the scenes which connect the divertissements of the manner in which\nthe Princess Grenadine immediately passes from a prison to a garden or\npalace. As it is not a magician but a Spanish nobleman who gives her the\ngala, I am of opinion nothing should be effected by enchantment.\n\n\"I beg, sir, you will examine this part, of which I have but a confused\nidea.\n\n\"You will likewise consider, whether or not it be necessary the prison\nshould be opened, and the princess conveyed from it to a fine palace,\ngilt and varnished, and prepared for her. I know all this is wretched,\nand that it is beneath a thinking being to make a serious affair of\nsuch trifles; but, since we must displease as little as possible, it is\nnecessary we should conform to reason, even in a bad divertissement of\nan opera.\n\n\"I depend wholly upon you and M. Ballot, and soon expect to have the\nhonor of returning you my thanks, and assuring you how much I am, etc.\"\n\nThere is nothing surprising in the great politeness of this letter,\ncompared with the almost crude ones which he has since written to me.\nHe thought I was in great favor with Madam Richelieu; and the courtly\nsuppleness, which everyone knows to be the character of this author,\nobliged him to be extremely polite to a new comer, until he become\nbetter acquainted with the measure of the favor and patronage he\nenjoyed.\n\nAuthorized by M. de Voltaire, and not under the necessity of giving\nmyself the least concern about M. Rameau, who endeavored to injure me, I\nset to work, and in two months my undertaking was finished. With respect\nto the poetry, it was confined to a mere trifle; I aimed at nothing more\nthan to prevent the difference of style from being perceived, and had\nthe vanity to think I had succeeded. The musical part was longer and\nmore laborious. Besides my having to compose several preparatory pieces,\nand, amongst others, the overture, all the recitative, with which I was\ncharged, was extremely difficult on account of the necessity there\nwas of connecting, in a few verses, and by very rapid modulations,\nsymphonies and choruses, in keys very different from each other; for\nI was determined neither to change nor transpose any of the airs, that\nRameau might not accuse me of having disfigured them. I succeeded in\nthe recitative; it was well accented, full of energy and excellent\nmodulation. The idea of two men of superior talents, with whom I was\nassociated, had elevated my genius, and I can assert, that in this\nbarren and inglorious task, of which the public could have no knowledge,\nI was for the most part equal to my models.\n\nThe piece, in the state to which I had brought it, was rehearsed in the\ngreat theatre of the opera. Of the three authors who had contributed to\nthe production, I was the only one present. Voltaire was not in Paris,\nand Rameau either did not come, or concealed himself. The words of the\nfirst monologue were very mournful; they began with:\n\n          O Mort! viens terminer les malheurs de ma vie.\n\n     [O Death! hasten to terminate the misfortunes of my life.]\n\nTo these, suitable music was necessary. It was, however, upon this\nthat Madam de la Popliniere founded her censure; accusing me, with much\nbitterness, of having composed a funeral anthem. M. de Richelieu very\njudiciously began by informing himself who was the author of the poetry\nof this monologue; I presented him the manuscript he had sent me, which\nproved it was by Voltaire. \"In that case,\" said the duke, \"Voltaire\nalone is to blame.\" During the rehearsal, everything I had done\nwas disapproved by Madam de la Popliniere, and approved of by M. de\nRichelieu; but I had afterwards to do with too powerful an adversary.\nIt was signified to me that several parts of my composition wanted\nrevising, and that on this it was necessary I should consult M. Rameau;\nmy heart was wounded by such a conclusion, instead of the eulogium I\nexpected, and which certainly I merited, and I returned to my apartment\noverwhelmed with grief, exhausted with fatigue, and consumed by chagrin.\nI was immediately taken ill, and confined to my chamber for upwards of\nsix weeks.\n\nRameau, who was charged with the alterations indicated by Madam de\nla Popliniere, sent to ask me for the overture of my great opera, to\nsubstitute it to that I had just composed. Happily I perceived the trick\nhe intended to play me, and refused him the overture. As the performance\nwas to be in five or six days, he had not time to make one, and was\nobliged to leave that I had prepared. It was in the Italian taste, and\nin a style at that time quite new in France. It gave satisfaction, and\nI learned from M. de Valmalette, maitre d'hotel to the king, and\nson-in-law to M. Mussard, my relation and friend, that the connoisseurs\nwere highly satisfied with my work, and that the public had not\ndistinguished it from that of Rameau. However, he and Madam de la\nPopliniere took measures to prevent any person from knowing I had any\nconcern in the matter. In the books distributed to the audience, and\nin which the authors are always named, Voltaire was the only person\nmentioned, and Rameau preferred the suppression of his own name to\nseeing it associated with mine.\n\nAs soon as I was in a situation to leave my room, I wished to wait upon\nM. de Richelieu, but it was too late; he had just set off for Dunkirk,\nwhere he was to command the expedition destined to Scotland. At his\nreturn, said I to myself, to authorize my idleness, it will be too late\nfor my purpose, not having seen him since that time. I lost the honor\nof mywork and the emoluments it should have produced me, besides\nconsidering my time, trouble, grief, and vexation, my illness, and the\nmoney this cost me, without ever receiving the least benefit, or rather,\nrecompense. However, I always thought M. de Richelieu was disposed to\nserve me, and that he had a favorable opinion of my talents; but my\nmisfortune, and Madam de la Popliniere, prevented the effect of his good\nwishes.\n\nI could not divine the reason of the aversion this lady had to me. I had\nalways endeavored to make myself agreeable to her, and regularly paid\nher my court. Gauffecourt explained to me the causes of her dislike:\n\"The first,\" said he, \"is her friendship for Rameau, of whom she is the\ndeclared panegyrist, and who will not suffer a competitor; the next is\nan original sin, which ruins you in her estimation, and which she\nwill never forgive; you are a Genevese.\" Upon this he told me the Abbe\nHubert, who was from the same city, and the sincere friend of M. de la\nPopliniere, had used all his efforts to prevent him from marrying this\nlady, with whose character and temper he was very well acquainted; and\nthat after the marriage she had vowed him an implacable hatred, as well\nas all the Genevese. \"Although La Popliniere has a friendship for you,\ndo not,\" said he, \"depend upon his protection: he is still in love with\nhis wife: she hates you, and is vindictive and artful; you will never do\nanything in that house.\" All this I took for granted.\n\nThe same Gauffecourt rendered me much about this time, a service of\nwhich I stood in the greatest need. I had just lost my virtuous father,\nwho was about sixty years of age. I felt this loss less severely than\nI should have done at any other time, when the embarrassments of my\nsituation had less engaged my attention. During his life-time I had\nnever claimed what remained of the property of my mother, and of which\nhe received the little interest. His death removed all my scruples upon\nthis subject. But the want of a legal proof of the death of my brother\ncreated a difficulty which Gauffecourt undertook to remove, and this\nhe effected by means of the good offices of the advocate De Lolme. As\nI stood in need of the little resource, and the event being doubtful, I\nwaited for a definitive account with the greatest anxiety.\n\nOne evening on entering my apartment I found a letter, which I knew to\ncontain the information I wanted, and I took it up with an impatient\ntrembling, of which I was inwardly ashamed. What? said I to myself,\nwith disdain, shall Jean Jacques thus suffer himself to be subdued by\ninterest and curiosity? I immediately laid the letter again upon the\nchimney-piece. I undressed myself, went to bed with great composure,\nslept better than ordinary, and rose in the morning at a late hour,\nwithout thinking more of my letter. As I dressed myself, it caught my\neye; I broke the seal very leisurely, and found under the envelope a\nbill of exchange. I felt a variety of pleasing sensations at the same\ntime: but I can assert, upon my honor, that the most lively of them all\nwas that proceeding from having known how to be master of myself.\n\nI could mention twenty such circumstances in my life, but I am too much\npressed for time to say everything. I sent a small part of this money to\nmy poor mamma; regretting, with my eyes suffused with tears, the\nhappy time when I should have laid it all at her feet. All her letters\ncontained evident marks of her distress. She sent me piles of recipes,\nand numerous secrets, with which she pretended I might make my fortune\nand her own. The idea of her wretchedness already affected her heart and\ncontracted her mind. The little I sent her fell a prey to the knaves\nby whom she was surrounded; she received not the least advantage from\nanything. The idea of dividing what was necessary to my own subsistence\nwith these wretches disgusted me, especially after the vain attempt I\nhad made to deliver her from them, and of which I shall have occasion\nto speak. Time slipped away, and with it the little money I had; we were\ntwo, or indeed, four persons; or, to speak still more correctly, seven\nor eight. Although Theresa was disinterested to a degree of which there\nare but few examples, her mother was not so. She was no sooner a little\nrelieved from her necessities by my cares, than she sent for her whole\nfamily to partake of the fruits of them. Her sisters, sons, daughters,\nall except her eldest daughter, married to the director of the coaches\nof Augers, came to Paris. Everything I did for Theresa, her mother\ndiverted from its original destination in favor of these people who\nwere starving. I had not to do with an avaricious person; and, not being\nunder the influence of an unruly passion, I was not guilty of follies.\nSatisfied with genteelly supporting Theresa without luxury, and\nunexposed to pressing wants, I readily consented to let all the earnings\nof her industry go to the profit of her mother; and to this even I did\nnot confine myself; but, by a fatality by which I was pursued, whilst\nmamma was a prey to the rascals about her Theresa was the same to her\nfamily; and I could not do anything on either side for the benefit\nof her to whom the succor I gave was destined. It was odd enough the\nyoungest child of M. de la Vasseur, the only one who had not received a\nmarriage portion from her parents, should provide for their subsistence;\nand that, after having a long time been beaten by her brothers, sisters,\nand even her nieces, the poor girl should be plundered by them all,\nwithout being more able to defend herself from their thefts than from\ntheir blows. One of her nieces, named Gorton le Duc, was of a mild and\namiable character; although spoiled by the lessons and examples of the\nothers. As I frequently saw them together, I gave them names, which they\nafterwards gave to each other; I called the niece my niece, and the aunt\nmy aunt; they both called me uncle. Hence the name of aunt, by which\nI continued to call Theresa, and which my friends sometimes jocosely\nrepeated. It will be judged that in such a situation I had not a\nmoment to lose, before I attempted to extricate myself. Imagining M. de\nRichelieu had forgotten me, and having no more hopes from the court, I\nmade some attempts to get my opera brought out at Paris; but I met with\ndifficulties which could not immediately be removed, and my situation\nbecame daily more painful. I presented my little comedy of Narcisse to\nthe Italians; it was received, and I had the freedom of the theatre,\nwhich gave much pleasure. But this was all; I could never get my piece\nperformed, and, tired of paying my court to players, I gave myself no\nmore trouble about them. At length I had recourse to the last expedient\nwhich remained to me, and the only one of which I ought to have made\nuse. While frequenting the house of M. de la Popliniere, I had neglected\nthe family of Dupin. The two ladies, although related, were not on good\nterms, and never saw each other. There was not the least intercourse\nbetween the two families, and Thieriot was the only person who visited\nboth. He was desired to endeavor to bring me again to M. Dupin's. M.\nde Francueil was then studying natural history and chemistry, and\ncollecting a cabinet. I believe he aspired to become a member of the\nAcademy of Sciences; to this effect he intended to write a book, and\njudged I might be of use to him in the undertaking. Madam de Dupin, who,\non her part, had another work in contemplation, had much the same\nviews in respect to me. They wished to have me in common as a kind of\nsecretary, and this was the reason of the invitations of Thieriot.\n\nI required that M. de Francueil should previously employ his interest\nwith that of Jelyote to get my work rehearsed at the opera-house; to\nthis he consented. The Muses Galantes were several times rehearsed,\nfirst at the Magazine, and afterwards in the great theatre. The audience\nwas very numerous at the great rehearsal, and several parts of the\ncomposition were highly applauded. However, during this rehearsal, very\nill-conducted by Rebel, I felt the piece would not be received; and\nthat, before it could appear, great alterations were necessary. I\ntherefore withdrew it without saying a word, or exposing myself to a\nrefusal; but I plainly perceived, by several indications, that the\nwork, had it been perfect, could not have succeeded. M. de Francueil had\npromised me to get it rehearsed, but not that it should be received. He\nexactly kept his word. I thought I perceived on this occasion, as well\nas many others, that neither Madam Dupin nor himself were willing\nI should acquire a certain reputation in the world, lest, after the\npublication of their books, it should be supposed they had grafted their\ntalents upon mine. Yet as Madam Dupin always supposed those I had to\nbe very moderate, and never employed me except it was to write what she\ndictated, or in researches of pure erudition, the reproach, with respect\nto her, would have been unjust.\n\nThis last failure of success completed my discouragement. I abandoned\nevery prospect of fame and advancement; and, without further troubling\nmy head about real or imaginary talents, with which I had so little\nsuccess, I dedicated my whole time and cares to procure myself and\nTheresa a subsistence in the manner most pleasing to those to whom it\nshould be agreeable to provide for it. I therefore entirely attached\nmyself to Madam Dupin and M. de Francueil. This did not place me in a\nvery opulent situation; for with eight or nine hundred livres, which I\nhad the first two years, I had scarcely enough to provide for my primary\nwants; being obliged to live in their neighborhood, a dear part of the\ntown, in a furnished lodging, and having to pay for another lodging at\nthe extremity of Paris, at the very top of the Rue Saint Jacques, to\nwhich, let the weather be as it would, I went almost every evening to\nsupper. I soon got into the track of my new occupations, and conceived\na taste for them. I attached myself to the study of chemistry, and\nattended several courses of it with M. de Francueil at M. Rouelle's, and\nwe began to scribble over paper upon that science, of which we\nscarcely possessed the elements. In 1717, we went to pass the autumn in\nTourraine, at the castle of Chenonceaux, a royal mansion upon the Cher,\nbuilt by Henry the II, for Diana of Poitiers, of whom the ciphers are\nstill seen, and which is now in the possession of M. Dupin, a farmer\ngeneral. We amused ourselves very agreeably in this beautiful place, and\nlived very well: I became as fat there as a monk. Music was a favorite\nrelaxation. I composed several trios full of harmony, and of which I may\nperhaps speak in my supplement if ever I should write one. Theatrical\nperformances were another resource. I wrote a comedy in fifteen days,\nentitled 'l'Engagement Temeraire',--[The Rash Engagement]--which will\nbe found amongst my papers; it has no other merit than that of being\nlively. I composed several other little things: amongst others a poem\nentitled, 'l'Aliee de Sylvie', from the name of an alley in the park\nupon the bank of the Cher; and this without discontinuing my chemical\nstudies, or interrupting what I had to do for Madam Dupin.\n\nWhilst I was increasing my corpulency at Chenonceaux, that of my poor\nTheresa was augmented at Paris in another manner, and at my return I\nfound the work I had put upon the frame in greater forwardness than I\nhad expected. This, on account of my situation, would have thrown me\ninto the greatest embarrassment, had not one of my messmates furnished\nme with the only resource which could relieve me from it. This is one of\nthose essential narratives which I cannot give with too much simplicity;\nbecause, in making an improper use of their names, I should either\nexcuse or inculpate myself, both of which in this place are entirely out\nof the question.\n\nDuring the residence of Altuna at Paris, instead of going to eat at a\n'Traiteurs', he and I commonly ate in the neighborhood, almost opposite\nthe cul de sac of the opera, at the house of a Madam la Selle, the wife\nof a tailor, who gave but very ordinary dinners, but whose table was\nmuch frequented on account of the safe company which generally resorted\nto it; no person was received without being introduced by one of those\nwho used the house. The commander, De Graville, an old debauchee, with\nmuch wit and politeness, but obscene in conversation, lodged at the\nhouse, and brought to it a set of riotous and extravagant young men;\nofficers in the guards and mousquetaires. The Commander de Nonant,\nchevalier to all the girls of the opera, was the daily oracle,\nwho conveyed to us the news of this motley crew. M. du Plessis, a\nlieutenant-colonel, retired from the service, an old man of great\ngoodness and wisdom; and M. Ancelet, an officer in the mousquetaires,\nkept the young people in a certain kind of order.\n\n     [It was to this M. Ancelet I gave a little comedy, after my own\n     manner entitled 'les Prisouniers de Guerre', which I wrote after the\n     disasters of the French in Bavaria and Bohemia: I dared not either\n     avow this comedy or show it, and this for the singular reason that\n     neither the King of France nor the French were ever better spoken of\n     nor praised with more sincerity of heart than in my piece though\n     written by a professed republican, I dared not declare myself the\n     panegyrist of a nation, whose maxims were exactly the reverse of my\n     own.  More grieved at the misfortunes of France than the French\n     themselves I was afraid the public would construe into flattery and\n     mean complaisance the marks of a sincere attachment, of which in my\n     first part I have mentioned the date and the cause, and which I was\n     ashamed to show.]\n\nThis table was also frequented by commercial people, financiers and\ncontractors, but extremely polite, and such as were distinguished\namongst those of the same profession. M. de Besse, M. de Forcade, and\nothers whose names I have forgotten, in short, well-dressed people of\nevery description were seen there; except abbes and men of the long\nrobe, not one of whom I ever met in the house, and it was agreed not to\nintroduce men of either of these professions. This table, sufficiently\nresorted to, was very cheerful without being noisy, and many of the\nguests were waggish, without descending to vulgarity. The old commander\nwith all his smutty stories, with respect to the substance, never\nlost sight of the politeness of the old court; nor did any indecent\nexpression, which even women would not have pardoned him, escape his\nlips. His manner served as a rule to every person at table; all the\nyoung men related their adventures of gallantry with equal grace and\nfreedom, and these narratives were the more complete, as the seraglio\nwas at the door; the entry which led to it was the same; for there was\na communication between this and the shop of Le Duchapt, a celebrated\nmilliner, who at that time had several very pretty girls, with whom our\nyoung people went to chat before or after dinner. I should thus have\namused myself as well as the rest, had I been less modest: I had only\nto go in as they did, but this I never had courage enough to do. With\nrespect to Madam de Selle, I often went to eat at her house after the\ndeparture of Altuna. I learned a great number of amusing anecdotes, and\nby degrees I adopted, thank God, not the morals, but the maxims I found\nto be established there. Honest men injured, husbands deceived, women\nseduced, were the most ordinary topics, and he who had best filled the\nfoundling hospital was always the most applauded. I caught the manners\nI daily had before my eyes: I formed my manner of thinking upon that\nI observed to be the reigning one amongst amiable, and upon the whole,\nvery honest people. I said to myself, since it is the custom of the\ncountry, they who live here may adopt it; this is the expedient for\nwhich I sought. I cheerfully determined upon it without the least\nscruple, and the only one I had to overcome was that of Theresa, whom,\nwith the greatest imaginable difficulty, I persuaded to adopt this only\nmeans of saving her honor. Her mother, who was moreover apprehensive of\na new embarrassment by an increase of family, came to my aid, and she\nat length suffered herself to be prevailed upon. We made choice of a\nmidwife, a safe and prudent woman, Mademoiselle Gouin, who lived at the\nPoint Saint Eustache, and when the time came, Theresa was conducted to\nher house by her mother.\n\nI went thither several times to see her, and gave her a cipher which I\nhad made double upon two cards; one of them was put into the linen of\nthe child, and by the midwife deposited with the infant in the office\nof the foundling hospital according to the customary form. The year\nfollowing, a similar inconvenience was remedied by the same expedient,\nexcepting the cipher, which was forgotten: no more reflection on my\npart, nor approbation on that of the mother; she obeyed with trembling.\nAll the vicissitudes which this fatal conduct has produced in my manner\nof thinking, as well as in my destiny, will be successively seen. For\nthe present, we will confine ourselves to this first period; its cruel\nand unforeseen consequences will but too frequently oblige me to refer\nto it.\n\nI here mark that of my first acquaintance with Madam D'Epinay, whose\nname will frequently appear in these memoirs. She was a Mademoiselle D'\nEsclavelles, and had lately been married to M. D'Epinay, son of M. de\nLalive de Bellegarde, a farmer general. She understood music, and a\npassion for the art produced between these three persons the greatest\nintimacy. Madam Francueil introduced me to Madam D'Epinay, and we\nsometimes supped together at her house. She was amiable, had wit and\ntalent, and was certainly a desirable acquaintance; but she had a female\nfriend, a Mademoiselle d'Ette, who was said to have much malignancy in\nher disposition; she lived with the Chevalier de Valory, whose temper\nwas far from being one of the best. I am of opinion, an acquaintance\nwith these two persons was prejudicial to Madam D'Epinay, to whom, with\na disposition which required the greatest attention from those\nabout her, nature had given very excellent qualities to regulate or\ncounterbalance her extravagant pretensions. M. de Francueil inspired her\nwith a part of the friendship he had conceived for me, and told me of\nthe connection between them, of which, for that reason, I would not\nnow speak, were it not become so public as not to be concealed from M.\nD'Epinay himself.\n\nM. de Francueil confided to me secrets of a very singular nature\nrelative to this lady, of which she herself never spoke to me, nor so\nmuch as suspected my having a knowledge; for I never opened my lips\nto her upon the subject, nor will I ever do it to any person. The\nconfidence all parties had in my prudence rendered my situation very\nembarrassing, especially with Madam de Francueil, whose knowledge of me\nwas sufficient to remove from her all suspicion on my account, although\nI was connected with her rival. I did everything I could to console this\npoor woman, whose husband certainly did not return the affection she had\nfor him. I listened to these three persons separately; I kept all their\nsecrets so faithfully that not one of the three ever drew from me those\nof the two others, and this, without concealing from either of the women\nmy attachment to each of them. Madam de Francueil, who frequently wished\nto make me an agent, received refusals in form, and Madam D'Epinay, once\ndesiring me to charge myself with a letter to M. de Francueil received\nthe same mortification, accompanied by a very express declaration, that\nif ever she wished to drive me forever from the house, she had only a\nsecond time to make me a like proposition.\n\nIn justice to Madam D'Epinay, I must say, that far from being offended\nwith me she spoke of my conduct to M. de Francueil in terms of the\nhighest approbation, and continued to receive me as well, and as\npolitely as ever. It was thus, amidst the heart-burnings of\nthree persons to whom I was obliged to behave with the greatest\ncircumspection, on whom I in some measure depended, and for whom I had\nconceived an attachment, that by conducting myself with mildness\nand complaisance, although accompanied with the greatest firmness, I\npreserved unto the last not only their friendship, but their esteem\nand confidence. Notwithstanding my absurdities and awkwardness, Madam\nD'Epinay would have me make one of the party to the Chevrette, a\ncountry-house, near Saint Denis, belonging to M. de Bellegarde. There\nwas a theatre, in which performances were not unfrequent. I had a part\ngiven me, which I studied for six months without intermission, and\nin which, on the evening of the representation, I was obliged to be\nprompted from the beginning to the end. After this experiment no second\nproposal of the kind was ever made to me.\n\nMy acquaintance with M. D'Epinay procured me that of her sister-in-law,\nMademoiselle de Bellegarde, who soon afterwards became Countess of\nHoudetot. The first time I saw her she was upon the point of marriage;\nwhen she conversed with me a long time, with that charming familiarity\nwhich was natural to her. I thought her very amiable, but I was far from\nperceiving that this young person would lead me, although innocently,\ninto the abyss in which I still remain.\n\nAlthough I have not spoken of Diderot since my return from Venice, no\nmore than of my friend M. Roguin, I did not neglect either of them,\nespecially the former, with whom I daily became more intimate. He had a\nNannette, as well as I a Theresa; this was between us another conformity\nof circumstances. But my Theresa, as fine a woman as his Nannette, was\nof a mild and amiable character, which might gain and fix the affections\nof a worthy man; whereas Nannette was a vixen, a troublesome prater, and\nhad no qualities in the eyes of others which in any measure compensated\nfor her want of education. However he married her, which was well done\nof him, if he had given a promise to that effect. I, for my part, not\nhaving entered into any such engagement, was not in the least haste to\nimitate him.\n\nI was also connected with the Abbe de Condillac, who had acquired no\nmore literary fame than myself, but in whom there was every appearance\nof his becoming what he now is. I was perhaps the first who discovered\nthe extent of his abilities, and esteemed them as they deserved. He on\nhis part seemed satisfied with me, and, whilst shut up in my chamber\nin the Rue Jean Saint Denis, near the opera-house, I composed my act of\nHesiod, he sometimes came to dine with me tete-a-tete. We sent for our\ndinner, and paid share and share alike. He was at that time employed on\nhis Essay on the Origin of Human Knowledge, which was his first work.\nWhen this was finished, the difficulty was to find a bookseller who\nwould take it. The booksellers of Paris are shy of every author at\nhis beginning, and metaphysics, not much then in vogue, were no very\ninviting subject. I spoke to Diderot of Condillac and his work, and I\nafterwards brought them acquainted with each other. They were worthy\nof each other's esteem, and were presently on the most friendly terms.\nDiderot persuaded the bookseller, Durand, to take the manuscript from\nthe abbe, and this great metaphysician received for his first work, and\nalmost as a favor, a hundred crowns, which perhaps he would not have\nobtained without my assistance. As we lived in a quarter of the town\nvery distant from each other, we all assembled once a week at the Palais\nRoyal, and went to dine at the Hotel du Panier Fleuri. These little\nweekly dinners must have been extremely pleasing to Diderot; for he who\nfailed in almost all his appointments never missed one of these. At our\nlittle meeting I formed the plan of a periodical paper, entitled 'le\nPersifleur'--[The Jeerer]--which Diderot and I were alternately to\nwrite. I sketched out the first sheet, and this brought me acquainted\nwith D'Alembert, to whom Diderot had mentioned it. Unforeseen events\nfrustrated our intention, and the project was carried no further.\n\nThese two authors had just undertaken the 'Dictionnaire Encyclopedique',\nwhich at first was intended to be nothing more than a kind of\ntranslation of Chambers, something like that of the Medical Dictionary\nof James, which Diderot had just finished. Diderot was desirous I should\ndo something in this second undertaking, and proposed to me the musical\npart, which I accepted. This I executed in great haste, and consequently\nvery ill, in the three months he had given me, as well as all the\nauthors who were engaged in the work. But I was the only person in\nreadiness at the time prescribed. I gave him my manuscript, which I had\ncopied by a lackey, belonging to M. de Francueil, of the name of Dupont,\nwho wrote very well. I paid him ten crowns out of my own pocket,\nand these have never been reimbursed me. Diderot had promised me a\nretribution on the part of the booksellers, of which he has never since\nspoken to me nor I to him.\n\nThis undertaking of the 'Encyclopedie' was interrupted by his\nimprisonment. The 'Pensees Philosophiques' drew upon him some temporary\ninconvenience which had no disagreeable consequences. He did not come\noff so easily on account of the 'Lettre sur les Aveugles', in which\nthere was nothing reprehensible, but some personal attacks with which\nMadam du Pre St. Maur, and M. de Raumur were displeased: for this he was\nconfined in the dungeon of Vincennes. Nothing can describe the anguish\nI felt on account of the misfortunes of my friend. My wretched\nimagination, which always sees everything in the worst light, was\nterrified. I imagined him to be confined for the remainder of his life.\nI was almost distracted with the thought. I wrote to Madam de Pompadour,\nbeseeching her to release him or obtain an order to shut me up in the\nsame dungeon. I received no answer to my letter: this was too reasonable\nto be efficacious, and I do not flatter myself that it contributed\nto the alleviation which, some time afterwards, was granted to the\nseverities of the confinement of poor Diderot. Had this continued for\nany length of time with the same rigor, I verily believe I should have\ndied in despair at the foot of the hated dungeon. However, if my letter\nproduced but little effect, I did not on account of it attribute to\nmyself much merit, for I mentioned it but to very few people, and never\nto Diderot himself.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\n\n|At the end of the preceding book a pause was necessary. With this begins\nthe long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin.\n\nHaving lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had,\nnotwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance. Among\nothers at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha,\nand of the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M. de la\nPopliniere, that of M. Seguy, friend to the Baron de Thun, and known\nin the literary world by his beautiful edition of Rousseau. The baron\ninvited M. Seguy and myself to go and pass a day or two at Fontenai sous\nbois, where the prince had a house. As I passed Vincennes, at the sight\nof the dungeon, my feelings were acute; the effect of which the\nbaron perceived on my countenance. At supper the prince mentioned the\nconfinement of Diderot. The baron, to hear what I had to say, accused\nthe prisoner of imprudence; and I showed not a little of the same in the\nimpetuous manner in which I defended him. This excess of zeal, inspired\nby the misfortune which had befallen my friend, was pardoned, and the\nconversation immediately changed. There were present two Germans in the\nservice of the prince. M. Klupssel, a man of great wit, his chaplain,\nand who afterwards, having supplanted the baron, became his governor.\nThe other was a young man named M. Grimm, who served him as a reader\nuntil he could obtain some place, and whose indifferent appearance\nsufficiently proved the pressing necessity he was under of immediately\nfinding one. From this very evening Klupssel and I began an acquaintance\nwhich soon led to friendship. That with the Sieur Grimm did not make\nquite so rapid a progress; he made but few advances, and was far from\nhaving that haughty presumption which prosperity afterwards gave him.\nThe next day at dinner, the conversation turned upon music; he spoke\nwell on the subject. I was transported with joy when I learned from him\nhe could play an accompaniment on the harpsichord. After dinner was over\nmusic was introduced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon\non the harpischord of the prince. Thus began that friendship which, at\nfirst, was so agreeable to me, afterwards so fatal, and of which I shall\nhereafter have so much to say.\n\nAt my return to Paris, I learned the agreeable news that Diderot was\nreleased from the dungeon, and that he had on his parole the castle and\npark of Vincennes for a prison, with permission to see his friends. How\npainful was it to me not to be able instantly to fly to him! But I was\ndetained two or three days at Madam Dupin's by indispensable business.\nAfter ages of impatience, I flew to the arms of my friend. He was not\nalone: D' Alembert and the treasurer of the Sainte Chapelle were with\nhim. As I entered I saw nobody but himself, I made but one step,\none cry; I riveted my face to his: I pressed him in my arms, without\nspeaking to him, except by tears and sighs: I stifled him with my\naffection and joy. The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was\nto turn himself towards the ecclesiastic, and say: \"You see, sir, how\nmuch I am beloved by my friends.\" My emotion was so great, that it was\nthen impossible for me to reflect upon this manner of turning it to\nadvantage; but I have since thought that, had I been in the place of\nDiderot, the idea he manifested would not have been the first that would\nhave occurred to me.\n\nI found him much affected by his imprisonment. The dungeon had made a\nterrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeably\nsituated in the castle, and at liberty to walk where he pleased in the\npark, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of\nhis friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy. As I was the\nperson most concerned for his sufferings, I imagined I should also\nbe the friend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which\naccount, notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two\ndays at farthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the\nafternoon with him.\n\nThe heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive. Vincennes is two\nleagues from Paris. The state of my finances not permitting me to pay\nfor hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on foot,\nwhen alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive the\nsooner. The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according to\nthe custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and exhausted\nby fatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to\nproceed any further. I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate\nmy pace. One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read,\nI came to the following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for\nthe premium of the ensuing year, 'Has the progress of sciences and arts\ncontributed to corrupt or purify morals?'\n\nThe moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and became\na different man. Although I have a lively remembrance of the impression\nit made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since I communicated\nit to M. de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him. This is one of\nthe singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked. It serves me\nin proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed\nto paper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have\nno sooner written a thing than I had forgotten it entirely. This\nsingularity is the same with respect to music. Before I learned the\nuse of notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made a\nsufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollect\nany one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be able\nentirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond. All\nI distinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival at\nVincennes, I was in an agitation which approached a delirium. Diderot\nperceived it; I told him the cause, and read to him the prosopopoeia\nof Fabricius, written with a pencil under a tree. He encouraged me to\npursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium. I did so,\nand from that moment I was ruined.\n\nAll the rest of my misfortunes during my life were the inevitable effect\nof this moment of error.\n\nMy sentiments became elevated with the most inconceivable rapidity\nto the level of my ideas. All my little passions were stifled by the\nenthusiasm of truth, liberty, and virtue; and, what is most astonishing,\nthis effervescence continued in my mind upwards of five years, to as\ngreat a degree perhaps as it has ever done in that of any other man.\nI composed the discourse in a very singular manner, and in that style\nwhich I have always followed in my other works. I dedicated to it the\nhours of the night in which sleep deserted me, I meditated in my bed\nwith my eyes closed, and in my mind turned over and over again my\nperiods with incredible labor and care; the moment they were finished\nto my satisfaction, I deposited them in my memory, until I had an\nopportunity of committing them to paper; but the time of rising and\nputting on my clothes made me lose everything, and when I took up my pen\nI recollected but little of what I had composed. I made Madam le Vasseur\nmy secretary; I had lodged her with her daughter, and husband, nearer to\nmyself; and she, to save me the expense of a servant, came every morning\nto make my fire, and to do such other little things as were necessary.\nAs soon as she arrived I dictated to her while in bed what I had\ncomposed in the night, and this method, which for a long time I\nobserved, preserved me many things I should otherwise have forgotten.\n\nAs soon as the discourse was finished, I showed it to Diderot. He was\nsatisfied with the production, and pointed out some corrections he\nthought necessary to be made.\n\nHowever, this composition, full of force and fire, absolutely wants\nlogic and order; of all the works I ever wrote, this is the weakest\nin reasoning, and the most devoid of number and harmony. With whatever\ntalent a man may be born, the art of writing is not easily learned.\n\nI sent off this piece without mentioning it to anybody, except, I think,\nto Grimm, with whom, after his going to live with the Comte de Vriese, I\nbegan to be upon the most intimate footing. His harpsichord served as a\nrendezvous, and I passed with him at it all the moments I had to spare,\nin singing Italian airs, and barcaroles; sometimes without intermission,\nfrom morning till night, or rather from night until morning; and when\nI was not to be found at Madam Dupin's, everybody concluded I was with\nGrimm at his apartment, the public walk, or theatre. I left off going to\nthe Comedie Italienne, of which I was free, to go with him, and pay, to\nthe Comedie Francoise, of which he was passionately fond. In short, so\npowerful an attraction connected me with this young man, and I became so\ninseparable from him, that the poor aunt herself was rather neglected,\nthat is, I saw her less frequently; for in no moment of my life has my\nattachment to her been diminished.\n\nThis impossibility of dividing, in favor of my inclinations, the little\ntime I had to myself, renewed more strongly than ever the desire I had\nlong entertained of having but one home for Theresa and myself; but the\nembarrassment of her numerous family, and especially the want of money\nto purchase furniture, had hitherto withheld me from accomplishing it.\nAn opportunity to endeavor at it presented itself, and of this I took\nadvantage. M. de Francueil and Madam Dupin, clearly perceiving that\neight or nine hundred livres a year were unequal to my wants, increased,\nof their own accord, my salary to fifty guineas; and Madam Dupin,\nhaving heard I wished to furnish myself lodgings, assisted me with some\narticles for that purpose. With this furniture and that Theresa already\nhad, we made one common stock, and, having an apartment in the Hotel de\nLanguedoc, Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore, kept by very honest people,\nwe arranged ourselves in the best manner we could, and lived there\npeaceably and agreeably during seven years, at the end of which I\nremoved to go and live at the Hermitage.\n\nTheresa's father was a good old man, very mild in his disposition, and\nmuch afraid of his wife; for this reason he had given her the surname\nof Lieutenant Criminal, which Grimm, jocosely, afterwards transferred to\nthe daughter. Madam le Vasseur did not want sense, that is address; and\npretended to the politeness and airs of the first circles; but she had a\nmysterious wheedling, which to me was insupportable, gave bad advice to\nher daughter, endeavored to make her dissemble with me, and separately,\ncajoled my friends at my expense, and that of each other; excepting\nthese circumstances, she was a tolerably good mother, because she found\nher account in being so, and concealed the faults of her daughter to\nturn them to her own advantage. This woman, who had so much of my care\nand attention, to whom I made so many little presents, and by whom I\nhad it extremely at heart to make myself beloved, was, from the\nimpossibility of my succeeding in this wish, the only cause of the\nuneasiness I suffered in my little establishment. Except the effects of\nthis cause I enjoyed, during these six or seven years, the most perfect\ndomestic happiness of which human weakness is capable. The heart of\nmy Theresa was that of an angel; our attachment increased with our\nintimacy, and we were more and more daily convinced how much we were\nmade for each other. Could our pleasures be described, their simplicity\nwould cause laughter. Our walks, tete-a-tete, on the outside of\nthe city, where I magnificently spent eight or ten sous in each\nguinguette.--[Ale-house]--Our little suppers at my window, seated\nopposite to each other upon two little chairs, placed upon a trunk,\nwhich filled up the spare of the embrasure. In this situation the window\nserved us as a table, we respired the fresh air, enjoyed the prospect\nof the environs and the people who passed; and, although upon the fourth\nstory, looked down into the street as we ate.\n\nWho can describe, and how few can feel, the charms of these repasts,\nconsisting of a quartern loaf, a few cherries, a morsel of cheese, and\nhalf-a-pint of wine which we drank between us? Friendship, confidence,\nintimacy, sweetness of disposition, how delicious are your reasonings!\nWe sometimes remained in this situation until midnight, and never\nthought of the hour, unless informed of it by the old lady. But let us\nquit these details, which are either insipid or laughable; I have always\nsaid and felt that real enjoyment was not to be described.\n\nMuch about the same time I indulged in one not so delicate, and the last\nof the kind with which I have to reproach myself. I have observed that\nthe minister Klupssel was an amiable man; my connections with him were\nalmost as intimate as those I had with Grimm, and in the end became as\nfamiliar; Grimm and he sometimes ate at my apartment. These repasts,\na little more than simple, were enlivened by the witty and extravagant\nwantonness of expression of Klupssel, and the diverting Germanicisms of\nGrimm, who was not yet become a purist.\n\nSensuality did not preside at our little orgies, but joy, which was\npreferable, reigned in them all, and we enjoyed ourselves so well\ntogether that we knew not how to separate. Klupssel had furnished a\nlodging for a little girl, who, notwithstanding this, was at the service\nof anybody, because he could not support her entirely himself. One\nevening as we were going into the coffee-house, we met him coming out to\ngo and sup with her. We rallied him; he revenged himself gallantly, by\ninviting us to the same supper, and there rallying us in our turn.\nThe poor young creature appeared to be of a good disposition, mild and\nlittle fitted to the way of life to which an old hag she had with\nher, prepared her in the best manner she could. Wine and conversation\nenlivened us to such a degree that we forgot ourselves. The amiable\nKlupssel was unwilling to do the honors of his table by halves, and we\nall three successively took a view of the next chamber, in company with\nhis little friend, who knew not whether she should laugh or cry. Grimm\nhas always maintained that he never touched her; it was therefore to\namuse himself with our impatience, that he remained so long in the\nother chamber, and if he abstained, there is not much probability of his\nhaving done so from scruple, because previous to his going to live\nwith the Comte de Friese, he lodged with girls of the town in the same\nquarter of St. Roch.\n\nI left the Rue des Moineaux, where this girl lodged, as much ashamed as\nSaint Preux left the house in which he had become intoxicated, and when\nI wrote his story I well remembered my own. Theresa perceived by some\nsign, and especially by my confusion, I had something with which\nI reproached myself; I relieved my mind by my free and immediate\nconfession. I did well, for the next day Grimm came in triumph to relate\nto her my crime with aggravation, and since that time he has never\nfailed maliciously to recall it to her recollection; in this he was\nthe more culpable, since I had freely and voluntarily given him my\nconfidence, and had a right to expect he would not make me repent of\nit. I never had a more convincing proof than on this occasion, of the\ngoodness of my Theresa's heart; she was more shocked at the behavior of\nGrimm than at my infidelity, and I received nothing from her but tender\nreproaches, in which there was not the least appearance of anger.\n\nThe simplicity of mind of this excellent girl was equal to her goodness\nof heart; and this is saying everything: but one instance of it, which\nis present to my recollection, is worthy of being related. I had told\nher Klupssel was a minister, and chaplain to the prince of Saxe-Gotha.\nA minister was to her so singular a man, that oddly confounding the most\ndissimilar ideas, she took it into her head to take Klupssel for the\npope; I thought her mad the first time she told me when I came in, that\nthe pope had called to see me. I made her explain herself and lost not\na moment in going to relate the story to Grimm and Klupssel, who amongst\nourselves never lost the name of pope. We gave to the girl in the Rue\ndes Moineaux the name of Pope Joan. Our laughter was incessant; it\nalmost stifled us. They, who in a letter which it hath pleased them to\nattribute to me, have made me say I never laughed but twice in my life,\ndid not know me at this period, nor in my younger days; for if they had,\nthe idea could never have entered into their heads.\n\nThe year following (1750), not thinking more of my discourse; I learned\nit had gained the premium at Dijon. This news awakened all the ideas\nwhich had dictated it to me, gave them new animation, and completed\nthe fermentation of my heart of that first leaven of heroism and virtue\nwhich my father, my country, and Plutarch had inspired in my infancy.\nNothing now appeared great in my eyes but to be free and virtuous,\nsuperior to fortune and opinion, and independent of all exterior\ncircumstances; although a false shame, and the fear of disapprobation at\nfirst prevented me from conducting myself according to these principles,\nand from suddenly quarreling with the maxims of the age in which I\nlived, I from that moment took a decided resolution to do it.--[And of\nthis I purposely delayed the execution, that irritated by contradiction,\nit might be rendered triumphant.]\n\nWhile I was philosophizing upon the duties of man, an event happened\nwhich made me better reflect upon my own. Theresa became pregnant for\nthe third time. Too sincere with myself, too haughty in my mind\nto contradict my principles by my actions, I began to examine the\ndestination of my children, and my connections with the mother,\naccording to the laws of nature, justice, and reason, and those of\nthat religion, pure, holy, and eternal, like its author, which men\nhave polluted while they pretended to purify it, and which by their\nformularies they have reduced to a religion of words, since the\ndifficulty of prescribing impossibilities is but trifling to those by\nwhom they are not practised.\n\nIf I deceived myself in my conclusions, nothing can be more astonishing\nthan the security with which I depended upon them. Were I one of those\nmen unfortunately born deaf to the voice of nature, in whom no sentiment\nof justice or humanity ever took the least root, this obduracy would be\nnatural. But that warmth of heart, strong sensibility, and facility\nof forming attachments; the force with which they subdue me; my\ncruel sufferings when obliged to break them; the innate benevolence I\ncherished towards my fellow-creatures; the ardent love I bear to great\nvirtues, to truth and justice, the horror in which I hold evil of every\nkind; the impossibility of hating, of injuring or wishing to injure\nanyone; the soft and lively emotion I feel at the sight of whatever is\nvirtuous, generous and amiable; can these meet in the same mind with the\ndepravity which without scruple treads under foot the most pleasing of\nall our duties? No, I feel, and openly declare this to be impossible.\nNever in his whole life could J. J. be a man without sentiment or an\nunnatural father. I may have been deceived, but it is impossible I\nshould have lost the least of my feelings. Were I to give my reasons, I\nshould say too much; since they have seduced me, they would seduce many\nothers. I will not therefore expose those young persons by whom I may\nbe read to the same danger. I will satisfy myself by observing that my\nerror was such, that in abandoning my children to public education\nfor want of the means of bringing them up myself; in destining them\nto become workmen and peasants, rather than adventurers and\nfortune-hunters, I thought I acted like an honest citizen, and a good\nfather, and considered myself as a member of the republic of Plato.\nSince that time the regrets of my heart have more than once told me\nI was deceived; but my reason was so far from giving me the same\nintimation, that I have frequently returned thanks to Heaven for having\nby this means preserved them from the fate of their father, and that\nby which they were threatened the moment I should have been under the\nnecessity of leaving them. Had I left them to Madam d'Upinay, or Madam\nde Luxembourg, who, from friendship, generosity, or some other motive,\noffered to take care of them in due time, would they have been more\nhappy, better brought up, or honester men? To this I cannot answer;\nbut I am certain they would have been taught to hate and perhaps betray\ntheir parents: it is much better that they have never known them.\n\nMy third child was therefore carried to the foundling hospital as well\nas the two former, and the next two were disposed of in the same manner;\nfor I have had five children in all. This arrangement seemed to me to be\nso good, reasonable and lawful, that if I did not publicly boast of\nit, the motive by which I was withheld was merely my regard for their\nmother: but I mentioned it to all those to whom I had declared our\nconnection, to Diderot, to Grimm, afterwards to M. d'Epinay, and\nafter another interval to Madam de Luxembourg; and this freely and\nvoluntarily, without being under the least necessity of doing it, having\nit in my power to conceal the step from all the world; for La Gouin was\nan honest woman, very discreet, and a person on whom I had the greatest\nreliance. The only one of my friends to whom it was in some measure my\ninterest to open myself, was Thierry the physician, who had the care of\nmy poor aunt in one of her lyings in, in which she was very ill. In\na word, there was no mystery in my conduct, not only on account of my\nnever having concealed anything from my friends, but because I\nnever found any harm in it. Everything considered, I chose the best\ndestination for my children, or that which I thought to be such. I could\nhave wished, and still should be glad, had I been brought up as they\nhave been.\n\nWhilst I was thus communicating what I had done, Madam le Vasseur did\nthe same thing amongst her acquaintance, but with less disinterested\nviews. I introduced her and her daughter to Madam Dupin, who, from\nfriendship to me, showed them the greatest kindness. The mother confided\nto her the secret of the daughter. Madam Dupin, who is generous\nand kind, and to whom she never told how attentive I was to her,\nnotwithstanding my moderate resources, in providing for everything,\nprovided on her part for what was necessary, with a liberality which, by\norder of her mother, the daughter concealed from me during my residence\nin Paris, nor ever mentioned it until we were at the Hermitage, when she\ninformed me of it, after having disclosed to me several other secrets of\nher heart. I did not know Madam Dupin, who never took the least notice\nto me of the matter, was so well informed: I know not yet whether Madam\nde Chenonceaux, her daughter-in-law, was as much in the secret: but\nMadam de Brancueil knew the whole and could not refrain from prattling.\nShe spoke of it to me the following year, after I had left her house.\nThis induced me to write her a letter upon the subject, which will be\nfound in my collections, and wherein I gave such of my reasons as I\ncould make public, without exposing Madam le Vasseur and her family;\nthe most determinative of them came from that quarter, and these I kept\nprofoundly secret.\n\nI can rely upon the discretion of Madam Dupin, and the friendship of\nMadam de Chenonceaux; I had the same dependence upon that of Madam de\nFrancueil, who, however, was long dead before my secret made its way\ninto the world. This it could never have done except by means of the\npersons to whom I intrusted it, nor did it until after my rupture with\nthem. By this single fact they are judged; without exculpating myself\nfrom the blame I deserve, I prefer it to that resulting from their\nmalignity. My fault is great, but it was an error. I have neglected my\nduty, but the desire of doing an injury never entered my heart; and the\nfeelings of a father were never more eloquent in favor of children whom\nhe never saw. But: betraying the confidence of friendship, violating the\nmost sacred of all engagements, publishing secrets confided to us, and\nwantonly dishonoring the friend we have deceived, and who in detaching\nhimself from our society still respects us, are not faults, but baseness\nof mind, and the last degree of heinousness.\n\nI have promised my confession and not my justification; on which account\nI shall stop here. It is my duty faithfully to relate the truth, that of\nthe reader to be just; more than this I never shall require of him.\n\nThe marriage of M. de Chenonceaux rendered his mother's house still more\nagreeable to me, by the wit and merit of the new bride, a very amiable\nyoung person, who seemed to distinguish me amongst the scribes of M.\nDupin. She was the only daughter of the Viscountess de Rochechouart, a\ngreat friend of the Comte de Friese, and consequently of Grimm's, who\nwas very attentive to her. However, it was I who introduced him to her\ndaughter; but their characters not suiting each other, this connection\nwas not of long duration; and Grimm, who from that time aimed at what\nwas solid, preferred the mother, a woman of the world, to the daughter\nwho wished for steady friends, such as were agreeable to her, without\ntroubling her head about the least intrigue, or making any interest\namongst the great. Madam Dupin no longer finding in Madam de Chenonceaux\nall the docility she expected, made her house very disagreeable to her,\nand Madam de Chenonceaux, having a great opinion of her own merit, and,\nperhaps, of her birth, chose rather to give up the pleasures of society,\nand remain almost alone in her apartment, than to submit to a yoke she\nwas not disposed to bear. This species of exile increased my attachment\nto her, by that natural inclination which excites me to approach the\nwretched, I found her mind metaphysical and reflective, although at\ntimes a little sophistical; her conversation, which was by no means\nthat of a young woman coming from a convent, had for me the greatest\nattractions; yet she was not twenty years of age. Her complexion was\nseducingly fair; her figure would have been majestic had she held\nherself more upright. Her hair, which was fair, bordering upon ash\ncolor, and uncommonly beautiful, called to my recollection that of my\npoor mamma in the flower of her age, and strongly agitated my heart. But\nthe severe principles I had just laid down for myself, by which at all\nevents I was determined to be guided, secured me from the danger of her\nand her charms. During the whole summer I passed three or four hours a\nday in a tete-a-tete conversation with her, teaching her arithmetic,\nand fatiguing her with my innumerable ciphers, without uttering a single\nword of gallantry, or even once glancing my eyes upon her. Five or six\nyears later I should not have had so much wisdom or folly; but it was\ndecreed I was never to love but once in my life, and that another person\nwas to have the first and last sighs of my heart.\n\nSince I had lived in the house of Madam Dupin, I had always been\nsatisfied with my situation, without showing the least sign of a desire\nto improve it. The addition which, in conjunction with M. de Francueil,\nshe had made to my salary, was entirely of their own accord. This year\nM. de Francueil, whose friendship for me daily increased, had it in his\nthoughts to place me more at ease, and in a less precarious situation.\nHe was receiver-general of finance. M. Dudoyer, his cash-keeper, was old\nand rich, and wished to retire. M. de Francueil offered me his place,\nand to prepare myself for it, I went during a few weeks, to Dudoyer, to\ntake the necessary instructions. But whether my talents were ill-suited\nto the employment, or that M. Dudoyer, who I thought wished to procure\nhis place for another, was not in earnest in the instructions he gave\nme, I acquired by slow degrees, and very imperfectly, the knowledge\nI was in want of, and could never understand the nature of accounts,\nrendered intricate, perhaps designedly. However, without having\npossessed myself of the whole scope of the business, I learned enough of\nthe method to pursue it without the least difficulty; I even entered\non my new office; I kept the cashbook and the cash; I paid and received\nmoney, took and gave receipts; and although this business was so\nill suited to my inclinations as to my abilities, maturity of years\nbeginning to render me sedate, I was determined to conquer my disgust,\nand entirely devote myself to my new employment.\n\nUnfortunately for me, I had no sooner begun to proceed without\ndifficulty, than M. de Francueil took a little journey, during which I\nremained intrusted with the cash, which, at that time, did not amount\nto more than twenty-five to thirty thousand livres. The anxiety of mind\nthis sum of money occasioned me, made me perceive I was very unfit to be\na cash-keeper, and I have no doubt but my uneasy situation, during his\nabsence, contributed to the illness with which I was seized after his\nreturn.\n\nI have observed in my first part that I was born in a dying state. A\ndefect in the bladder caused me, during my early years, to suffer an\nalmost continual retention of urine, and my Aunt Susan, to whose care I\nwas intrusted, had inconceivable difficulty in preserving me. However,\nshe succeeded, and my robust constitution at length got the better of\nall my weakness, and my health became so well established that except\nthe illness from languor, of which I have given an account, and frequent\nheats in the bladder which the least heating of the blood rendered\ntroublesome, I arrived at the age of thirty almost without feeling my\noriginal infirmity. The first time this happened was upon my arrival at\nVenice. The fatigue of the voyage, and the extreme heat I had suffered,\nrenewed the burnings, and gave me a pain in the loins, which continued\nuntil the beginning of winter. After having seen padoana, I thought\nmyself near the end of my career, but I suffered not the least\ninconvenience. After exhausting my imagination more than my body for my\nZulietta, I enjoyed better health than ever. It was not until after\nthe imprisonment of Diderot that the heat of blood, brought on by my\njourneys to Vincennes during the terrible heat of that summer, gave me a\nviolent nephritic colic, since which I have never recovered my primitive\ngood state of health.\n\nAt the time of which I speak, having perhaps fatigued myself too much in\nthe filthy work of the cursed receiver-general's office, I fell into a\nworse state than ever, and remained five or six weeks in my bed in the\nmost melancholy state imaginable. Madam Dupin sent me the celebrated\nMorand who, notwithstanding his address and the delicacy of his touch,\nmade me suffer the greatest torments. He advised me to have recourse to\nDaran, who, in fact gave me some relief: but Morand, when he gave Madam\nDupin an account of the state I was in, declared to her I should not be\nalive in six months. This afterwards came to my ear, and made me reflect\nseriously on my situation and the folly of sacrificing the repose of the\nfew days I had to live to the slavery of an employment for which I\nfelt nothing but disgust. Besides, how was it possible to reconcile the\nsevere principles I had just adopted to a situation with which they had\nso little relation? Should not I, the cash-keeper of a receiver-general\nof finances, have preached poverty and disinterestedness with a very ill\ngrace? These ideas fermented so powerfully in my mind with the fever,\nand were so strongly impressed, that from that time nothing could remove\nthem; and, during my convalescence, I confirmed myself with the greatest\ncoolness in the resolutions I had taken during my delirium. I forever\nabandoned all projects of fortune and advancement, resolved to pass in\nindependence and poverty the little time I had to exist. I made every\neffort of which my mind was capable to break the fetters of prejudice,\nand courageously to do everything that was right without giving myself\nthe least concern about the judgment of others. The obstacles I had to\ncombat, and the efforts I made to triumph over them, are inconceivable.\nI succeeded as much as it was possible I should, and to a greater degree\nthan I myself had hoped for. Had I at the same time shaken off the yoke\nof friendship as well as that of prejudice, my design would have been\naccomplished, perhaps the greatest, at least the most useful one to\nvirtue, that mortal ever conceived; but whilst I despised the foolish\njudgments of the vulgar tribe called great and wise, I suffered myself\nto be influenced and led by persons who called themselves my friends.\nThese, hurt at seeing me walk alone in a new path, while I seemed to\ntake measures for my happiness, used all their endeavors to render me\nridiculous, and that they might afterwards defame me, first strove to\nmake me contemptible. It was less my literary fame than my personal\nreformation, of which I here state the period, that drew upon me their\njealousy; they perhaps might have pardoned me for having distinguished\nmyself in the art of writing; but they could never forgive my setting\nthem, by my conduct, an example, which, in their eyes, seemed to reflect\non themselves. I was born for friendship; my mind and easy disposition\nnourished it without difficulty. As long as I lived unknown to the\npublic I was beloved by all my private acquaintance, and I had not a\nsingle enemy. But the moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer\na friend. This, was a great misfortune; but a still greater was that of\nbeing surrounded by people who called themselves my friends, and used\nthe rights attached to that sacred name to lead me on to destruction.\nThe succeeding part of these memoirs will explain this odious\nconspiracy. I here speak of its origin, and the manner of the first\nintrigue will shortly appear.\n\nIn the independence in which I lived, it was, however, necessary to\nsubsist. To this effect I thought of very simple means: which were\ncopying music at so much a page. If any employment more solid would have\nfulfilled the same end I would have taken it up; but this occupation\nbeing to my taste, and the only one which, without personal attendance,\ncould procure me daily bread, I adopted it. Thinking I had no longer\nneed of foresight, and, stifling the vanity of cash-keeper to a\nfinancier, I made myself a copyist of music. I thought I had made an\nadvantageous choice, and of this I so little repented, that I never\nquitted my new profession until I was forced to do it, after taking a\nfixed resolution to return to it as soon as possible.\n\nThe success of my first discourse rendered the execution of this\nresolution more easy. As soon as it had gained the premium, Diderot\nundertook to get it printed. Whilst I was in my bed, he wrote me a note\ninforming me of the publication and effect: \"It takes,\" said he, \"beyond\nall imagination; never was there an instance of a like success.\"\n\nThis favor of the public, by no means solicited, and to an unknown\nauthor, gave me the first real assurance of my talents, of which,\nnotwithstanding an internal sentiment, I had always had my doubts. I\nconceived the great advantage to be drawn from it in favor of the way of\nlife I had determined to pursue; and was of opinion, that a copyist\nof some celebrity in the republic of letters was not likely to want\nemployment.\n\nThe moment my resolution was confirmed, I wrote a note to M. de\nFrancueil, communicating to him my intentions, thanking him and Madam\nDupin for all goodness, and offering them my services in the way of my\nnew profession. Francueil did not understand my note, and, thinking I\nwas still in the delirium of fever, hastened to my apartment; but he\nfound me so determined, that all he could say to me was without the\nleast effect. He went to Madam Dupin, and told her and everybody he met,\nthat I had become insane. I let him say what he pleased, and pursued the\nplan I had conceived. I began the change in my dress; I quitted laced\nclothes and white stockings; I put on a round wig, laid aside my sword,\nand sold my watch; saying to myself, with inexpressible pleasure: \"Thank\nHeaven! I shall no longer want to know the hour!\" M. de Francueil had\nthe goodness to wait a considerable time before he disposed of my place.\nAt length perceiving me inflexibly resolved, he gave it to M. d'Alibard,\nformerly tutor to the young Chenonceaux, and known as a botanist by his\nFlora Parisiensis.\n\n     [I doubt not but these circumstances are now differently related by\n     M. Francueil and his consorts: but I appeal to what he said of them\n     at the time and long afterwards, to everybody he knew, until the\n     forming of the conspiracy, and of which men of common sense and\n     honor, must have preserved a remembrance.]\n\nHowever austere my sumptuary reform might be, I did not at first extend\nit to my linen, which was fine and in great quantity, the remainder of\nmy stock when at Venice, and to which I was particularly attached. I had\nmade it so much an object of cleanliness, that it became one of luxury,\nwhich was rather expensive. Some persons, however, did me the favor to\ndeliver me from this servitude. On Christmas Eve, whilst the governesses\nwere at vespers, and I was at the spiritual concert, the door of a\ngarret, in which all our linen was hung up after being washed, was\nbroken open. Everything was stolen; and amongst other things, forty-two\nof my shirts, of very fine linen, and which were the principal part of\nmy stock. By the manner in which the neighbors described a man whom they\nhad seen come out of the hotel with several parcels whilst we were all\nabsent, Theresa and myself suspected her brother, whom we knew to be a\nworthless man. The mother strongly endeavored to remove this suspicion,\nbut so many circumstances concurred to prove it to be well founded,\nthat, notwithstanding all she could say, our opinions remained still the\nsame: I dared not make a strict search for fear of finding more than\nI wished to do. The brother never returned to the place where I lived,\nand, at length, was no more heard of by any of us. I was much grieved\nTheresa and myself should be connected with such a family, and I\nexhorted her more than ever to shake off so dangerous a yoke. This\nadventure cured me of my inclination for fine linen, and since that time\nall I have had has been very common, and more suitable to the rest of my\ndress.\n\nHaving thus completed the change of that which related to my person, all\nmy cares tendered to render it solid and lasting, by striving to root\nout from my heart everything susceptible of receiving an impression from\nthe judgment of men, or which, from the fear of blame, might turn me\naside from anything good and reasonable in itself. In consequence of the\nsuccess of my work, my resolution made some noise in the world also,\nand procured me employment; so that I began my new profession with\ngreat appearance of success. However, several causes prevented me\nfrom succeeding in it to the same degree I should under any other\ncircumstances have done. In the first place my ill state of health. The\nattack I had just had, brought on consequences which prevented my ever\nbeing so well as I was before; and I am of opinion, the physicians, to\nwhose care I intrusted myself, did me as much harm as my illness. I was\nsuccessively under the hands of Morand, Daran, Helvetius, Malouin, and\nThyerri: men able in their profession, and all of them my friends, who\ntreated me each according to his own manner, without giving me the least\nrelief, and weakened me considerably. The more I submitted to their\ndirection, the yellower, thinner, and weaker I became. My imagination,\nwhich they terrified, judging of my situation by the effect of their\ndrugs, presented to me, on this side of the tomb, nothing but continued\nsufferings from the gravel, stone, and retention of urine. Everything\nwhich gave relief to others, ptisans, baths, and bleeding, increased my\ntortures. Perceiving the bougees of Daran, the only ones that had any\nfavorable effect, and without which I thought I could no longer exist,\nto give me a momentary relief, I procured a prodigious number of them,\nthat, in case of Daran's death, I might never be at a loss. During the\neight or ten years in which I made such frequent use of these, they\nmust, with what I had left, have cost me fifty louis.\n\nIt will easily be judged, that such expensive and painful means did\nnot permit me to work without interruption; and that a dying man is not\nardently industrious in the business by which he gains his daily bread.\n\nLiterary occupations caused another interruption not less prejudicial\nto my daily employment. My discourse had no sooner appeared than the\ndefenders of letters fell upon me as if they had agreed with each to do\nit. My indignation was so raised at seeing so many blockheads, who did\nnot understand the question, attempt to decide upon it imperiously, that\nin my answer I gave some of them the worst of it. One M. Gautier, of\nNancy, the first who fell under the lash of my pen, was very roughly\ntreated in a letter to M. Grimm. The second was King Stanislaus,\nhimself, who did not disdain to enter the lists with me. The honor he\ndid me, obliged me to change my manner in combating his opinions; I\nmade use of a graver style, but not less nervous; and without failing in\nrespect to the author, I completely refuted his work. I knew a Jesuit,\nFather de Menou, had been concerned in it. I depended on my judgment to\ndistinguish what was written by the prince, from the production of\nthe monk, and falling without mercy upon all the jesuitical phrases,\nI remarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I thought could come\nfrom nobody but the priest. This composition, which, for what reason I\nknew not, has been less spoken of than any of my other writings, is the\nonly one of its kind. I seized the opportunity which offered of showing\nto the public in what manner an individual may defend the cause of truth\neven against a sovereign. It is difficult to adopt a more dignified and\nrespectful manner than that in which I answered him. I had the happiness\nto have to do with an adversary to whom, without adulation, I could show\nevery mark of the esteem of which my heart was full; and this I did\nwith success and a proper dignity. My friends, concerned for my safety,\nimagined they already saw me in the Bastile. This apprehension never\nonce entered my head, and I was right in not being afraid. The good\nprince, after reading my answer, said: \"I have enough of at; I will\nnot return to the charge.\" I have, since that time received from him\ndifferent marks of esteem and benevolence, some of which I shall have\noccasion to speak of; and what I had written was read in France, and\nthroughout Europe, without meeting the least censure.\n\nIn a little time I had another adversary whom I had not expected; this\nwas the same M. Bordes, of Lyons, who ten years before had shown me much\nfriendship, and from whom I had received several services. I had not\nforgotten him, but had neglected him from idleness, and had not sent him\nmy writings for want of an opportunity, without seeking for it, to\nget them conveyed to his hands. I was therefore in the wrong, and he\nattacked me; this, however, he did politely, and I answered in the same\nmanner. He replied more decidedly. This produced my last answer; after\nwhich I heard no more from him upon the subject; but he became my most\nviolent enemy, took the advantage of the time of my misfortunes, to\npublish against me the most indecent libels, and made a journey to\nLondon on purpose to do me an injury.\n\nAll this controversy employed me a good deal, and caused me a great loss\nof my time in my copying, without much contributing to the progress of\ntruth, or the good of my purse. Pissot, at that time my bookseller, gave\nme but little for my pamphlets, frequently nothing at all, and I never\nreceived a farthing for my first discourse. Diderot gave it him. I was\nobliged to wait a long time for the little he gave me, and to take it\nfrom him in the most trifling sums. Notwithstanding this, my copying\nwent on but slowly. I had two things together upon my hands, which was\nthe most likely means of doing them both ill.\n\nThey were very opposite to each other in their effects by the different\nmanners of living to which they rendered me subject. The success of\nmy first writings had given me celebrity. My new situation excited\ncuriosity. Everybody wished to know that whimsical man who sought not\nthe acquaintance of any one, and whose only desire was to live free and\nhappy in the manner he had chosen; this was sufficient to make the thing\nimpossible to me. My apartment was continually full of people, who,\nunder different pretences, came to take up my time. The women employed a\nthousand artifices to engage me to dinner. The more unpolite I was with\npeople, the more obstinate they became. I could not refuse everybody.\nWhile I made myself a thousand enemies by my refusals, I was incessantly\na slave to my complaisance, and, in whatever manner I made my\nengagements, I had not an hour in a day to myself.\n\nI then perceived it was not so easy to be poor and independent, as I had\nimagined. I wished to live by my profession: the public would not suffer\nme to do it. A thousand means were thought of to indemnify me for the\ntime I lost. The next thing would have been showing myself like Punch,\nat so much each person. I knew no dependence more cruel and degrading\nthan this. I saw no other method of putting an end to it than refusing\nall kinds of presents, great and small, let them come from whom they\nwould. This had no other effect than to increase the number of givers,\nwho wished to have the honor of overcoming my resistance, and to force\nme, in spite of myself, to be under an obligation to them.\n\nMany, who would not have given me half-a-crown had I asked it from them,\nincessantly importuned me with their offers, and, in revenge for my\nrefusal, taxed me with arrogance and ostentation.\n\nIt will naturally be conceived that the resolutions I had taken, and the\nsystem I wished to follow, were not agreeable to Madam le Vasseur. All\nthe disinterestedness of the daughter did not prevent her from following\nthe directions of her mother; and the governesses, as Gauffecourt called\nthem, were not always so steady in their refusals as I was. Although\nmany things were concealed from me, I perceived so many as were\nnecessary to enable me to judge that I did not see all, and this\ntormented me less by the accusation of connivance, which it was so easy\nfor me to foresee, than by the cruel idea of never being master in\nmy own apartments, nor even of my own person. I prayed, conjured, and\nbecame angry, all to no purpose; the mother made me pass for an eternal\ngrumbler, and a man who was peevish and ungovernable. She held perpetual\nwhisperings with my friends; everything in my little family was\nmysterious and a secret to me; and, that I might not incessantly expose\nmyself to noisy quarrelling, I no longer dared to take notice of what\npassed in it. A firmness of which I was not capable, would have been\nnecessary to withdraw me from this domestic strife. I knew how to\ncomplain, but not how to act: they suffered me to say what I pleased,\nand continued to act as they thought proper.\n\nThis constant teasing, and the daily importunities to which I was\nsubject, rendered the house, and my residence at Paris, disagreeable to\nme. When my indisposition permitted me to go out, and I did not suffer\nmyself to be led by my acquaintance first to one place and then to\nanother, I took a walk, alone, and reflected on my grand system,\nsomething of which I committed to paper, bound up between two covers,\nwhich, with a pencil, I always had in my pocket. In this manner, the\nunforeseen disagreeableness of a situation I had chosen entirely led me\nback to literature, to which unsuspectedly I had recourse as a means of\nreleaving my mind, and thus, in the first works I wrote, I introduced\nthe peevishness and ill-humor which were the cause of my undertaking\nthem. There was another circumstance which contributed not a little\nto this; thrown into the world despite of myself, without having the\nmanners of it, or being in a situation to adopt and conform myself to\nthem, I took it into my head to adopt others of my own, to enable me to\ndispense with those of society. My foolish timidity, which I could not\nconquer, having for principle the fear of being wanting in the common\nforms, I took, by way of encouraging myself, a resolution to tread them\nunder foot. I became sour and cynic from shame, and affected to despise\nthe politeness which I knew not how to practice. This austerity,\nconformable to my new principles, I must confess, seemed to ennoble\nitself in my mind; it assumed in my eyes the form of the intrepidity\nof virtue, and I dare assert it to be upon this noble basis, that it\nsupported itself longer and better than could have been expected from\nanything so contrary to my nature. Yet, not withstanding, I had the\nname of a misanthrope, which my exterior appearance and some happy\nexpressions had given me in the world: it is certain I did not support\nthe character well in private, that my friends and acquaintance led this\nuntractable bear about like a lamb, and that, confining my sarcasms\nto severe but general truths, I was never capable of saying an uncivil\nthing to any person whatsoever.\n\nThe 'Devin du Village' brought me completely into vogue, and presently\nafter there was not a man in Paris whose company was more sought after\nthan mine. The history of this piece, which is a kind of era in my life,\nis joined with that of the connections I had at that time. I must\nenter a little into particulars to make what is to follow the better\nunderstood.\n\nI had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two friends: Diderot and\nGrimm. By an effect of the desire I have ever felt to unite everything\nthat is dear to me, I was too much a friend to both not to make them\nshortly become so to each other. I connected them: they agreed well\ntogether, and shortly become more intimate with each other than with\nme. Diderot had a numerous acquaintance, but Grimm, a stranger and a\nnew-comer, had his to procure, and with the greatest pleasure I procured\nhim all I could. I had already given him Diderot. I afterwards brought\nhim acquainted with Gauffecourt. I introduced him to Madam Chenonceaux,\nMadam D'Epinay, and the Baron d'Holbach; with whom I had become\nconnected almost in spite of myself. All my friends became his: this was\nnatural: but not one of his ever became mine; which was inclining to the\ncontrary. Whilst he yet lodged at the house of the Comte de Friese, he\nfrequently gave us dinners in his apartment, but I never received the\nleast mark of friendship from the Comte de Friese, Comte de Schomberg,\nhis relation, very familiar with Grimm, nor from any other person, man\nor woman, with whom Grimm, by their means, had any connection. I except\nthe Abbe Raynal, who, although his friend, gave proofs of his being\nmine; and in cases of need, offered me his purse with a generosity\nnot very common. But I knew the Abbe Raynal long before Grimm had any\nacquaintance with him, and had entertained a great regard for him on\naccount of his delicate and honorable behavior to me upon a slight\noccasion, which I shall never forget.\n\nThe Abbe Raynal is certainly a warm friend; of this I saw a proof, much\nabout the time of which I speak, with respect to Grimm himself, with\nwhom he was very intimate. Grimm, after having been sometime on a\nfooting of friendship with Mademoiselle Fel, fell violently in love with\nher, and wished to supplant Cahusac. The young lady, piquing herself on\nher constancy, refused her new admirer. He took this so much to heart,\nthat the appearance of his affliction became tragical. He suddenly fell\ninto the strangest state imaginable. He passed days and nights in a\ncontinued lethargy. He lay with his eyes open; and although his pulse\ncontinued to beat regularly, without speaking, eating, or stirring, yet\nsometimes seeming to hear what was said to him, but never answering,\nnot even by a sign, and remaining almost as immovable as if he had been\ndead, yet without agitation, pain, or fever. The Abbe Raynal and myself\nwatched over him; the abbe, more robust, and in better health than I\nwas, by night, and I by day, without ever both being absent at one time.\nThe Comte de Friese was alarmed, and brought to him Senac, who, after\nhaving examined the state in which he was, said there was nothing to\napprehend, and took his leave without giving a prescription. My\nfears for my friend made me carefully observe the countenance of the\nphysician, and I perceived him smile as he went away. However, the\npatient remained several days almost motionless, without taking anything\nexcept a few preserved cherries, which from time to time I put upon his\ntongue, and which he swallowed without difficulty. At length he, one\nmorning, rose, dressed himself, and returned to his usual way of life,\nwithout either at that time or afterwards speaking to me or the Abbe\nRaynal, at least that I know of, or to any other person, of this\nsingular lethargy, or the care we had taken of him during the time it\nlasted.\n\nThe affair made a noise, and it would really have been a wonderful\ncircumstance had the cruelty of an opera girl made a man die of despair.\nThis strong passion brought Grimm into vogue; he was soon considered as\na prodigy in love, friendship, and attachments of every kind. Such an\nopinion made his company sought after, and procured him a good reception\nin the first circles; by which means he separated from me, with whom he\nwas never inclined to associate when he could do it with anybody else.\nI perceived him to be on the point of breaking with me entirely; for\nthe lively and ardent sentiments, of which he made a parade, were those\nwhich with less noise and pretensions, I had really conceived for him. I\nwas glad he succeeded in the world; but I did not wish him to do this\nby forgetting his friend. I one day said to him: \"Grimm, you neglect me,\nand I forgive you for it. When the first intoxication of your success\nis over, and you begin to perceive a void in your enjoyments, I hope\nyou will return to your friend, whom you will always find in the same\nsentiments; at present do not constrain yourself, I leave you at liberty\nto act as you please, and wait your leisure.\" He said I was right, made\nhis arrangements in consequence, and shook off all restraint, so that I\nsaw no more of him except in company with our common friends.\n\nOur chief rendezvous, before he was connected with Madam d'Epinay as he\nafterwards became, was at the house of Baron d'Holbach. This said baron\nwas the son of a man who had raised himself from obscurity. His fortune\nwas considerable, and he used it nobly, receiving at his house men of\nletters and merit: and, by the knowledge he himself had acquired, was\nvery worthy of holding a place amongst them. Having been long attached\nto Diderot, he endeavored to become acquainted with me by his means,\neven before my name was known to the world. A natural repugnancy\nprevented me a long time from answering his advances. One day, when he\nasked me the reason of my unwillingness, I told him he was too rich. He\nwas, however, resolved to carry his point, and at length succeeded. My\ngreatest misfortune proceeded from my being unable to resist the force\nof marked attention. I have ever had reason to repent of having yielded\nto it.\n\nAnother acquaintance which, as soon as I had any pretensions to it, was\nconverted into friendship, was that of M. Duclos. I had several years\nbefore seen him, for the first time, at the Chevrette, at the house of\nMadam d'Epinay, with whom he was upon very good terms. On that day we\nonly dined together, and he returned to town in the afternoon. But we\nhad a conversation of a few moments after dinner. Madam d'Epinay had\nmentioned me to him, and my opera of the 'Muses Gallantes'. Duclos,\nendowed with too great talents not to be a friend to those in whom the\nlike were found, was prepossessed in my favor, and invited me to go and\nsee him. Notwithstanding my former wish, increased by an acquaintance,\nI was withheld by my timidity and indolence, as long as I had no other\npassport to him than his complaisance. But encouraged by my first\nsuccess, and by his eulogiums, which reached my ears, I went to see him;\nhe returned my visit, and thus began the connection between us, which\nwill ever render him dear to me. By him, as well as from the testimony\nof my own heart, I learned that uprightness and probity may sometimes be\nconnected with the cultivation of letters.\n\nMany other connections less solid, and which I shall not here\nparticularize, were the effects of my first success, and lasted until\ncuriosity was satisfied. I was a man so easily known, that on the next\nday nothing new was to be discovered in me. However, a woman, who at\nthat time was desirous of my acquaintance, became much more solidly\nattached to me than any of those whose curiosity I had excited: this was\nthe Marchioness of Crequi, niece to M. le Bailli de Froulay, ambassador\nfrom Malta, whose brother had preceded M. de Montaigu in the embassy to\nVenice, and whom I had gone to see on my return from that city. Madam de\nCrequi wrote to me: I visited her: she received me into her friendship.\nI sometimes dined with her. I met at her table several men of letters,\namongst others M. Saurin, the author of Spartacus, Barnevelt, etc.,\nsince become my implacable enemy; for no other reason, at least that\nI can imagine, than my bearing the name of a man whom his father has\ncruelly persecuted.\n\nIt will appear that for a copyist, who ought to be employed in his\nbusiness from morning till night, I had many interruptions, which\nrendered my days not very lucrative, and prevented me from being\nsufficiently attentive to what I did to do it well; for which reason,\nhalf the time I had to myself was lost in erasing errors or beginning\nmy sheet anew. This daily importunity rendered Paris more unsupportable,\nand made me ardently wish to be in the country. I several times went to\npass a few days at Mercoussis, the vicar of which was known to Madam le\nVasseur, and with whom we all arranged ourselves in such a manner as not\nto make things disagreeable to him. Grimm once went thither with us.\n\n     [Since I have neglected to relate here a trifling, but memorable\n     adventure I had with the said Grimm one day, on which we were to\n     dine at the fountain of St. Vandrille, I will let it pass: but when\n     I thought of it afterwards, I concluded that he was brooding in his\n     heart the conspiracy he has, with so much success, since carried\n     into execution.]\n\nThe vicar had a tolerable voice, sung well, and, although he did not\nread music, learned his part with great facility and precision. We\npassed our time in singing the trios I had composed at Chenonceaux. To\nthese I added two or three new ones, to the words Grimm and the vicar\nwrote, well or ill. I cannot refrain from regretting these trios\ncomposed and sung in moments of pure joy, and which I left at Wootton,\nwith all my music. Mademoiselle Davenport has perhaps curled her hair\nwith them; but they are worthy of being preserved, and are, for the\nmost part, of very good counterpoint. It was after one of these little\nexcursions in which I had the pleasure of seeing the aunt at her ease\nand very cheerful, and in which my spirits were much enlivened, that I\nwrote to the vicar very rapidly and very ill, an epistle in verse which\nwill be found amongst my papers.\n\nI had nearer to Paris another station much to my liking with M. Mussard,\nmy countryman, relation and friend, who at Passy had made himself a\ncharming retreat, where I have passed some very peaceful moments. M.\nMussard was a jeweller, a man of good sense, who, after having acquired\na genteel fortune, had given his only daughter in marriage to M. de\nValmalette, the son of an exchange broker, and maitre d'hotel to the\nking, took the wise resolution to quit business in his declining years,\nand to place an interval of repose and enjoyment between the hurry and\nthe end of life. The good man Mussard, a real philosopher in practice,\nlived without care, in a very pleasant house which he himself had built\nin a very pretty garden, laid out with his own hands. In digging the\nterraces of this garden he found fossil shells, and in such great\nquantities that his lively imagination saw nothing but shells in nature.\nHe really thought the universe was composed of shells and the remains of\nshells, and that the whole earth was only the sand of these in different\nstratae. His attention thus constantly engaged with his singular\ndiscoveries, his imagination became so heated with the ideas they gave\nhim, that, in his head, they would soon have been converted into\na system, that is into folly, if, happily for his reason, but\nunfortunately for his friends, to whom he was dear, and to whom his\nhouse was an agreeable asylum, a most cruel and extraordinary disease\nhad not put an end to his existence. A constantly increasing tumor in\nhis stomach prevented him from eating, long before the cause of it was\ndiscovered, and, after several years of suffering, absolutely occasioned\nhim to die of hunger. I can never, without the greatest affliction of\nmind, call to my recollection the last moments of this worthy man,\nwho still received with so much pleasure Leneips and myself, the only\nfriends whom the sight of his sufferings did not separate from him\nuntil his last hour, when he was reduced to devouring with his eyes the\nrepasts he had placed before us, scarcely having the power of swallowing\na few drops of weak tea, which came up again a moment afterwards. But\nbefore these days of sorrow, how many have I passed at his house, with\nthe chosen friends he had made himself! At the head of the list I place\nthe Abbe Prevot, a very amiable man, and very sincere, whose heart\nvivified his writings, worthy of immortality, and who, neither in his\ndisposition nor in society, had the least of the melancholy coloring\nhe gave to his works. Procope, the physician, a little Esop, a favorite\nwith the ladies; Boulanger, the celebrated posthumous author of\n'Despotisme Oriental', and who, I am of opinion, extended the systems\nof Mussard on the duration of the world. The female part of his friends\nconsisted of Madam Denis, niece to Voltaire, who, at that time, was\nnothing more than a good kind of woman, and pretended not to wit: Madam\nVanloo, certainly not handsome, but charming, and who sang like an\nangel: Madam de Valmalette, herself, who sang also, and who, although\nvery thin, would have been very amiable had she had fewer pretensions.\nSuch, or very nearly such, was the society of M. Mussard, with which I\nshould had been much pleased, had not his conchyliomania more engaged\nmy attention; and I can say, with great truth, that, for upwards of six\nmonths, I worked with him in his cabinet with as much pleasure as he\nfelt himself.\n\nHe had long insisted upon the virtue of the waters of Passy, that they\nwere proper in my case, and recommended me to come to his house to\ndrink them. To withdraw myself from the tumult of the city, I at length\nconsented, and went to pass eight or ten days at Passy, which, on\naccount of my being in the country, were of more service to me than the\nwaters I drank during my stay there. Mussard played the violincello, and\nwas passionately found of Italian music. This was the subject of a\nlong conversation we had one evening after supper, particularly the\n'opera-buffe' we had both seen in Italy, and with which we were highly\ndelighted. My sleep having forsaken me in the night, I considered in\nwhat manner it would be possible to give in France an idea of this kind\nof drama. The 'Amours de Ragonde' did not in the least resemble it. In\nthe morning, whilst I took my walk and drank the waters, I hastily threw\ntogether a few couplets to which I adapted such airs as occurred to\nme at the moments. I scribbled over what I had composed, in a kind of\nvaulted saloon at the end of the garden, and at tea. I could not refrain\nfrom showing the airs to Mussard and to Mademoiselle du Vernois, his\n'gouvernante', who was a very good and amiable girl. Three pieces of\ncomposition I had sketched out were the first monologue: 'J'ai perdu mon\nserviteur;'--the air of the Devin; 'L'amour croit s'il s'inquiete;' and\nthe last duo: 'A jamais, Colin, je t'engage, etc.' I was so far from\nthinking it worth while to continue what I had begun, that, had it not\nbeen for the applause and encouragement I received from both Mussard and\nMademoiselle, I should have thrown my papers into the fire and thought\nno more of their contents, as I had frequently done by things of much\nthe same merit; but I was so animated by the encomiums I received, that\nin six days, my drama, excepting a few couplets, was written. The music\nalso was so far sketched out, that all I had further to do to it after\nmy return from Paris, was to compose a little of the recitative, and\nto add the middle parts, the whole of which I finished with so much\nrapidity, that in three weeks my work was ready for representation. The\nonly thing now wanting, was the divertissement, which was not composed\nuntil a long time afterwards.\n\nMy imagination was so warmed by the composition of this work that I had\nthe strongest desire to hear it performed, and would have given anything\nto have seen and heard the whole in the manner I should have chosen,\nwhich would have been that of Lully, who is said to have had 'Armide'\nperformed for himself only. As it was not possible I should hear the\nperformance unaccompanied by the public, I could not see the effect of\nmy piece without getting it received at the opera. Unfortunately it was\nquite a new species of composition, to which the ears of the public were\nnot accustomed; and besides the ill success of the 'Muses Gallantes'\ngave too much reason to fear for the Devin, if I presented it in my own\nname. Duclos relieved me from this difficulty, and engaged to get the\npiece rehearsed without mentioning the author. That I might not discover\nmyself, I did not go to the rehearsal, and the 'Petits violons', by\nwhom it was directed, knew not who the author was until after a general\nplaudit had borne the testimony of the work.\n\n     [Rebel and Frauneur, who, when they were very young, went together\n     from house to house playing on the violin, were so called.]\n\nEverybody present was so delighted with it, that, on the next day,\nnothing else was spoken of in the different companies. M. de Cury,\nIntendant des Menus, who was present at the rehearsal, demanded the\npiece to have it performed at court. Duclos, who knew my intentions, and\nthought I should be less master of my work at the court than at Paris,\nrefused to give it. Cury claimed it authoratively. Duclos persisted in\nhis refusal, and the dispute between them was carried to such a length,\nthat one day they would have gone out from the opera-house together had\nthey not been separated. M. de Cury applied to me, and I referred him\nto Duclos. This made it necessary to return to the latter. The Duke\nd'Aumont interfered; and at length Duclos thought proper to yield to\nauthority, and the piece was given to be played at Fontainebleau.\n\nThe part to which I had been most attentive, and in which I had kept at\nthe greatest distance from the common track, was the recitative. Mine\nwas accented in a manner entirely new, and accompanied the utterance of\nthe word. The directors dared not suffer this horrid innovation to pass,\nlest it should shock the ears of persons who never judge for themselves.\nAnother recitative was proposed by Francueil and Jelyotte, to which I\nconsented; but refused at the same time to have anything to do with it\nmyself.\n\nWhen everything was ready and the day of performance fixed, a\nproposition was made me to go to Fontainebleau, that I might at least be\nat the last rehearsal. I went with Mademoiselle Fel, Grimm, and I think\nthe Abbe Raynal, in one of the stages to the court. The rehearsal was\ntolerable: I was more satisfied with it than I expected to have been.\nThe orchestra was numerous, composed of the orchestras of the opera\nand the king's band. Jelyotte played Colin, Mademoiselle Fel, Colette,\nCuvillier the Devin: the choruses were those of the opera. I said but\nlittle; Jelyotte had prepared everything; I was unwilling either to\napprove of or censure what he had done; and notwithstanding I had\nassumed the air of an old Roman, I was, in the midst of so many people,\nas bashful as a schoolboy.\n\nThe next morning, the day of performance, I went to breakfast at the\ncoffee-house 'du grand commun', where I found a great number of people.\nThe rehearsal of the preceding evening, and the difficulty of getting\ninto the theatre, were the subjects of conversation. An officer present\nsaid he entered with the greatest ease, gave a long account of what had\npassed, described the author, and related what he had said and done;\nbut what astonished me most in this long narrative, given with as much\nassurance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syllable of\ntruth. It was clear to me that he who spoke so positively of the\nrehearsal had not been at it, because, without knowing him, he had\nbefore his eyes that author whom he said he had seen and examined so\nminutely. However, what was more singular still in this scene, was its\neffect upon me. The officer was a man rather in years, he had nothing of\nthe appearance of a coxcomb; his features appeared to announce a man\nof merit; and his cross of Saint Louis, an officer of long standing.\nHe interested me: notwithstanding his impudence. Whilst he uttered his\nlies, I blushed, looked down, and was upon thorns; I, for some time,\nendeavored within myself to find the means of believing him to be in an\ninvoluntary error. At length, trembling lest some person should know me,\nand by this means confound him, I hastily drank my chocolate, without\nsaying a word, and, holding down my head, I passed before him, got out\nof the coffee-house as soon as possible, whilst the company were making\ntheir remarks upon the relation that had been given. I was no sooner in\nthe street than I was in a perspiration, and had anybody known and named\nme before I left the room, I am certain all the shame and embarrassment\nof a guilty person would have appeared in my countenance, proceeding\nfrom what I felt the poor man would have had to have suffered had his\nlie been discovered.\n\nI come to one of the critical moments of my life, in which it is\ndifficult to do anything more than to relate, because it is almost\nimpossible that even narrative should not carry with it the marks of\ncensure or apology. I will, however, endeavor to relate how and upon\nwhat motives I acted, with out adding either approbation or censure.\n\nI was on that day in the same careless undress as usual, with a long\nbeard and wig badly combed. Considering this want of decency as an act\nof courage, I entered the theatre wherein the king, queen, the royal\nfamily, and the whole court were to enter immediately after. I was\nconducted to a box by M. de Cury, and which belonged to him. It was very\nspacious, upon the stage and opposite to a lesser, but more elevated\none, in which the king sat with Madam de Pompadour.\n\nAs I was surrounded by women, and the only man in front of the box, I\nhad no doubt of my having been placed there purposely to be exposed to\nview. As soon as the theatre was lighted up, finding I was in the midst\nof people all extremely well dressed, I began to be less at my ease,\nand asked myself if I was in my place? whether or not I was properly\ndressed? After a few minutes of inquietude: \"Yes,\" replied I, with\nan intrepidity which perhaps proceeded more from the impossibility\nof retracting than the force of all my reasoning, \"I am in my place,\nbecause I am going to see my own piece performed, to which I have been\ninvited, for which reason only I am come here; and after all, no person\nhas a greater right than I have to reap the fruit of my labor and\ntalents; I am dressed as usual, neither better nor worse; and if I once\nbegin to subject myself to public opinion, I shall shortly become a\nslave to it in everything. To be always consistent with myself, I\nought not to blush, in any place whatever, at being dressed in a manner\nsuitable to the state I have chosen. My exterior appearance is simple,\nbut neither dirty nor slovenly; nor is a beard either of these in\nitself, because it is given us by nature, and according to time, place\nand custom, is sometimes an ornament. People think I am ridiculous, nay,\neven absurd; but what signifies this to me? I ought to know how to bear\ncensure and ridicule, provided I do not deserve them.\" After this little\nsoliloquy I became so firm that, had it been necessary, I could have\nbeen intrepid. But whether it was the effect of the presence of his\nmajesty, or the natural disposition of those about me, I perceived\nnothing but what was civil and obliging in the curiosity of which I\nwas the object. This so much affected me that I began to be uneasy for\nmyself, and the fate of my piece; fearing I should efface the favorable\nprejudices which seemed to lead to nothing but applause. I was armed\nagainst raillery; but, so far overcome, by the flattering and obliging\ntreatment I had not expected, that I trembled like a child when the\nperformance was begun.\n\nI had soon sufficient reason to be encouraged. The piece was very ill\nplayed with respect to the actors, but the musical part was well sung\nand executed. During the first scene, which was really of a delightful\nsimplicity, I heard in the boxes a murmur of surprise and applause,\nwhich, relative to pieces of the same kind, had never yet happened. The\nfermentation was soon increased to such a degree as to be perceptible\nthrough the whole audience, and of which, to speak--after the manner of\nMontesquieu--the effect was augmented by itself. In the scene between\nthe two good little folks, this effect was complete. There is no\nclapping of hands before the king; therefore everything was heard,\nwhich was advantageous to the author and the piece. I heard about me a\nwhispering of women, who appeared as beautiful as angels. They said to\neach other in a low voice: \"This is charming: That is ravishing: There\nis not a sound which does not go to the heart.\" The pleasure of giving\nthis emotion to so many amiable persons moved me to tears; and these I\ncould not contain in the first duo, when I remarked that I was not the\nonly person who wept. I collected myself for a moment, on recollecting\nthe concert of M. de Treitorens. This reminiscence had the effect of the\nslave who held the crown over the head of the general who triumphed,\nbut my reflection was short, and I soon abandoned myself without\ninterruption to the pleasure of enjoying my success. However, I am\ncertain the voluptuousness of the sex was more predominant than the\nvanity of the author, and had none but men been present, I certainly\nshould not have had the incessant desire I felt of catching on my lips\nthe delicious tears I had caused to flow. I have known pieces excite\nmore lively admiration, but I never saw so complete, delightful,\nand affecting an intoxication of the senses reign, during a whole\nrepresentation, especially at court, and at a first performance. They\nwho saw this must recollect it, for it has never yet been equalled.\n\nThe same evening the Duke d' Aumont sent to desire me to be at the\npalace the next day at eleven o'clock, when he would present me to the\nking. M. de Cury, who delivered me the message, added that he thought a\npension was intended, and that his majesty wished to announce it to me\nhimself. Will it be believed that the night of so brilliant a day was\nfor me a night of anguish and perplexity? My first idea, after that of\nbeing presented, was that of my frequently wanting to retire; this had\nmade me suffer very considerably at the theatre, and might torment\nme the next day when I should be in the gallery, or in the king's\napartment, amongst all the great, waiting for the passing of his\nmajesty. My infirmity was the principal cause which prevented me from\nmixing in polite companies, and enjoying the conversation of the fair.\nThe idea alone of the situation in which this want might place me, was\nsufficient to produce it to such a degree as to make me faint away, or\nto recur to means to which, in my opinion, death was much preferable.\nNone but persons who are acquainted with this situation can judge of the\nhorror which being exposed to the risk of it inspires.\n\nI then supposed myself before the king, presented to his majesty,\nwho deigned to stop and speak to me. In this situation, justness of\nexpression and presence of mind were peculiarly necessary in answering.\nWould my timidity which disconcerts me in presence of any stranger\nwhatever, have been shaken off in presence of the King of France;\nor would it have suffered me instantly to make choice of proper\nexpressions? I wished, without laying aside the austere manner I had\nadopted, to show myself sensible of the honor done me by so great a\nmonarch, and in a handsome and merited eulogium to convey some great\nand useful truth. I could not prepare a suitable answer without exactly\nknowing what his majesty was to say to me; and had this been the case, I\nwas certain that, in his presence, I should not recollect a word of what\nI had previously meditated. \"What,\" said I, \"will become of me in this\nmoment, and before the whole court, if, in my confusion, any of my\nstupid expressions should escape me?\" This danger alarmed and terrified\nme. I trembled to such a degree that at all events I was determined not\nto expose myself to it.\n\nI lost, it is true, the pension which in some measure was offered me;\nbut I at the same time exempted myself from the yoke it would have\nimposed. Adieu, truth, liberty, and courage! How should I afterwards\nhave dared to speak of disinterestedness and independence? Had I\nreceived the pension I must either have become a flatterer or remained\nsilent; and, moreover, who would have insured to me the payment of it!\nWhat steps should I have been under the necessity of taking! How many\npeople must I have solicited! I should have had more trouble and anxious\ncares in preserving than in doing without it. Therefore, I thought\nI acted according to my principles by refusing, and sacrificing\nappearances to reality. I communicated my resolution to Grimm, who said\nnothing against it. To others I alleged my ill state of health, and left\nthe court in the morning.\n\nMy departure made some noise, and was generally condemned. My reasons\ncould not be known to everybody, it was therefore easy to accuse me of\nfoolish pride, and thus not irritate the jealousy of such as felt they\nwould not have acted as I had done. The next day Jelyotte wrote me a\nnote, in which he stated the success of my piece, and the pleasure it\nhad afforded the king. \"All day long,\" said he, \"his majesty sings, with\nthe worst voice in his kingdom: 'J'ai perdu mon serviteur: J'ai perdu\ntout mon bonheur.'\" He likewise added, that in a fortnight the Devin was\nto be performed a second time; which confirmed in the eyes of the public\nthe complete success of the first.\n\nTwo days afterwards, about nine o'clock in the evening, as I was going\nto sup with Madam D'Epinay, I perceived a hackney-coach pass by the\ndoor. Somebody within made a sign to me to approach. I did so, and got\ninto it, and found the person to be Diderot. He spoke of the pension\nwith more warmth than, upon such a subject, I should have expected\nfrom a philosopher. He did not blame me for having been unwilling to be\npresented to the king, but severely reproached me with my indifference\nabout the pension. He observed that although on my own account I might\nbe disinterested, I ought not to be so on that of Madam Vasseur and\nher daughter; that it was my duty to seize every means of providing for\ntheir subsistence; and that as, after all, it could not be said I\nhad refused the pension, he maintained I ought, since the king seemed\ndisposed to grant it to me, to solicit and obtain it by one means or\nanother. Although I was obliged to him for his good wishes, I could not\nrelish his maxims, which produced a warm dispute, the first I ever had\nwith him. All our disputes were of this kind, he prescribing to me what\nhe pretended I ought to do, and I defending myself because I was of a\ndifferent opinion.\n\nIt was late when we parted. I would have taken him to supper at Madam\nd' Epinay's, but he refused to go; and, notwithstanding all the efforts\nwhich at different times the desire of uniting those I love induced me\nto make, to prevail upon him to see her, even that of conducting her to\nhis door which he kept shut against us, he constantly refused to do it,\nand never spoke of her but with the utmost contempt. It was not until\nafter I had quarrelled with both that they became acquainted and that he\nbegan to speak honorably of her.\n\nFrom this time Diderot and Grimm seemed to have undertaken to alienate\nfrom me the governesses, by giving them to understand that if they were\nnot in easy circumstances the fault was my own, and that they never\nwould be so with me. They endeavored to prevail on them to leave me,\npromising them the privilege for retailing salt, a snuff shop, and I\nknow not what other advantages by means of the influence of Madam d'\nEpinay. They likewise wished to gain over Duclos and d'Holbach, but\nthe former constantly refused their proposals. I had at the time some\nintimation of what was going forward, but I was not fully acquainted\nwith the whole until long afterwards; and I frequently had reason to\nlament the effects of the blind and indiscreet zeal of my friends, who,\nin my ill state of health, striving to reduce me to the most melancholy\nsolitude, endeavored, as they imagined, to render me happy by the means\nwhich, of all others, were the most proper to make me miserable.\n\nIn the carnival following the conclusion of the year 1753, the Devin\nwas performed at Paris, and in this interval I had sufficient time to\ncompose the overture and divertissement. This divertissement, such as it\nstands engraved, was to be in action from the beginning to the end, and\nin a continued subject, which in my opinion, afforded very agreeable\nrepresentations. But when I proposed this idea at the opera-house,\nnobody would so much as hearken to me, and I was obliged to tack\ntogether music and dances in the usual manner: on this account the\ndivertissement, although full of charming ideas which do not diminish\nthe beauty of scenes, succeeded but very middlingly. I suppressed the\nrecitative of Jelyotte, and substituted my own, such as I had first\ncomposed it, and as it is now engraved; and this recitative a little\nafter the French manner, I confess, drawled out, instead of pronounced\nby the actors, far from shocking the ears of any person, equally\nsucceeded with the airs, and seemed in the judgment of the public to\npossess as much musical merit. I dedicated my piece to Duclos, who had\ngiven it his protection, and declared it should be my only dedication.\nI have, however, with his consent, written a second; but he must have\nthought himself more honored by the exception, than if I had not written\na dedication to any person.\n\nI could relate many anecdotes concerning this piece, but things of\ngreater importance prevent me from entering into a detail of them at\npresent. I shall perhaps resume the subject in a supplement. There is\nhowever one which I cannot omit, as it relates to the greater part of\nwhat is to follow. I one day examined the music of D'Holbach, in his\ncloset. After having looked over many different kinds, he said, showing\nme a collection of pieces for the harpsichord: \"These were composed for\nme; they are full of taste and harmony, and unknown to everybody\nbut myself. You ought to make a selection from them for your\ndivertissement.\" Having in my head more subjects of airs and symphonies\nthan I could make use of, I was not the least anxious to have any\nof his. However, he pressed me so much, that, from a motive of\ncomplaisance, I chose a Pastoral, which I abridged and converted into\na trio, for the entry of the companions of Colette. Some months\nafterwards, and whilst the Devin still continued to be performed, going\ninto Grimms I found several people about his harpsichord, whence he\nhastily rose on my arrival. As I accidently looked toward his music\nstand, I there saw the same collection of the Baron d'Holbach, opened\nprecisely at the piece he had prevailed upon me to take, assuring me\nat the same time that it should never go out of his hands. Some time\nafterwards, I again saw the collection open on the harpischord of M.\nd'Papinay, one day when he gave a little concert. Neither Grimm, nor\nanybody else, ever spoke to me of the air, and my reason for mentioning\nit here is that some time afterwards, a rumor was spread that I was not\nthe author of Devin. As I never made a great progress in the practical\npart, I am persuaded that had it not been for my dictionary of music, it\nwould in the end have been said I did not understand composition.\n\nSometime before the 'Devin du Village' was performed, a company of\nItalian Bouffons had arrived at Paris, and were ordered to perform\nat the opera-house, without the effect they would produce there being\nforeseen. Although they were detestable, and the orchestra, at that\ntime very ignorant, mutilated at will the pieces they gave, they did the\nFrench opera an injury that will never be repaired. The comparison of\nthese two kinds of music, heard the same evening in the same theatre,\nopened the ears of the French; nobody could endure their languid music\nafter the marked and lively accents of Italian composition; and the\nmoment the Bouffons had done, everybody went away. The managers were\nobliged to change the order of representation, and let the performance\nof the Bouffons be the last. 'Egle Pigmalion' and 'le Sylphe' were\nsuccessively given: nothing could bear the comparison. The 'Devin du\nVillage' was the only piece that did it, and this was still relished\nafter 'la Serva Padrona'. When I composed my interlude, my head was\nfilled with these pieces, and they gave me the first idea of it: I was,\nhowever, far from imagining they would one day be passed in review by\nthe side of my composition. Had I been a plagiarist, how many pilferings\nwould have been manifest, and what care would have been taken to point\nthem out to the public! But I had done nothing of the kind. All attempts\nto discover any such thing were fruitless: nothing was found in my music\nwhich led to the recollection of that of any other person; and my whole\ncomposition compared with the pretended original, was found to be as\nnew as the musical characters I had invented. Had Mondonville or Rameau\nundergone the same ordeal, they would have lost much of their substance.\n\nThe Bouffons acquired for Italian music very warm partisans. All Paris\nwas divided into two parties, the violence of which was greater than if\nan affair of state or religion had been in question. One of them, the\nmost powerful and numerous, composed of the great, of men of fortune,\nand the ladies, supported French music; the other, more lively and\nhaughty, and fuller of enthusiasm, was composed of real connoisseurs,\nand men of talents, and genius. This little group assembled at the\nopera-house, under the box belonging to the queen. The other party\nfilled up the rest of the pit and the theatre; but the heads were mostly\nassembled under the box of his majesty. Hence the party names of Coin du\nRoi, Coin de la Reine,--[King's corner,--Queen's corner.]--then in great\ncelebrity. The dispute, as it became more animated, produced several\npamphlets. The king's corner aimed at pleasantry; it was laughed at by\nthe 'Petit Prophete'. It attempted to reason; the 'Lettre sur la Musique\nFrancoise' refuted its reasoning. These two little productions, the\nformer of which was by Grimm, the latter by myself, are the only ones\nwhich have outlived the quarrel; all the rest are long since forgotten.\n\nBut the Petit Prophete, which, notwithstanding all I could say, was for\na long time attributed to me, was considered as a pleasantry, and did\nnot produce the least inconvenience to the author: whereas the letter\non music was taken seriously, and incensed against me the whole\nnation, which thought itself offended by this attack on its music. The\ndescription of the incredible effect of this pamphlet would be worthy\nof the pen of Tacitus. The great quarrel between the parliament and the\nclergy was then at its height. The parliament had just been exiled;\nthe fermentation was general; everything announced an approaching\ninsurrection. The pamphlet appeared: from that moment every other\nquarrel was forgotten; the perilous state of French music was the only\nthing by which the attention of the public was engaged, and the only\ninsurrection was against myself. This was so general that it has never\nsince been totally calmed. At court, the bastile or banishment was\nabsolutely determined on, and a 'lettre de cachet' would have been\nissued had not M. de Voyer set forth in the most forcible manner that\nsuch a step would be ridiculous. Were I to say this pamphlet probably\nprevented a revolution, the reader would imagine I was in a dream. It\nis, however, a fact, the truth of which all Paris can attest, it\nbeing no more than fifteen years since the date of this singular fact.\nAlthough no attempts were made on my liberty, I suffered numerous\ninsults; and even my life was in danger. The musicians of the opera\norchestra humanely resolved to murder me as I went out of the theatre.\nOf this I received information; but the only effect it produced on me\nwas to make me more assiduously attend the opera; and I did not learn,\nuntil a considerable time afterwards, that M. Ancelot, officer in the\nmousquetaires, and who had a friendship for me, had prevented the effect\nof this conspiracy by giving me an escort, which, unknown to myself,\naccompanied me until I was out of danger. The direction of the\nopera-house had just been given to the hotel de ville. The first exploit\nperformed by the Prevot des Marchands, was to take from me my freedom of\nthe theatre, and this in the most uncivil manner possible. Admission was\npublicly refused me on my presenting myself, so that I was obliged to\ntake a ticket that I might not that evening have the mortification to\nreturn as I had come. This injustice was the more shameful, as the\nonly price I had set on my piece when I gave it to the managers was a\nperpetual freedom of the house; for although this was a right, common\nto every author, and which I enjoyed under a double title, I expressly\nstipulated for it in presence of M. Duclos. It is true, the treasurer\nbrought me fifty louis, for which I had not asked; but, besides the\nsmallness of the sum, compared with that which, according to the rule,\nestablished in such cases, was due to me, this payment had nothing in\ncommon with the right of entry formerly granted, and which was entirely\nindependent of it. There was in this behavior such a complication of\niniquity and brutality, that the public, notwithstanding its animosity\nagainst me, which was then at its highest, was universally shocked at\nit, and many persons who insulted me the preceding evening, the next day\nexclaimed in the open theatre, that it was shameful thus to deprive\nan author of his right of entry; and particularly one who had so well\ndeserved it, and was entitled to claim it for himself and another\nperson. So true is the Italian proverb: Ogn'un ama la giustizia in cosa\nd'altrui.--[Every one loves justice in the affairs of another.]\n\nIn this situation the only thing I had to do was to demand my work,\nsince the price I had agreed to receive for it was refused me. For this\npurpose I wrote to M. d'Argenson, who had the department of the opera.\nI likewise enclosed to him a memoir which was unanswerable; but this, as\nwell as my letter, was ineffectual, and I received no answer to either.\nThe silence of that unjust man hurt me extremely, and did not contribute\nto increase the very moderate good opinion I always had of his character\nand abilities. It was in this manner the managers kept my piece while\nthey deprived me of that for which I had given it them. From the weak to\nthe strong, such an act would be a theft: from the strong to the weak,\nit is nothing more than an appropriation of property, without a right.\n\nWith respect to the pecuniary advantages of the work, although it did\nnot produce me a fourth part of the sum it would have done to any other\nperson, they were considerable enough to enable me to subsist several\nyears, and to make amends for the ill success of copying, which went on\nbut very slowly. I received a hundred louis from the king; fifty from\nMadam de Pompadour, for the performance at Bellevue, where she herself\nplayed the part of Colin; fifty from the opera; and five hundred livres\nfrom Pissot, for the engraving; so that this interlude, which cost me no\nmore than five or six weeks' application, produced, notwithstanding the\nill treatment I received from the managers and my stupidity at court,\nalmost as much money as my 'Emilius', which had cost me twenty years'\nmeditation, and three years' labor. But I paid dearly for the pecuniary\nease I received from the piece, by the infinite vexations it brought\nupon me. It was the germ of the secret jealousies which did not appear\nuntil a long time afterwards. After its success I did not remark,\neither in Grimm, Diderot, or any of the men of letters, with whom I\nwas acquainted, the same cordiality and frankness, nor that pleasure in\nseeing me, I had previously experienced. The moment I appeared at the\nbaron's, the conversation was no longer general; the company divided\ninto small parties; whispered into each other's ears; and I remained\nalone, without knowing to whom to address myself. I endured for a long\ntime this mortifying neglect; and, perceiving that Madam d'Holbach, who\nwas mild and amiable, still received me well, I bore with the vulgarity\nof her husband as long as it was possible. But he one day attacked me\nwithout reason or pretence, and with such brutality, in presence of\nDiderot, who said not a word, and Margency, who since that time has\noften told me how much he admired the moderation and mildness of\nmy answers, that, at length driven from his house, by this unworthy\ntreatment, I took leave with a resolution never to enter it again. This\ndid not, however, prevent me from speaking honorably of him and his\nhouse, whilst he continually expressed himself relative to me in the\nmost insulting terms, calling me that 'petit cuistre': the little\ncollege pedant, or servitor in a college, without, however, being able\nto charge me with having done either to himself or any person to whom\nhe was attached the most trifling injury. In this manner he verified my\nfears and predictions. I am of opinion my pretended friends would have\npardoned me for having written books, and even excellent ones, because\nthis merit was not foreign to themselves; but that they could not\nforgive my writing an opera, nor the brilliant success it had; because\nthere was not one amongst them capable of the same, nor in a situation\nto aspire to like honors. Duclos, the only person superior to jealousy,\nseemed to become more attached to me: he introduced me to Mademoiselle\nQuinault, in whose house I received polite attention, and civility to as\ngreat an extreme, as I had found a want of it in that of M. d'Holbach.\n\nWhilst the performance of the 'Devin du Village' was continued at the\nopera-house, the author of it had an advantageous negotiation with the\nmanagers of the French comedy. Not having, during seven or eight years,\nbeen able to get my 'Narcissis' performed at the Italian theatre, I had,\nby the bad performance in French of the actors, become disgusted with\nit, and should rather have had my piece received at the French theatre\nthan by them. I mentioned this to La None, the comedian, with whom I had\nbecome acquainted, and who, as everybody knows, was a man of merit\nand an author. He was pleased with the piece, and promised to get it\nperformed without suffering the name of the author to be known; and in\nthe meantime procured me the freedom of the theatre, which was extremely\nagreeable to me, for I always preferred it to the two others. The piece\nwas favorably received, and without the author's name being mentioned;\nbut I have reason to believe it was known to the actors and actresses,\nand many other persons. Mademoiselles Gauffin and Grandval played the\namorous parts; and although the whole performance was, in my opinion,\ninjudicious, the piece could not be said to be absolutely ill played.\nThe indulgence of the public, for which I felt gratitude, surprised me;\nthe audience had the patience to listen to it from the beginning to the\nend, and to permit a second representation without showing the least\nsign of disapprobation. For my part, I was so wearied with the first,\nthat I could not hold out to the end; and the moment I left the theatre,\nI went into the Cafe de Procope, where I found Boissi, and others of my\nacquaintance, who had probably been as much fatigued as myself. I there\nhumbly or haughtily avowed myself the author of the piece, judging it\nas everybody else had done. This public avowal of an author of a piece\nwhich had not succeeded, was much admired, and was by no means painful\nto myself. My self-love was flattered by the courage with which I made\nit: and I am of opinion, that, on this occasion, there was more pride\nin speaking, than there would have been foolish shame in being\nsilent. However, as it was certain the piece, although insipid in the\nperformance would bear to be read, I had it printed: and in the preface,\nwhich is one of the best things I ever wrote, I began to make my\nprinciples more public than I had before done.\n\nI soon had an opportunity to explain them entirely in a work of the\ngreatest importance: for it was, I think, this year, 1753, that the\nprogramma of the Academy of Dijon upon the 'Origin of the Inequality\nof Mankind' made its appearance. Struck with this great question, I was\nsurprised the academy had dared to propose it: but since it had shown\nsufficient courage to do it, I thought I might venture to treat it, and\nimmediately undertook the discussion.\n\nThat I might consider this grand subject more at my ease, I went to St.\nGermain for seven or eight days with Theresa, our hostess, who was a\ngood kind of woman, and one of her friends. I consider this walk as one\nof the most agreeable ones I ever took. The weather was very fine. These\ngood women took upon themselves all the care and expense. Theresa amused\nherself with them; and I, free from all domestic concerns, diverted\nmyself, without restraint, at the hours of dinner and supper. All the\nrest of the day wandering in the forest, I sought for and found there\nthe image of the primitive ages of which I boldly traced the history. I\nconfounded the pitiful lies of men; I dared to unveil their nature;\nto follow the progress of time, and the things by which it has been\ndisfigured; and comparing the man of art with the natural man, to show\nthem, in their pretended improvement, the real source of all their\nmisery. My mind, elevated by these contemplations, ascended to the\nDivinity, and thence, seeing my fellow creatures follow in the blind\ntrack of their prejudices that of their errors and misfortunes, I cried\nout to them, in a feeble voice, which they could not hear: \"Madmen! know\nthat all your evils proceed from yourselves!\"\n\nFrom these meditations resulted the discourse on Inequality, a work more\nto the taste of Diderot than any of my other writings, and in which his\nadvice was of the greatest service to me.\n\n     [At the time I wrote this, I had not the least suspicion of the\n     grand conspiracy of Diderot and Grimm.  Otherwise I should easily\n     have discovered how much the former abused my confidence, by giving\n     to my writings that severity and melancholy which were not to be\n     found in them from the moments he ceased to direct me.  The passage\n     of the philosopher, who argues with himself, and stops his ears\n     against the complaints of a man in distress, is after his manner:\n     and he gave me others still more extraordinary; which I could never\n     resolve to make use of.  But, attributing, this melancholy to that\n     he had acquired in the dungeon of Vincennes, and of which there is a\n     very sufficient dose in his Clairoal, I never once suspected the\n     least unfriendly dealing. ]\n\nIt was, however, understood but by few readers, and not one of these\nwould ever speak of it. I had written it to become a competitor for the\npremium, and sent it away fully persuaded it would not obtain it; well\nconvinced it was not for productions of this nature that academies were\nfounded.\n\nThis excursion and this occupation enlivened my spirits and was of\nservice to my health. Several years before, tormented by my disorder,\nI had entirely given myself up to the care of physicians, who, without\nalleviating my sufferings, exhausted my strength and destroyed my\nconstitution. At my return from St. Germain, I found myself stronger\nand perceived my health to be improved. I followed this indication,\nand determined to cure myself or die without the aid of physicians and\nmedicine. I bade them forever adieu, and lived from day to day, keeping\nclose when I found myself indisposed, and going abroad the moment I\nhad sufficient strength to do it. The manner of living in Paris amidst\npeople of pretensions was so little to my liking; the cabals of men\nof letters, their little candor in their writings, and the air of\nimportance they gave themselves in the world, were so odious to me;\nI found so little mildness, openness of heart and frankness in the\nintercourse even of my friends; that, disgusted with this life of\ntumult, I began ardently to wish to reside in the country, and not\nperceiving that my occupation permitted me to do it, I went to pass\nthere all the time I had to spare. For several months I went after\ndinner to walk alone in the Bois de Boulogne, meditating on subjects for\nfuture works, and not returning until evening.\n\nGauffecourt, with whom I was at that time extremely intimate, being on\naccount of his employment obliged to go to Geneva, proposed to me the\njourney, to which I consented. The state of my health was such as to\nrequire the care of the governess; it was therefore decided she should\naccompany us, and that her mother should remain in the house. After thus\nhaving made our arrangements, we set off on the first of June, 1754.\n\nThis was the period when at the age of forty-two, I for the first time\nin my life felt a diminution of my natural confidence to which I had\nabandoned myself without reserve or inconvenience. We had a private\ncarriage, in which with the same horses we travelled very slowly.\nI frequently got out and walked. We had scarcely performed half our\njourney when Theresa showed the greatest uneasiness at being left in the\ncarriage with Gauffecourt, and when, notwithstanding her remonstrances,\nI would get out as usual, she insisted upon doing the same, and walking\nwith me. I chid her for this caprice, and so strongly opposed it, that\nat length she found herself obliged to declare to me the cause whence\nit proceeded. I thought I was in a dream; my astonishment was beyond\nexpression, when I learned that my friend M. de Gauffecourt, upwards\nof sixty years of age, crippled by the gout, impotent and exhausted by\npleasures, had, since our departure, incessantly endeavored to corrupt a\nperson who belonged to his friend, and was no longer young nor handsome,\nby the most base and shameful means, such as presenting to her a purse,\nattempting to inflame her imagination by the reading of an abominable\nbook, and by the sight of infamous figures, with which it was filled.\nTheresa, full of indignation, once threw his scandalous book out of\nthe carriage; and I learned that on the first evening of our journey,\na violent headache having obliged me to retire to bed before supper, he\nhad employed the whole time of this tete-a-tete in actions more worthy\nof a satyr than a man of worth and honor, to whom I thought I had\nintrusted my companion and myself. What astonishment and grief of heart\nfor me! I, who until then had believed friendship to be inseparable from\nevery amiable and noble sentiment which constitutes all its charm, for\nthe first time in my life found myself under the necessity of connecting\nit with disdain, and of withdrawing my confidence from a man for whom\nI had an affection, and by whom I imagined myself beloved! The wretch\nconcealed from me his turpitude; and that I might not expose Theresa, I\nwas obliged to conceal from him my contempt, and secretly to harbor in\nmy heart such sentiments as were foreign to its nature. Sweet and sacred\nillusion of friendship! Gauffecourt first took the veil from before\nmy eyes. What cruel hands have since that time prevented it from again\nbeing drawn over them!\n\nAt Lyons I quitted Gauffecourt to take the road to Savoy, being unable\nto be so near to mamma without seeing her. I saw her--Good God, in what\na situation! How contemptible! What remained to her of primitive virtue?\nWas it the same Madam de Warens, formerly so gay and lively, to whom\nthe vicar of Pontverre had given me recommendations? How my heart was\nwounded! The only resource I saw for her was to quit the country. I\nearnestly but vainly repeated the invitation I had several times given\nher in my letters to come and live peacefully with me, assuring her I\nwould dedicate the rest of my life, and that of Theresa, to render her\nhappy. Attached to her pension, from which, although it was regularly\npaid, she had not for a long time received the least advantage, my\noffers were lost upon her. I again gave her a trifling part of\nthe contents of my purse, much less than I ought to have done, and\nconsiderably less than I should have offered her had not I been certain\nof its not being of the least service to herself. During my residence\nat Geneva, she made a journey into Chablais, and came to see me at\nGrange-canal. She was in want of money to continue her journey: what\nI had in my pocket was insufficient to this purpose, but an hour\nafterwards I sent it her by Theresa. Poor mamma! I must relate this\nproof of the goodness of her heart. A little diamond ring was the last\njewel she had left. She took it from her finger, to put it upon that of\nTheresa, who instantly replaced it upon that whence it had been taken,\nkissing the generous hand which she bathed with her tears. Ah! this\nwas the proper moment to discharge my debt! I should have abandoned\neverything to follow her, and share her fate: let it be what it would. I\ndid nothing of the kind. My attention was engaged by another attachment,\nand I perceived the attachment I had to her was abated by the slender\nhopes there were of rendering it useful to either of us. I sighed after\nher, my heart was grieved at her situation, but I did not follow her.\nOf all the remorse I felt this was the strongest and most lasting. I\nmerited the terrible chastisement with which I have since that time\nincessantly been overwhelmed: may this have expiated my ingratitude!\nOf this I appear guilty in my conduct, but my heart has been too much\ndistressed by what I did ever to have been that of an ungrateful man.\n\nBefore my departure from Paris I had sketched out the dedication of my\ndiscourse on the 'Inequality of Mankind'. I finished it at Chambery, and\ndated it from that place, thinking that, to avoid all chicane, it was\nbetter not to date it either from France or Geneva. The moment I arrived\nin that city I abandoned myself to the republican enthusiasm which had\nbrought me to it. This was augmented by the reception I there met with.\nKindly treated by persons of every description, I entirely gave myself\nup to a patriotic zeal, and mortified at being excluded from the rights\nof a citizen by the possession of a religion different from that of my\nforefathers, I resolved openly to return to the latter. I thought the\ngospel being the same for every Christian, and the only difference in\nreligious opinions the result of the explanations given by men to\nthat which they did not understand, it was the exclusive right of the\nsovereign power in every country to fix the mode of worship, and these\nunintelligible opinions; and that consequently it was the duty of\na citizen to admit the one, and conform to the other in the manner\nprescribed by the law. The conversation of the encyclopaedists, far\nfrom staggering my faith, gave it new strength by my natural aversion\nto disputes and party. The study of man and the universe had everywhere\nshown me the final causes and the wisdom by which they were directed.\nThe reading of the Bible, and especially that of the New Testament,\nto which I had for several years past applied myself, had given me a\nsovereign contempt for the base and stupid interpretations given to the\nwords of Jesus Christ by persons the least worthy of understanding his\ndivine doctrine. In a word, philosophy, while it attached me to the\nessential part of religion, had detached me from the trash of the little\nformularies with which men had rendered it obscure. Judging that for a\nreasonable man there were not two ways of being a Christian, I was\nalso of opinion that in each country everything relative to form and\ndiscipline was within the jurisdiction of the laws. From this principle,\nso social and pacific, and which has brought upon me such cruel\npersecutions, it followed that, if I wished to be a citizen of Geneva, I\nmust become a Protestant, and conform to the mode of worship established\nin my country. This I resolved upon; I moreover put myself under the\ninstructions of the pastor of the parish in which I lived, and which\nwas without the city. All I desired was not to appear at the consistory.\nHowever, the ecclesiastical edict was expressly to that effect; but it\nwas agreed upon to dispense with it in my favor, and a commission\nof five or six members was named to receive my profession of faith.\nUnfortunately, the minister Perdriau, a mild and an amiable man, took\nit into his head to tell me the members were rejoiced at the thoughts of\nhearing me speak in the little assembly. This expectation alarmed me\nto such a degree that having night and day during three weeks studied a\nlittle discourse I had prepared, I was so confused when I ought to\nhave pronounced it that I could not utter a single word, and during\nthe conference I had the appearance of the most stupid schoolboy.\nThe persons deputed spoke for me, and I answered yes and no, like a\nblockhead; I was afterwards admitted to the communion, and reinstated in\nmy rights as a citizen. I was enrolled as such in the lists of\nguards, paid by none but citizens and burgesses, and I attended at\na council-general extraordinary to receive the oath from the syndic\nMussard. I was so impressed with the kindness shown me on this occasion\nby the council and the consistory, and by the great civility and\nobliging behavior of the magistrates, ministers and citizens, that,\npressed by the worthy De Luc, who was incessant in his persuasions, and\nstill more so by my own inclination, I did not think of going back\nto Paris for any other purpose than to break up housekeeping, find a\nsituation for M. and Madam le Vasseur, or provide for their subsistence,\nand then return with Theresa to Geneva, there to settle for the rest of\nmy days.\n\nAfter taking this resolution I suspended all serious affairs the better\nto enjoy the company of my friends until the time of my departure.\nOf all the amusements of which I partook, that with which I was most\npleased, was sailing round the lake in a boat, with De Luc, the father,\nhis daughter-in-law, his two sons, and my Theresa. We gave seven days\nto this excursion in the finest weather possible. I preserved a lively\nremembrance of the situation which struck me at the other extremity of\nthe lake, and of which I, some years afterwards, gave a description in\nmy New Eloisa.\n\nThe principal connections I made at Geneva, besides the De Lucs, of\nwhich I have spoken, were the young Vernes, with whom I had already been\nacquainted at Paris, and of whom I then formed a better opinion than I\nafterwards had of him. M. Perdriau, then a country pastor, now professor\nof Belles Lettres, whose mild and agreeable society will ever make me\nregret the loss of it, although he has since thought proper to detach\nhimself from me; M. Jalabert, at that time professor of natural\nphilosophy, since become counsellor and syndic, to whom I read my\ndiscourse upon Inequality (but not the dedication), with which he\nseemed to be delighted; the Professor Lullin, with whom I maintained a\ncorrespondence until his death, and who gave me a commission to purchase\nbooks for the library; the Professor Vernet, who, like most other\npeople, turned his back upon me after I had given him proofs of\nattachment and confidence of which he ought to have been sensible, if a\ntheologian can be affected by anything; Chappins, clerk and successor to\nGauffecourt, whom he wished to supplant, and who, soon afterwards, was\nhimself supplanted; Marcet de Mezieres, an old friend of my father's,\nand who had also shown himself to be mine: after having well deserved of\nhis country, he became a dramatic author, and, pretending to be of the\ncouncil of two hundred, changed his principles, and, before he died,\nbecame ridiculous. But he from whom I expected most was M. Moultou, a\nvery promising young man by his talents and his brilliant imagination,\nwhom I have always loved, although his conduct with respect to me was\nfrequently equivocal, and, not withstanding his being connected with my\nmost cruel enemies, whom I cannot but look upon as destined to become\nthe defender of my memory and the avenger of his friend.\n\nIn the midst of these dissipations, I neither lost the taste for my\nsolitary excursions, nor the habit of them; I frequently made long\nones upon the banks of the lake, during which my mind, accustomed to\nreflection, did not remain idle; I digested the plan already formed of\nmy political institutions, of which I shall shortly have to speak; I\nmeditated a history of the Valais; the plan of a tragedy in prose, the\nsubject of which, nothing less than Lucretia, did not deprive me of\nthe hope of succeeding, although I had dared again to exhibit that\nunfortunate heroine, when she could no longer be suffered upon any\nFrench stage. I at that time tried my abilities with Tacitus, and\ntranslated the first books of his history, which will be found amongst\nmy papers.\n\nAfter a residence of four months at Geneva, I returned in the month of\nOctober to Paris; and avoided passing through Lyons that I might not\nagain have to travel with Gauffecourt. As the arrangement I had made did\nnot require my being at Geneva until the spring following, I returned,\nduring the winter, to my habits and occupations; the principal of the\nlatter was examining the proof sheets of my discourse on the Inequality\nof Mankind, which I had procured to be printed in Holland, by the\nbookseller Rey, with whom I had just become acquainted at Geneva. This\nwork was dedicated to the republic; but as the publication might be\nunpleasing to the council, I wished to wait until it had taken its\neffect at Geneva before I returned thither. This effect was not\nfavorable to me; and the dedication, which the most pure patriotism had\ndictated, created me enemies in the council, and inspired even many of\nthe burgesses with jealousy. M. Chouet, at that time first syndic, wrote\nme a polite but very cold letter, which will be found amongst my papers.\nI received from private persons, amongst others from Du Luc and De\nJalabert, a few compliments, and these were all. I did not perceive that\na single Genevese was pleased with the hearty zeal found in the work.\nThis indifference shocked all those by whom it was remarked. I remember\nthat dining one day at Clichy, at Madam Dupin's, with Crommelin,\nresident from the republic, and M. de Mairan, the latter openly declared\nthe council owed me a present and public honors for the work, and that\nit would dishonor itself if it failed in either. Crommelin, who was a\nblack and mischievous little man, dared not reply in my presence, but he\nmade a frightful grimace, which however forced a smile from Madam Dupin.\nThe only advantage this work procured me, besides that resulting from\nthe satisfaction of my own heart, was the title of citizen given me by\nmy friends, afterwards by the public after their example, and which I\nafterwards lost by having too well merited.\n\nThis ill success would not, however, have prevented my retiring to\nGeneva, had not more powerful motives tended to the same effect. M.\nD'Epinay, wishing to add a wing which was wanting to the chateau of the\nChevrette, was at an immense expense in completing it. Going one day\nwith Madam D'Epinay to see the building, we continued our walk a quarter\nof a league further to the reservoir of the waters of the park which\njoined the forest of Montmorency, and where there was a handsome kitchen\ngarden, with a little lodge, much out of repair, called the Hermitage.\nThis solitary and very agreeable place had struck me when I saw it\nfor the first time before my journey to Geneva. I had exclaimed in my\ntransport: \"Ah, madam, what a delightful habitation! This asylum was\npurposely prepared for me.\" Madam D'Epinay did not pay much attention to\nwhat I said; but at this second journey I was quite surprised to find,\ninstead of the old decayed building, a little house almost entirely new,\nwell laid out, and very habitable for a little family of three persons.\nMadam D'Epinay had caused this to be done in silence, and at a very\nsmall expense, by detaching a few materials and some of the work men\nfrom the castle. She now said to me, on remarking my surprise: \"My dear,\nhere behold your asylum; it is you who have chosen it; friendship offers\nit to you. I hope this will remove from you the cruel idea of separating\nfrom me.\" I do not think I was ever in my life more strongly or more\ndeliciously affected. I bathed with tears the beneficent hand of my\nfriend; and if I were not conquered from that very instant even, I was\nextremely staggered. Madam D'Epinay, who would not be denied, became\nso pressing, employed so many means, so many people to circumvent\nme, proceeding even so far as to gain over Madam le Vasseur and\nher daughter, that at length she triumphed over all my resolutions.\nRenouncing the idea of residing in my own country, I resolved, I\npromised, to inhabit the Hermitage; and, whilst the building was drying,\nMadam D'Epinay took care to prepare furniture, so that everything was\nready the following spring.\n\n[Illustration: frontispiece]\n\nOne thing which greatly aided me in determining, was the residence\nVoltaire had chosen near Geneva; I easily comprehended this man would\ncause a revolution there, and that I should find in my country the\nmanners, which drove me from Paris; that I should be under the necessity\nof incessantly struggling hard, and have no other alternative than that\nof being an unsupportable pedant, a poltroon, or a bad citizen. The\nletter Voltaire wrote me on my last work, induced me to insinuate my\nfears in my answer; and the effect this produced confirmed them. From\nthat moment I considered Geneva as lost, and I was not deceived. I\nperhaps ought to have met the storm, had I thought myself capable of\nresisting it. But what could I have done alone, timid, and speaking\nbadly, against a man, arrogant, opulent, supported by the credit of the\ngreat, eloquent, and already the idol of the women and young men? I was\nafraid of uselessly exposing myself to danger to no purpose. I listened\nto nothing but my peaceful disposition, to my love of repose, which, if\nit then deceived me, still continues to deceive me on the same subject.\nBy retiring to Geneva, I should have avoided great misfortunes; but I\nhave my doubts whether, with all my ardent and patriotic zeal, I should\nhave been able to effect anything great and useful for my country.\n\nTronchin, who about the same time went to reside at Geneva, came\nafterwards to Paris and brought with him treasures. At his arrival he\ncame to see me, with the Chevalier Jaucourt. Madam D'Epinay had a strong\ndesire to consult him in private, but this it was not easy to do. She\naddressed herself to me, and I engaged Tronchin to go and see her.\nThus under my auspices they began a connection, which was afterwards\nincreased at my expense. Such has ever been my destiny: the moment I\nhad united two friends who were separately mine, they never failed\nto combine against me. Although, in the conspiracy then formed by\nthe Tronchins, they must all have borne me a mortal hatred. He still\ncontinued friendly to me: he even wrote me a letter after his return\nto Geneva, to propose to me the place of honorary librarian. But I had\ntaken my resolution, and the offer did not tempt me to depart from it.\n\nAbout this time I again visited M. d'Holbach. My visit was occasioned\nby the death of his wife, which, as well as that of Madam Francueil,\nhappened whilst I was at Geneva. Diderot, when he communicated to me\nthese melancholy events, spoke of the deep affliction of the husband.\nHis grief affected my heart. I myself was grieved for the loss of that\nexcellent woman, and wrote to M. d'Holbach a letter of condolence. I\nforgot all the wrongs he had done me, and at my return from Geneva, and\nafter he had made the tour of France with Grimm and other friends to\nalleviate his affliction, I went to see him, and continued my visits\nuntil my departure for the Hermitage. As soon as it was known in\nhis circle that Madam D'Epinay was preparing me a habitation there,\ninnumerable sarcasms, founded upon the want I must feel of the flattery\nand amusement of the city, and the supposition of my not being able to\nsupport the solitude for a fortnight, were uttered against me. Feeling\nwithin myself how I stood affected, I left him and his friends to say\nwhat they pleased, and pursued my intention. M. d'Holbach rendered me\nsome services in finding a place for the old Le Vasseur, who was eighty\nyears of age and a burden to his wife, from which she begged me to\nrelieve her.\n\n     [This is an instance of the treachery of my memory.  A long time\n     after I had written what I have stated above, I learned, in\n     conversing with my wife, that it was not M. d'Holbach, but M. de\n     Chenonceaux, then one of the administrators of the Hotel Dieu, who\n     procured this place for her father.  I had so totally forgotten the\n     circumstance, and the idea of M. d'Holbach's having done it was so\n     strong in my mind that I would have sworn it had been him.]\n\nHe was put into a house of charity, where, almost as soon as he arrived\nthere, age and the grief of finding himself removed from his family sent\nhim to the grave. His wife and all his children, except Theresa, did not\nmuch regret his loss. But she, who loved him tenderly, has ever since\nbeen inconsolable, and never forgiven herself for having suffered him,\nat so advanced an age, to end his days in any other house than her own.\n\nMuch about the same time I received a visit I little expected, although\nit was from a very old acquaintance. My friend Venture, accompanied by\nanother man, came upon me one morning by surprise. What a change did I\ndiscover in his person! Instead of his former gracefulness, he appeared\nsottish and vulgar, which made me extremely reserved with him. My eyes\ndeceived me, or either debauchery had stupefied his mind, or all his\nfirst splendor was the effect of his youth, which was past. I saw him\nalmost with indifference, and we parted rather coolly. But when he was\ngone, the remembrance of our former connection so strongly called to\nmy recollection that of my younger days, so charmingly, so prudently\ndedicated to that angelic woman (Madam de Warens) who was not much\nless changed than himself; the little anecdotes of that happy time,\nthe romantic day of Toune passed with so much innocence and enjoyment\nbetween those two charming girls, from whom a kiss of the hand was the\nonly favor, and which, notwithstanding its being so trifling, had\nleft me such lively, affecting and lasting regrets; and the ravishing\ndelirium of a young heart, which I had just felt in all its force,\nand of which I thought the season forever past for me. The tender\nremembrance of these delightful circumstances made me shed tears over my\nfaded youth and its transports for ever lost to me. Ah! how many tears\nshould I have shed over their tardy and fatal return had I foreseen the\nevils I had yet to suffer from them.\n\nBefore I left Paris, I enjoyed during the winter which preceded my\nretreat, a pleasure after my own heart, and of which I tasted in all\nits purity. Palissot, academician of Nancy, known by a few dramatic\ncompositions, had just had one of them performed at Luneville before the\nKing of Poland. He perhaps thought to make his court by representing in\nhis piece a man who had dared to enter into a literary dispute with the\nking. Stanislaus, who was generous, and did not like satire, was filled\nwith indignation at the author's daring to be personal in his presence.\nThe Comte de Tressan, by order of the prince, wrote to M. d'Alembert, as\nwell as to myself, to inform me that it was the intention of his\nmajesty to have Palissot expelled his academy. My answer was a strong\nsolicitation in favor of Palissot, begging M. de Tressan to intercede\nwith the king in his behalf. His pardon was granted, and M. de Tressan,\nwhen he communicated to me the information in the name of the monarch,\nadded that the whole of what had passed should be inserted in the\nregister of the academy. I replied that this was less granting a pardon\nthan perpetuating a punishment. At length, after repeated solicitations,\nI obtained a promise, that nothing relative to the affair should be\ninserted in the register, and that no public trace should remain of it.\nThe promise was accompanied, as well on the part of the king as on that\nof M. de Tressan, with assurance of esteem and respect, with which I was\nextremely flattered; and I felt on this occasion that the esteem of\nmen who are themselves worthy of it, produced in the mind a sentiment\ninfinitely more noble and pleasing than that of vanity. I have\ntranscribed into my collection the letters of M. de Tressan, with my\nanswers to them: and the original of the former will be found amongst my\nother papers.\n\nI am perfectly aware that if ever these memoirs become public, I here\nperpetuate the remembrance of a fact of which I would wish to efface\nevery trace; but I transmit many others as much against my inclination.\nThe grand object of my undertaking, constantly before my eyes, and\nthe indispensable duty of fulfilling it to its utmost extent, will not\npermit me to be turned aside by trifling considerations, which would\nlead me from my purpose. In my strange and unparalleled situation, I\nowe too much to truth to be further than this indebted to any person\nwhatever. They who wish to know me well must be acquainted with me in\nevery point of view, in every relative situation, both good and bad. My\nconfessions are necessarily connected with those of many other people:\nI write both with the same frankness in everything that relates to that\nwhich has befallen me; and am not obliged to spare any person more than\nmyself, although it is my wish to do it. I am determined always to be\njust and true, to say of others all the good I can, never speaking of\nevil except when it relates to my own conduct, and there is a necessity\nfor my so doing. Who, in the situation in which the world has placed me,\nhas a right to require more at my hands? My confessions are not intended\nto appear during my lifetime, nor that of those they may disagreeably\naffect. Were I master of my own destiny, and that of the book I am now\nwriting, it should never be made public until after my death and theirs.\nBut the efforts which the dread of truth obliges my powerful enemies\nto make to destroy every trace of it, render it necessary for me to do\neverything, which the strictest right, and the most severe justice, will\npermit, to preserve what I have written. Were the remembrance of me to\nbe lost at my dissolution, rather than expose any person alive, I would\nwithout a murmur suffer an unjust and momentary reproach. But since\nmy name is to live, it is my duty to endeavor to transmit with it to\nposterity the remembrance of the unfortunate man by whom it was borne,\nsuch as he really was, and not such as his unjust enemies incessantly\nendeavored to describe him.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX.\n\n\n|My impatience to inhabit the Hermitage not permitting me to wait\nuntil the return of fine weather, the moment my lodging was prepared\nI hastened to take possession of it, to the great amusement of the\n'Coterie Holbachique', which publicly predicted I should not be able\nto support solitude for three months, and that I should unsuccessfully\nreturn to Paris, and live there as they did. For my part, having for\nfifteen years been out of my element, finding myself upon the eve\nof returning to it, I paid no attention to their pleasantries. Since\ncontrary to my inclinations, I have again entered the world, I have\nincessantly regretted my dear Charmettes, and the agreeable life I led\nthere. I felt a natural inclination to retirement and the country: it\nwas impossible for me to live happily elsewhere. At Venice, in the train\nof public affairs, in the dignity of a kind of representation, in the\npride of projects of advancement; at Paris, in the vortex of the great\nworld, in the luxury of suppers, in the brilliancy of spectacles, in the\nrays of splendor; my groves, rivulets, and solitary walks, constantly\npresented themselves to my recollection, interrupted my thought,\nrendered me melancholy, and made me sigh with desire. All the labor to\nwhich I had subjected myself, every project of ambition which by fits\nhad animated my ardor, all had for object this happy country retirement,\nwhich I now thought near at hand. Without having acquired a genteel\nindependence, which I had judged to be the only means of accomplishing\nmy views, I imagined myself, in my particular situation, to be able to\ndo without it, and that I could obtain the same end by a means quite\nopposite. I had no regular income; but I possessed some talents, and\nhad acquired a name. My wants were few, and I had freed myself from all\nthose which were most expensive, and which merely depended on prejudice\nand opinion. Besides this, although naturally indolent, I was laborious\nwhen I chose to be so. and my idleness was less that of an indolent man,\nthan that of an independent one who applies to business when it pleases\nhim. My profession of a copyist of music was neither splendid nor\nlucrative, but it was certain. The world gave me credit for the\ncourage I had shown in making choice of it. I might depend upon having\nsufficient employment to enable me to live. Two thousand livres\nwhich remained of the produce of the 'Devin du Village', and my other\nwritings, were a sum which kept me from being straitened, and several\nworks I had upon the stocks promised me, without extorting money from\nthe booksellers, supplies sufficient to enable me to work at my ease\nwithout exhausting myself, even by turning to advantage the leisure of\nmy walks. My little family, consisting of three persons, all of whom\nwere usefully employed, was not expensive to support. Finally, from\nmy resources, proportioned to my wants and desires, I might reasonably\nexpect a happy and permanent existence, in that manner of life which my\ninclination had induced me to adopt.\n\nI might have taken the interested side of the question, and, instead of\nsubjecting my pen to copying, entirely devoted it to works which, from\nthe elevation to which I had soared, and at which I found myself capable\nof continuing, might have enabled me to live in the midst of abundance,\nnay, even of opulence, had I been the least disposed to join the\nmanoeuvres of an author to the care of publishing a good book. But I\nfelt that writing for bread would soon have extinguished my genius, and\ndestroyed my talents, which were less in my pen than in my heart, and\nsolely proceeded from an elevated and noble manner of thinking, by which\nalone they could be cherished and preserved. Nothing vigorous or\ngreat can come from a pen totally venal. Necessity, nay, even avarice,\nperhaps, would have made me write rather rapidly than well. If the\ndesire of success had not led me into cabals, it might have made me\nendeavor to publish fewer true and useful works than those which might\nbe pleasing to the multitude; and instead of a distinguished author,\nwhich I might possibly become, I should have been nothing more than a\nscribbler. No: I have always felt that the profession of letters was\nillustrious in proportion as it was less a trade. It is too difficult to\nthink nobly when we think for a livelihood. To be able to dare even to\nspeak great truths, an author must be independent of success. I gave my\nbooks to the public with a certainty of having written for the general\ngood of mankind, without giving myself the least concern about what was\nto follow. If the work was thrown aside, so much the worse for such as\ndid not choose to profit by it. Their approbation was not necessary to\nenable me to live, my profession was sufficient to maintain me had not\nmy works had a sale, for which reason alone they all sold.\n\nIt was on the ninth of August, 1756, that I left cities, never to reside\nin them again: for I do not call a residence the few days I afterwards\nremained in Paris, London, or other cities, always on the wing, or\ncontrary to my inclinations. Madam d'Epinay came and took us all three\nin her coach; her farmer carted away my little baggage, and I was\nput into possession the same day. I found my little retreat simply\nfurnished, but neatly, and with some taste. The hand which had lent its\naid in this furnishing rendered it inestimable in my eyes, and I thought\nit charming to be the guest of my female friend in a house I had made\nchoice of, and which she had caused to be built purposely for me.\n\nAlthough the weather was cold, and the ground lightly covered with snow,\nthe earth began to vegetate: violets and primroses already made their\nappearance, the trees began to bud, and the evening of my arrival was\ndistinguished by the song of the nightingale, which was heard almost\nunder my window, in a wood adjoining the house. After a light sleep,\nforgetting when I awoke my change of abode, I still thought myself in\nthe Rue Grenelle, when suddenly this warbling made me give a start,\nand I exclaimed in my transport: \"At length, all my wishes are\naccomplished!\" The first thing I did was to abandon myself to the\nimpression of the rural objects with which I was surrounded. Instead of\nbeginning to set things in order in my new habitation, I began by doing\nit for my walks, and there was not a path, a copse, a grove, nor a\ncorner in the environs of my place of residence that I did not visit the\nnext day. The more I examined this charming retreat, the more I found it\nto my wishes. This solitary, rather than savage, spot transported me\nin idea to the end of the world. It had striking beauties which are but\nseldom found near cities, and never, if suddenly transported thither,\ncould any person have imagined himself within four leagues of Paris.\n\nAfter abandoning myself for a few days to this rural delirium, I began\nto arrange my papers, and regulate my occupations. I set apart, as I\nhad always done, my mornings to copying, and my afternoons to walking,\nprovided with my little paper book and a pencil, for never having\nbeen able to write and think at my ease except 'sub dio', I had no\ninclination to depart from this method, and I was persuaded the forest\nof Montmorency, which was almost at my door, would in future be my\ncloset and study. I had several works begun; these I cast my eye over.\nMy mind was indeed fertile in great projects, but in the noise of the\ncity the execution of them had gone on but slowly. I proposed to myself\nto use more diligence when I should be less interrupted. I am of opinion\nI have sufficiently fulfilled this intention; and for a man frequently\nill, often at La Chevrette, at Epinay, at Raubonne, at the castle of\nMontmorency, at other times interrupted by the indolent and curious, and\nalways employed half the day in copying, if what I produced during the\nsix years I passed at the Hermitage and at Montmorency be considered, I\nam persuaded it will appear that if, in this interval, I lost my time,\nit was not in idleness.\n\nOf the different works I had upon the stocks, that I had longest\nresolved in my mind which was most to my taste, to which I destined a\ncertain portion of my life, and which, in my opinion, was to confirm\nthe reputation I had acquired, was my 'Institutions Politiques'. I had,\nfourteen years before, when at Venice, where I had an opportunity of\nremarking the defects of that government so much boasted of, conceived\nthe first idea of them. Since that time my views had become much more\nextended by the historical study of morality. I had perceived everything\nto be radically connected with politics, and that, upon whatever\nprinciples these were founded, a people would never be more than that\nwhich the nature of the government made them; therefore the great\nquestion of the best government possible appeared to me to be reduced\nto this: What is the nature of a government the most proper to form the\nmost virtuous and enlightened, the wisest and best people, taking the\nlast epithet in its most extensive meaning? I thought this question\nwas much if not quite of the same nature with that which follows: What\ngovernment is that which, by its nature, always maintains itself nearest\nto the laws, or least deviates from the laws. Hence, what is the law?\nand a series of questions of similar importance. I perceived these led\nto great truths, useful to the happiness of mankind, but more especially\nto that of my country, wherein, in the journey I had just made to it,\nI had not found notions of laws and liberty either sufficiently just or\nclear. I had thought this indirect manner of communicating these to\nmy fellow-citizens would be least mortifying to their pride, and might\nobtain me forgiveness for having seen a little further than themselves.\n\nAlthough I had already labored five or six years at the work, the\nprogress I had made in it was not considerable. Writings of this kind\nrequire meditation, leisure and tranquillity. I had besides written the\n'Institutions Politiques', as the expression is, 'en bonne fortune', and\nhad not communicated my project to any person; not even to Diderot. I\nwas afraid it would be thought too daring for the age and country in\nwhich I wrote, and that the fears of my friends would restrain me from\ncarrying it into execution.\n\n     [It was more especially the wise severity of Duclos which inspired\n     me with this fear; as for Diderot, I know not by what means all my\n     conferences with him tended to make me more satirical than my\n     natural disposition inclined me to be.  This prevented me from\n     consulting him upon an undertaking, in which I wished to introduce\n     nothing but the force of reasoning without the least appearance of\n     ill humor or partiality.  The manner of this work may be judged of\n     by that of the 'Contrat Social', which is taken from it.]\n\nI did not yet know that it would be finished in time, and in such a\nmanner as to appear before my decease. I wished fearlessly to give to\nmy subject everything it required; fully persuaded that not being of\na satirical turn, and never wishing to be personal, I should in equity\nalways be judged irreprehensible. I undoubtedly wished fully to enjoy\nthe right of thinking which I had by birth; but still respecting the\ngovernment under which I lived, without ever disobeying its laws, and\nvery attentive not to violate the rights of persons, I would not from\nfear renounce its advantages.\n\nI confess, even that, as a stranger, and living in France, I found my\nsituation very favorable in daring to speak the truth; well knowing\nthat continuing, as I was determined to do, not to print anything in the\nkingdom without permission, I was not obliged to give to any person in\nit an account of my maxims nor of their publication elsewhere. I should\nhave been less independent even at Geneva, where, in whatever place my\nbooks might have been printed, the magistrate had a right to criticise\ntheir contents. This consideration had greatly contributed to make me\nyield to the solicitations of Madam d'Epinay, and abandon the project of\nfixing my residence at Geneva. I felt, as I have remarked in my Emilius,\nthat unless an author be a man of intrigue, when he wishes to render his\nworks really useful to any country whatsoever, he must compose them in\nsome other.\n\nWhat made me find my situation still more happy, was my being persuaded\nthat the government of France would, perhaps, without looking upon me\nwith a very favorable eye, make it a point to protect me, or at least\nnot to disturb my tranquillity. It appeared to me a stroke of simple,\nyet dexterous policy, to make a merit of tolerating that which there was\nno means of preventing; since, had I been driven from France, which\nwas all government had the right to do, my work would still have\nbeen written, and perhaps with less reserve; whereas if I were left\nundisturbed, the author remained to answer for what he wrote, and\na prejudice, general throughout all Europe, would be destroyed by\nacquiring the reputation of observing a proper respect for the rights of\npersons.\n\nThey who, by the event, shall judge I was deceived, may perhaps be\ndeceived in their turn. In the storm which has since broken over my\nhead, my books served as a pretence, but it was against my person that\nevery shaft was directed. My persecutors gave themselves but little\nconcern about the author, but they wished to ruin Jean Jacques; and\nthe greatest evil they found in my writings was the honor they might\npossibly do me. Let us not encroach upon the future. I do not know that\nthis mystery, which is still one to me, will hereafter be cleared up to\nmy readers; but had my avowed principles been of a nature to bring upon\nme the treatment I received, I should sooner have become their victim,\nsince the work in which these principles are manifested with most\ncourage, not to call it audacity, seemed to have had its effect previous\nto my retreat to the Hermitage, without I will not only say my having\nreceived the least censure, but without any steps having been taken to\nprevent the publication of it in France, where it was sold as publicly\nas in Holland. The New Eloisa afterwards appeared with the same\nfacility, I dare add; with the same applause: and, what seems\nincredible, the profession of faith of this Eloisa at the point of death\nis exactly similar to that of the Savoyard vicar. Every strong idea\nin the Social Contract had been before published in the discourse\non Inequality; and every bold opinion in Emilius previously found\nin Eloisa. This unrestrained freedom did not excite the least murmur\nagainst the first two works; therefore it was not that which gave cause\nto it against the latter.\n\nAnother undertaking much of the same kind, but of which the project\nwas more recent, then engaged my attention: this was the extract of the\nworks of the Abbe de Saint Pierre, of which, having been led away by the\nthread of my narrative, I have not hitherto been able to speak. The idea\nwas suggested to me, after my return from Geneva, by the Abbe Malby, not\nimmediately from himself, but by the interposition of Madam Dupin, who\nhad some interest in engaging me to adopt it. She was one of the three\nor four pretty women of Paris, of whom the Abbe de Saint Pierre had\nbeen the spoiled child, and although she had not decidedly had the\npreference, she had at least partaken of it with Madam d'Aiguillon.\nShe preserved for the memory of the good man a respect and an affection\nwhich did honor to them both; and her self-love would have been\nflattered by seeing the still-born works of her friend brought to life\nby her secretary. These works contained excellent things, but so badly\ntold that the reading of them was almost insupportable; and it is\nastonishing the Abbe de Saint Pierre, who looked upon his readers as\nschoolboys, should nevertheless have spoken to them as men, by the\nlittle care he took to induce them to give him a hearing. It was for\nthis purpose that the work was proposed to me as useful in itself, and\nvery proper for a man laborious in manoeuvre, but idle as an author,\nwho finding the trouble of thinking very fatiguing, preferred, in things\nwhich pleased him, throwing a light upon and extending the ideas of\nothers, to producing any himself. Besides, not being confined to the\nfunctions of a translator, I was at liberty sometimes to think for\nmyself; and I had it in my power to give such a form to my work, that\nmany important truths would pass in it under the name of the Abbe de\nSaint Pierre, much more safely than under mine. The undertaking also was\nnot trifling; the business was nothing less than to read and meditate\ntwenty-three volumes, diffuse, confused, full of long narrations and\nperiods, repetitions, and false or little views, from amongst which\nit was necessary to select some few that were good and useful, and\nsufficiently encouraging to enable me to support the painful labor. I\nfrequently wished to have given it up, and should have done so, could\nI have got it off my hands with a great grace; but when I received the\nmanuscripts of the abbe, which were given to me by his nephew, the Comte\nde Saint Pierre, I had, by the solicitation of St. Lambert, in some\nmeasure engaged to make use of them, which I must either have done, or\nhave given them back. It was with the former intention I had taken the\nmanuscripts to the Hermitage, and this was the first work to which I\nproposed to dedicate my leisure hours.\n\nI had likewise in my own mind projected a third, the idea of which I\nowed to the observations I had made upon myself and I felt the more\ndisposed to undertake this work, as I had reason to hope I could make\nit a truly useful one, and perhaps, the most so of any that could be\noffered to the world, were the execution equal to the plan I had laid\ndown. It has been remarked that most men are in the course of their\nlives frequently unlike themselves, and seem to be transformed into\nothers very different from what they were. It was not to establish a\nthing so generally known that I wished to write a book; I had a newer\nand more important object. This was to search for the causes of these\nvariations, and, by confining my observations to those which depend on\nourselves, to demonstrate in what manner it might be possible to direct\nthem, in order to render us better and more certain of our dispositions.\nFor it is undoubtedly more painful to an honest man to resist desires\nalready formed, and which it is his duty to subdue, than to prevent,\nchange, or modify the same desires in their source, were he capable of\ntracing them to it. A man under temptation resists once because he has\nstrength of mind, he yields another time because this is overcome; had\nit been the same as before he would again have triumphed.\n\nBy examining within myself, and searching in others what could be the\ncause of these different manners of being, I discovered that, in a great\nmeasure they depended on the anterior impressions of external objects;\nand that, continually modified by our senses and organs, we, without\nknowing it, bore in our ideas, sentiments, and even actions, the effect\nof these modifications. The striking and numerous observations I had\ncollected were beyond all manner of dispute, and by their natural\nprinciple seemed proper to furnish an exterior regimen, which varied\naccording to circumstances, might place and support the mind in the\nstate most favorable to virtue. From how many mistakes would reason\nbe preserved, how many vices would be stifled in their birth, were\nit possible to force animal economy to favor moral order, which it so\nfrequently disturbs! Climate, seasons, sounds, colors, light, darkness,\nthe elements, ailments, noise, silence, motion, rest, all act on the\nanimal machine, and consequently on the mind: all offer a thousand\nmeans, almost certain of directing in their origin the sentiments by\nwhich we suffer ourselves to be governed. Such was the fundamental idea\nof which I had already made a sketch upon paper, and whence I hoped\nfor an effect the more certain, in favor of persons well disposed,\nwho, sincerely loving virtue, were afraid of their own weakness, as it\nappeared to me easy to make of it a book as agreeable to read as it\nwas to compose. I have, however, applied myself but very little to\nthis work, the title of which was to have been 'Morale Sensitive' ou\nle Materialisme du Sage.----Interruptions, the cause of which will soon\nappear, prevented me from continuing it, and the fate of the sketch,\nwhich is more connected with my own than it may appear to be, will\nhereafter be seen.\n\nBesides this, I had for some time meditated a system of education, of\nwhich Madam de Chenonceaux, alarmed for her son by that of her husband,\nhad desired me to consider. The authority of friendship placed this\nobject, although less in itself to my taste, nearer to my heart than any\nother. On which account this subject, of all those of which I have\njust spoken, is the only one I carried to its utmost extent. The end I\nproposed to myself in treating of it should, I think, have procured the\nauthor a better fate. But I will not here anticipate this melancholy\nsubject. I shall have too much reason to speak of it in the course of my\nwork.\n\nThese different objects offered me subjects of meditation for my walks;\nfor, as I believed I had already observed, I am unable to reflect when I\nam not walking: the moment I stop, I think no more, and as soon as I am\nagain in motion my head resumes its workings. I had, however, provided\nmyself with a work for the closet upon rainy days. This was my\ndictionary of music, which my scattered, mutilated, and unshapen\nmaterials made it necessary to rewrite almost entirely. I had with me\nsome books necessary to this purpose; I had spent two months in making\nextracts from others, I had borrowed from the king's library, whence I\nwas permitted to take several to the Hermitage. I was thus provided with\nmaterials for composing in my apartment when the weather did not permit\nme to go out, and my copying fatigued me. This arrangement was so\nconvenient that it made it turn to advantage as well at the Hermitage\nas at Montmorency, and afterwards even at Motiers, where I completed the\nwork whilst I was engaged in others, and constantly found a change of\noccupation to be a real relaxation.\n\nDuring a considerable time I exactly followed the distribution I had\nprescribed myself, and found it very agreeable; but as soon as the fine\nweather brought Madam d'Epinay more frequently to Epinay, or to the\nChervette, I found that attentions, in the first instance natural to me,\nbut which I had not considered in my scheme, considerably deranged my\nprojects. I have already observed that Madam d'Epinay had many amiable\nqualities; she sincerely loved her friends; served them with zeal; and,\nnot sparing for them either time or pains, certainly deserved on their\npart every attention in return. I had hitherto discharged this duty\nwithout considering it as one, but at length I found that I had given\nmyself a chain of which nothing but friendship prevented me from feeling\nthe weight, and this was still aggravated by my dislike to numerous\nsocieties. Madam d' Epinay took advantage of these circumstances to make\nme a proposition seemingly agreeable to me, but which was more so to\nherself; this was to let me know when she was alone, or had but little\ncompany. I consented, without perceiving to what a degree I engaged\nmyself. The consequence was that I no longer visited her at my own\nhour--but at hers, and that I never was certain of being master of\nmyself for a day together. This constraint considerably diminished\nthe pleasure I had in going to see her. I found the liberty she had so\nfrequently promised was given me upon no other condition than that of my\nnever enjoying it; and once or twice when I wished to do this there\nwere so many messages, notes, and alarms relative to my health, that I\nperceived that I could have no excuse but being confined to my bed,\nfor not immediately running to her upon the first intimation. It\nwas necessary I should submit to this yoke, and I did it, even more\nvoluntarily than could be expected from so great an enemy to dependence:\nthe sincere attachment I had to Madam D'Epinay preventing me, in a great\nmeasure, from feeling the inconvenience with which it was accompanied.\nShe, on her part, filled up, well or ill, the void which the absence\nof her usual circle left in her amusements. This for her was but a very\nslender supplement, although preferable to absolute solitude, which she\ncould not support. She had the means of doing it much more at her ease\nafter she began with literature, and at all events to write novels,\nletters, comedies, tales, and other trash of the same kind. But she was\nnot so much amused in writing these as in reading them; and she never\nscribbled over two or three pages--at one sitting--without being\npreviously assured of having, at least, two or three benevolent auditors\nat the end of so much labor. I seldom had the honor of being one of the\nchosen few except by means of another. When alone, I was, for the most\npart, considered as a cipher in everything; and this not only in the\ncompany of Madam D'Epinay, but in that of M. d'Holbach, and in every\nplace where Grimm gave the 'ton'. This nullity was very convenient to\nme, except in a tete-a-tete, when I knew not what countenance to put on,\nnot daring to speak of literature, of which it was not for me to say a\nword; nor of gallantry, being too timid, and fearing, more than death,\nthe ridiculousness of an old gallant; besides that, I never had such an\nidea when in the company of Madam D'Epinay, and that it perhaps would\nnever have occurred to me, had I passed my whole life with her; not that\nher person was in the least disagreeable to me; on the contrary, I loved\nher perhaps too much as a friend to do it as a lover. I felt a pleasure\nin seeing and speaking to her. Her conversation, although agreeable\nenough in a mixed company, was uninteresting in private; mine, not more\nelegant or entertaining than her own, was no great amusement to her.\nAshamed of being long silent, I endeavored to enliven our tete-a-tete\nand, although this frequently fatigued me, I was never disgusted with\nit. I was happy to show her little attentions, and gave her little\nfraternal kisses, which seemed not to be more sensual to herself; these\nwere all. She was very thin, very pale, and had a bosom which resembled\nthe back of her hand. This defect alone would have been sufficient to\nmoderate my most ardent desires; my heart never could distinguish\na woman in a person who had it; and besides other causes useless to\nmention, always made me forget the sex of this lady.\n\nHaving resolved to conform to an assiduity which was necessary, I\nimmediately and voluntarily entered upon it, and for the first year\nat least, found it less burthensome than I could have expected. Madam\nd'Epinay, who commonly passed the summer in the country, continued there\nbut a part of this; whether she was more detained by her affairs in\nParis, or that the absence of Grimm rendered the residence of the\nChevrette less agreeable to her, I know not. I took the advantage of the\nintervals of her absence, or when the company with her was numerous, to\nenjoy my solitude with my good Theresa and her mother, in such a manner\nas to taste all its charms. Although I had for several years past been\nfrequently in the country, I seldom had enjoyed much of its pleasures;\nand these excursions, always made in company with people who considered\nthemselves as persons of consequence, and rendered insipid by\nconstraint, served to increase in me the natural desire I had for rustic\npleasures. The want of these was the more sensible to me as I had the\nimage of them immediately before my eyes. I was so tired of saloons,\njets d'eau, groves, parterres, and of more fatiguing persons by whom\nthey were shown; so exhausted with pamphlets, harpsichords, trios,\nunravellings of plots, stupid bon mots, insipid affections, pitiful\nstorytellers, and great suppers; that when I gave a side glance at\na poor simple hawthorn bush, a hedge, a barn, or a meadow; when, in\npassing through a hamlet, I scented a good chervil omelette, and heard\nat a distance the burden of a rustic song of the Bisquieres; I wished\nall rouge, furbelows and ambergris at the devil, and envying the dinner\nof the good housewife, and the wine of her own vineyard, I heartily\nwished to give a slap on the chaps to Monsieur le Chef and Monsieur le\nMaitre, who made me dine at the hour of supper, and sup when I should\nhave been asleep, but especially to Messieurs the lackeys, who devoured\nwith their eyes the morsel I put into my mouth, and upon pain of my\ndying with thirst, sold me the adulterated wine of their master, ten\ntimes dearer than that of a better quality would have cost me at a\npublic house.\n\nAt length I was settled in an agreeable and solitary asylum, at liberty\nto pass there the remainder of my days, in that peaceful, equal, and\nindependent life for which I felt myself born. Before I relate the\neffects this situation, so new to me, had upon my heart, it is proper\nI should recapitulate its secret affections, that the reader may better\nfollow in their causes the progress of these new modifications.\n\nI have always considered the day on which I was united to Theresa as\nthat which fixed my moral existence. An attachment was necessary for\nme, since that which should have been sufficient to my heart had been so\ncruelly broken. The thirst after happiness is never extinguished in the\nheart of man. Mamma was advancing into years, and dishonored herself! I\nhad proofs that she could never more be happy here below; it therefore\nremained to me to seek my own happiness, having lost all hopes of\npartaking of hers. I was sometimes irresolute, and fluctuated from one\nidea to another, and from project to project. My journey to Venice would\nhave thrown me into public life, had the man with whom, almost against\nmy inclination, I was connected there had common sense. I was easily\ndiscouraged, especially in undertakings of length and difficulty. The\nill success of this disgusted me with every other; and, according to\nmy old maxims, considering distant objects as deceitful allurements,\nI resolved in future to provide for immediate wants, seeing nothing in\nlife which could tempt me to make extraordinary efforts.\n\nIt was precisely at this time we became acquainted. The mild character\nof the good Theresa seemed so fitted to my own, that I united myself to\nher with an attachment which neither time nor injuries have been able to\nimpair, and which has constantly been increased by everything by\nwhich it might have been expected to be diminished. The force of this\nsentiment will hereafter appear when I come to speak of the wounds she\nhas given my heart in the height of my misery, without my ever having,\nuntil this moment, once uttered a word of complaint to any person\nwhatever.\n\nWhen it shall be known, that after having done everything, braved\neverything, not to separate from her; that after passing with her twenty\nyears in despite of fate and men; I have in my old age made her my wife,\nwithout the least expectation or solicitation on her part, or promise\nor engagement on mine, the world will think that love bordering upon\nmadness, having from the first moment turned my head, led me by degrees\nto the last act of extravagance; and this will no longer appear doubtful\nwhen the strong and particular reasons which should forever have\nprevented me from taking such a step are made known. What, therefore,\nwill the reader think when I shall have told him, with all the truth he\nhas ever found in me, that, from the first moment in which I saw her,\nuntil that wherein I write, I have never felt the least love for her,\nthat I never desired to possess her more than I did to possess Madam de\nWarens, and that the physical wants which were satisfied with her person\nwere, to me, solely those of the sex, and by no means proceeding from\nthe individual? He will think that, being of a constitution different\nfrom that of other men, I was incapable of love, since this was not one\nof the sentiments which attached me to women the most dear to my heart.\nPatience, O my dear reader! the fatal moment approaches in which you\nwill be but too much undeceived.\n\nI fall into repetitions; I know it; and these are necessary. The first\nof my wants, the greatest, strongest and most insatiable, was wholly\nin my heart; the want of an intimate connection, and as intimate as\nit could possibly be: for this reason especially, a woman was more\nnecessary to me than a man, a female rather than a male friend.\nThis singular want was such that the closest corporal union was not\nsufficient: two souls would have been necessary to me in the same body,\nwithout which I always felt a void. I thought I was upon the point\nof filling it up forever. This young person, amiable by a thousand\nexcellent qualities, and at that time by her form, without the shadow of\nart or coquetry, would have confined within herself my whole existence,\ncould hers, as I had hoped it would, have been totally confined to me.\nI had nothing to fear from men; I am certain of being the only man she\never really loved and her moderate passions seldom wanted another, not\neven after I ceased in this respect to be one to her. I had no\nfamily; she had one; and this family was composed of individuals whose\ndispositions were so different from mine, that I could never make it my\nown. This was the first cause of my unhappiness. What would I not have\ngiven to be the child of her mother? I did everything in my power to\nbecome so, but could never succeed. I in vain attempted to unite all our\ninterests: this was impossible. She always created herself one different\nfrom mine, contrary to it, and to that even of her daughter, which\nalready was no longer separated from it. She, her other children, and\ngrand-children, became so many leeches, and the least evil these did to\nTheresa was robbing her. The poor girl, accustomed to submit, even to\nher nieces, suffered herself to be pilfered and governed without saying\na word; and I perceived with grief that by exhausting my purse, and\ngiving her advice, I did nothing that could be of any real advantage\nto her. I endeavored to detach her from her mother; but she constantly\nresisted such a proposal. I could not but respect her resistance, and\nesteemed her the more for it; but her refusal was not on this account\nless to the prejudice of us both. Abandoned to her mother and the rest\nof her family, she was more their companion than mine, and rather at\ntheir command than mistress of herself. Their avarice was less ruinous\nthan their advice was pernicious to her; in fact, if, on account of the\nlove she had for me, added to her good natural disposition, she was not\nquite their slave, she was enough so to prevent in a great measure\nthe effect of the good maxims I endeavored to instil into her, and,\nnotwithstanding all my efforts, to prevent our being united.\n\nThus was it, that notwithstanding a sincere and reciprocal attachment,\nin which I had lavished all the tenderness of my heart, the void in that\nheart was never completely filled. Children, by whom this effect should\nhave been produced, were brought into the world, but these only made\nthings worse. I trembled at the thought of intrusting them to a family\nill brought up, to be still worse educated. The risk of the education of\nthe foundling hospital was much less. This reason for the resolution\nI took, much stronger than all those I stated in my letter to Madam de\nFrancueil, was, however, the only one with which I dared not make her\nacquainted; I chose rather to appear less excusable than to expose\nto reproach the family of a person I loved. But by the conduct of her\nwretched brother, notwithstanding all that can be said in his defence,\nit will be judged whether or not I ought to have exposed my children to\nan education similar to his.\n\nNot having it in my power to taste in all its plentitude the charms\nof that intimate connection of which I felt the want, I sought for\nsubstitutes which did not fill up the void, yet they made it less\nsensible. Not having a friend entirely devoted to me, I wanted others,\nwhose impulse should overcome my indolence; for this reason I cultivated\nand strengthened my connection with Diderot and the Abbe de Condillac,\nformed with Grimm a new one still more intimate, till at length by\nthe unfortunate discourse, of which I have related some particulars,\nI unexpectedly found myself thrown back into a literary circle which I\nthought I had quitted forever.\n\nMy first steps conducted me by a new path to another intellectual world,\nthe simple and noble economy of which I cannot contemplate without\nenthusiasm. I reflected so much on the subject that I soon saw nothing\nbut error and folly in the doctrine of our sages, and oppression and\nmisery in our social order. In the illusion of my foolish pride, I\nthought myself capable of destroying all imposture; and thinking that,\nto make myself listened to, it was necessary my conduct should agree\nwith my principles, I adopted the singular manner of life which I\nhave not been permitted to continue, the example of which my pretended\nfriends have never forgiven me, which at first made me ridiculous, and\nwould at length have rendered me respectable, had it been possible for\nme to persevere.\n\nUntil then I had been good; from that moment I became virtuous, or at\nleast infatuated with virtue. This infatuation had begun in my head, but\nafterwards passed into my heart. The most noble pride there took root\namongst the ruins of extirpated vanity. I affected nothing; I became\nwhat I appeared to be, and during four years at least, whilst this\neffervescence continued at its greatest height, there is nothing great\nand good that can enter the heart of man, of which I was not capable\nbetween heaven and myself. Hence flowed my sudden eloquence; hence, in\nmy first writings, that fire really celestial, which consumed me, and\nwhence during forty years not a single spark had escaped, because it was\nnot yet lighted up.\n\nI was really transformed; my friends and acquaintance scarcely knew\nme. I was no longer that timid, and rather bashful than modest man,\nwho neither dared to present himself, nor utter a word; whom a single\npleasantry disconcerted, and whose face was covered with a blush the\nmoment his eyes met those of a woman. I became bold, haughty, intrepid,\nwith a confidence the more firm, as it was simple, and resided in my\nsoul rather than in my manner. The contempt with which my profound\nmeditations had inspired me for the manners, maxims and prejudices of\nthe age in which I lived, rendered me proof against the raillery\nof those by whom they were possessed, and I crushed their little\npleasantries with a sentence, as I would have crushed an insect with my\nfingers.\n\nWhat a change! All Paris repeated the severe and acute sarcasms of the\nsame man who, two years before, and ten years afterwards, knew not how\nto find what he had to say, nor the word he ought to employ. Let the\nsituation in the world the most contrary to my natural disposition be\nsought after, and this will be found. Let one of the short moments of\nmy life in which I became another man, and ceased to be myself, be\nrecollected, this also will be found in the time of which I speak; but,\ninstead of continuing only six days, or six weeks, it lasted almost\nsix years, and would perhaps still continue, but for the particular\ncircumstances which caused it to cease, and restored me to nature, above\nwhich I had wished to soar.\n\nThe beginning of this change took place as soon as I had quitted\nParis, and the sight of the vices of that city no longer kept up the\nindignation with which it had inspired me. I no sooner had lost sight\nof men than I ceased to despise them, and once removed from those who\ndesigned me evil, my hatred against them no longer existed. My\nheart, little fitted for hatred, pitied their misery, and even their\nwickedness. This situation, more pleasing but less sublime, soon allayed\nthe ardent enthusiasm by which I had so long been transported; and I\ninsensibly, almost to myself even, again became fearful, complaisant and\ntimid; in a word, the same Jean Jacques I before had been.\n\nHad this resolution gone no further than restoring me to myself, all\nwould have been well; but unfortunately it rapidly carried me away to\nthe other extreme. From that moment my mind in agitation passed the\nline of repose, and its oscillations, continually renewed, have never\npermitted it to remain here. I must enter into some detail of this\nsecond revolution; terrible and fatal era, of a fate unparalleled\namongst mortals.\n\nWe were but three persons in our retirement; it was therefore natural\nour intimacy should be increased by leisure and solitude. This was the\ncase between Theresa and myself. We passed in conversations in the shade\nthe most charming and delightful hours, more so than any I had hitherto\nenjoyed. She seemed to taste of this sweet intercourse more than I had\nuntil then observed her to do; she opened her heart, and communicated\nto me, relative to her mother and family, things she had had resolution\nenough to conceal for a great length of time. Both had received from\nMadam Dupin numerous presents, made them on my account, and mostly for\nme, but which the cunning old woman, to prevent my being angry, had\nappropriated to her own use and that of her other children, without\nsuffering Theresa to have the least share, strongly forbidding her to\nsay a word to me of the matter: an order the poor girl had obeyed with\nan incredible exactness.\n\nBut another thing which surprised me more than this had done, was the\ndiscovery that besides the private conversations Diderot and Grimm had\nfrequently had with both to endeavor to detach them from me, in which,\nby means of the resistance of Theresa, they had not been able to\nsucceed, they had afterwards had frequent conferences with the mother,\nthe subject of which was a secret to the daughter. However, she knew\nlittle presents had been made, and that there were mysterious goings\nbackward and forward, the motive of which was entirely unknown to her.\nWhen we left Paris, Madam le Vasseur had long been in the habit of going\nto see Grimm twice or thrice a month, and continuing with him for hours\ntogether, in conversation so secret that the servant was always sent out\nof the room.\n\nI judged this motive to be of the same nature with the project into\nwhich they had attempted to make the daughter enter, by promising\nto procure her and her mother, by means of Madam d'Epinay, a salt\nhuckster's license, or snuff-shop; in a word, by tempting her with\nthe allurements of gain. They had been told that, as I was not in a\nsituation to do anything for them, I could not, on their account, do\nanything for myself. As in all this I saw nothing but good intentions, I\nwas not absolutely displeased with them for it. The mystery was the only\nthing which gave me pain, especially on the part of the old woman, who\nmoreover daily became more parasitical and flattering towards me. This,\nhowever, did not prevent her from reproaching her daughter in private\nwith telling me everything, and loving me too much, observing to her she\nwas a fool and would at length be made a dupe.\n\nThis woman possessed, to a supreme degree, the art of multiplying\nthe presents made her, by concealing from one what she received from\nanother, and from me what she received from all. I could have pardoned\nher avarice, but it was impossible I should forgive her dissimulation.\nWhat could she have to conceal from me whose happiness she knew\nprincipally consisted in that of herself and her daughter? What I had\ndone for the daughter I had done for myself, but the services I rendered\nthe mother merited on her part some acknowledgment. She ought, at least,\nto have thought herself obliged for them to her daughter, and to have\nloved me for the sake of her by whom I was already beloved. I had raised\nher from the lowest state of wretchedness; she received from my hands\nthe means of subsistence, and was indebted to me for her acquaintance\nwith the persons from whom she found means to reap considerable benefit.\nTheresa had long supported her by her industry, and now maintained her\nwith my bread. She owed everything to this daughter, for whom she had\ndone nothing, and her other children, to whom she had given marriage\nportions, and on whose account she had ruined herself, far from giving\nher the least aid, devoured her substance and mine. I thought that in\nsuch a situation she ought to consider me as her only friend and most\nsure protector, and that, far from making of my own affairs a secret to\nme, and conspiring against me in my house, it was her duty faithfully to\nacquaint me with everything in which I was interested, when this came to\nher knowledge before it did to mine. In what light, therefore, could\nI consider her false and mysterious conduct? What could I think of\nthe sentiments with which she endeavored to inspire her daughter? What\nmonstrous ingratitude was hers, to endeavor to instil it into her from\nwhom I expected my greatest consolation?\n\nThese reflections at length alienated my affections from this woman, and\nto such a degree that I could no longer look upon her but with contempt.\nI nevertheless continued to treat with respect the mother of the friend\nof my bosom, and in everything to show her almost the reverence of a\nson; but I must confess I could not remain long with her without pain,\nand that I never knew how to bear restraint.\n\nThis is another short moment of my life, in which I approached near to\nhappiness without being able to attain it, and this by no fault of my\nown. Had the mother been of a good disposition we all three should have\nbeen happy to the end of our days; the longest liver only would have\nbeen to be pitied. Instead of which, the reader will see the course\nthings took, and judge whether or not it was in my power to change it.\n\nMadam le Vasseur, who perceived I had got more full possession of the\nheart of Theresa, and that she had lost ground with her, endeavored to\nregain it; and instead of striving to restore herself to my good opinion\nby the mediation of her daughter attempted to alienate her affections\nfrom me. One of the means she employed was to call her family to her\naid. I had begged Theresa not to invite any of her relations to the\nHermitage, and she had promised me she would not. These were sent for\nin my absence, without consulting her, and she was afterwards prevailed\nupon to promise not to say anything of the matter. After the first step\nwas taken all the rest were easy. When once we make a secret of anything\nto the person we love, we soon make little scruple of doing it in\neverything; the moment I was at the Chevrette the Hermitage was full\nof people who sufficiently amused themselves. A mother has always great\npower over a daughter of a mild disposition; yet notwithstanding all the\nold woman could do, she was never able to prevail upon Theresa to enter\ninto her views, nor to persuade her to join in the league against me.\nFor her part, she resolved upon doing it forever, and seeing on one side\nher daughter and myself, who were in a situation to live, and that was\nall; on the other, Diderot, Grimm, D' Holbach and Madam d'Epinay, who\npromised great things, and gave some little ones, she could not conceive\nit was possible to be in the wrong with the wife of a farmer-general\nand baron. Had I been more clear sighted, I should from this moment have\nperceived I nourished a serpent in my bosom. But my blind confidence,\nwhich nothing had yet diminished, was such that I could not imagine she\nwished to injure the person she ought to love. Though I saw numerous\nconspiracies formed on every side, all I complain of was the tyranny of\npersons who called themselves my friends, and who, as it seemed, would\nforce me to be happy in the manner they should point out, and not in\nthat I had chosen for myself.\n\nAlthough Theresa refused to join in the confederacy with her mother,\nshe afterwards kept her secret. For this her motive was commendable,\nalthough I will not determine whether she did it well or ill. Two women,\nwho have secrets between them, love to prattle together; this attracted\nthem towards each other, and Theresa, by dividing herself, sometimes let\nme feel I was alone; for I could no longer consider as a society that\nwhich we all three formed.\n\nI now felt the neglect I had been guilty of during the first years of\nour connection, in not taking advantage of the docility with which her\nlove inspired her, to improve her talents and give her knowledge, which,\nby more closely connecting us in our retirement would agreeably have\nfilled up her time and my own, without once suffering us to perceive\nthe length of a private conversation. Not that this was ever exhausted\nbetween us, or that she seemed disgusted with our walks; but we had not\na sufficient number of ideas common to both to make ourselves a great\nstore, and we could not incessantly talk of our future projects which\nwere confined to those of enjoying the pleasures of life. The objects\naround us inspired me with reflections beyond the reach of her\ncomprehension. An attachment of twelve years' standing had no longer\nneed of words: we were too well acquainted with each other to have any\nnew knowledge to acquire in that respect. The resource of puns, jests,\ngossiping and scandal, was all that remained. In solitude especially is\nit, that the advantage of living with a person who knows how to think is\nparticularly felt. I wanted not this resource to amuse myself with her;\nbut she would have stood in need of it to have always found\namusement with me. The worst of all was our being obliged to hold our\nconversations when we could; her mother, who become importunate, obliged\nme to watch for opportunities to do it. I was under constraint in my\nown house: this is saying everything; the air of love was prejudicial\nto good friendship. We had an intimate intercourse without living in\nintimacy.\n\nThe moment I thought I perceived that Theresa sometimes sought for a\npretext to elude the walks I proposed to her, I ceased to invite her to\naccompany me, without being displeased with her for not finding in them\nso much amusement as I did. Pleasure is not a thing which depends upon\nthe will. I was sure of her heart, and the possession of this was all I\ndesired. As long as my pleasures were hers, I tasted of them with her;\nwhen this ceased to be the case I preferred her contentment to my own.\n\nIn this manner it was that, half deceived in my expectation, leading a\nlife after my own heart, in a residence I had chosen with a person who\nwas dear to me, I at length found myself almost alone. What I still\nwanted prevented me from enjoying what I had. With respect to happiness\nand enjoyment, everything or nothing, was what was necessary to me. The\nreason of these observations will hereafter appear. At present I return\nto the thread of my narrative.\n\nI imagined that I possessed treasures in the manuscripts given me by the\nComte de St. Pierre. On examination I found they were a little more\nthan the collection of the printed works of his uncle, with notes and\ncorrections by his own hand, and a few other trifling fragments which\nhad not yet been published. I confirmed myself by these moral writings\nin the idea I had conceived from some of his letters, shown me by Madam\nde Crequi, that he had more sense and ingenuity than at first I had\nimagined; but after a careful examination of his political works, I\ndiscerned nothing but superficial notions, and projects that were useful\nbut impracticable, in consequence of the idea from which the author\nnever could depart, that men conducted themselves by their sagacity\nrather than by their passions. The high opinion he had of the knowledge\nof the moderns had made him adopt this false principle of improved\nreason, the basis of all the institutions he proposed, and the source of\nhis political sophisms. This extraordinary man, an honor to the age in\nwhich he lived, and to the human species, and perhaps the only person,\nsince the creation of mankind, whose sole passion was that of reason,\nwandered in all his systems from error to error, by attempting to make\nmen like himself, instead of taking them as they were, are, and will\ncontinue to be. He labored for imaginary beings, while he thought\nhimself employed for the benefit of his contemporaries.\n\nAll these things considered, I was rather embarrassed as to the form I\nshould give to my work. To suffer the author's visions to pass was doing\nnothing useful; fully to refute them would have been unpolite, as the\ncare of revising and publishing his manuscripts, which I had accepted,\nand even requested, had been intrusted to me; this trust had imposed\non me the obligation of treating the author honorably. I at length\nconcluded upon that which to me appeared the most decent, judicious,\nand useful. This was to give separately my own ideas and those of the\nauthor, and, for this purpose, to enter into his views, to set them in\na new light, to amplify, extend them, and spare nothing which might\ncontribute to present them in all their excellence.\n\nMy work therefore was to be composed of two parts absolutely distinct:\none, to explain, in the manner I have just mentioned, the different\nprojects of the author; in the other, which was not to appear until\nthe first had had its effect, I should have given my opinion upon these\nprojects, which I confess might sometimes have exposed them to the fate\nof the sonnet of the misanthrope. At the head of the whole was to\nhave been the life of the author. For this I had collected some good\nmaterials, and which I flattered myself I should not spoil in making use\nof them. I had been a little acquainted with the Abbe de St. Pierre, in\nhis old age, and the veneration I had for his memory warranted to me,\nupon the whole, that the comte would not be dissatisfied with the manner\nin which I should have treated his relation.\n\nI made my first essay on the 'Perpetual Peace', the greatest and most\nelaborate of all the works which composed the collection; and before I\nabandoned myself to my reflections I had the courage to read everything\nthe abbe had written upon this fine subject, without once suffering\nmyself to be disgusted either by his slowness or his repetitions. The\npublic has seen the extract, on which account I have nothing to say upon\nthe subject. My opinion of it has not been printed, nor do I know that\nit ever will be; however, it was written at the same time the extract\nwas made. From this I passed to the 'Polysynodie', or Plurality of\nCouncils, a work written under the regent to favor the administration\nhe had chosen, and which caused the Abbe de Saint Pierre to be expelled\nfrom the academy, on account of some remarks unfavorable to the\npreceding administration, and with which the Duchess of Maine and the\nCardinal de Polignac were displeased. I completed this work as I did\nthe former, with an extract and remarks; but I stopped here without\nintending to continue the undertaking which I ought never to have begun.\n\nThe reflection which induced me to give it up naturally presents itself,\nand it was astonishing I had not made it sooner.\n\nMost of the writings of the Abbe de Saint Pierre were either\nobservations, or contained observations, on some parts of the government\nof France, and several of these were of so free a nature, that it was\nhappy for him he had made them with impunity. But in the offices of all\nthe ministers of state the Abbe de St. Pierre had ever been considered\nas a kind of preacher rather than a real politician, and he was suffered\nto say what he pleased, because it appeared that nobody listened to him.\nHad I procured him readers the case would have been different. He was a\nFrenchman, and I was not one; and by repeating his censures, although in\nhis own name, I exposed myself to be asked, rather rudely, but without\ninjustice, what it was with which I meddled. Happily before I proceeded\nany further, I perceived the hold I was about to give the government\nagainst me, and I immediately withdrew. I knew that, living alone in\nthe midst of men more powerful than myself, I never could by any means\nwhatever be sheltered from the injury they chose to do me. There was but\none thing which depended upon my own efforts: this was, to observe such\na line of conduct that whenever they chose to make me feel the weight\nof authority they could not do it without being unjust. The maxim which\ninduced me to decline proceeding with the works of the Abbe de Saint\nPierre, has frequently made me give up projects I had much more at\nheart. People who are always ready to construe adversity into a crime,\nwould be much surprised were they to know the pains I have taken, that\nduring my misfortunes it might never with truth be said of me, Thou hast\ndeserved them.\n\nAfter having given up the manuscript, I remained some time without\ndetermining upon the work which should succeed it, and this interval of\ninactivity was destructive; by permitting me to turn my reflections\non myself, for want of another object to engage my attention. I had no\nproject for the future which could amuse my imagination. It was not even\npossible to form any, as my situation was precisely that in which all my\ndesires were united. I had not another to conceive, and yet there was a\nvoid in my heart. This state was the more cruel, as I saw no other that\nwas to be preferred to it. I had fixed my most tender affections upon\na person who made me a return of her own. I lived with her without\nconstraint, and, so to speak, at discretion. Notwithstanding this, a\nsecret grief of mind never quitted me for a moment, either when she was\npresent or absent. In possessing Theresa, I still perceived she wanted\nsomething to her happiness; and the sole idea of my not being everything\nto her had such an effect upon my mind that she was next to nothing to\nme.\n\nI had friends of both sexes, to whom I was attached by the purest\nfriendship and most perfect esteem; I depended upon a real return on\ntheir part, and a doubt of their sincerity never entered my mind; yet\nthis friendship was more tormenting than agreeable to me, by their\nobstinate perseverance and even by their affectation, in opposing my\ntaste, inclinations and manner of living; and this to such a degree,\nthat the moment I seemed to desire a thing which interested myself only,\nand depended not upon them, they immediately joined their efforts to\noblige me to renounce it. This continued desire to control me in all my\nwishes, the more unjust, as I did not so much as make myself acquainted\nwith theirs, became so cruelly oppressive, that I never received one of\ntheir letters without feeling a certain terror as I opened it, and which\nwas but too well justified by the contents. I thought being treated like\na child by persons younger than myself, and who, of themselves, stood\nin great need of the advice they so prodigally bestowed on me, was too\nmuch: \"Love me,\" said I to them, \"as I love you, but, in every other\nrespect, let my affairs be as indifferent to you, as yours are to me:\nthis is all I ask.\" If they granted me one of these two requests, it was\nnot the latter.\n\nI had a retired residence in a charming solitude, was master of my own\nhouse, and could live in it in the manner I thought proper, without\nbeing controlled by any person. This habitation imposed on me duties\nagreeable to discharge, but which were indispensable. My liberty was\nprecarious. In a greater state of subjection than a person at the\ncommand of another, it was my duty to be so by inclination. When I arose\nin the morning, I never could say to myself, I will employ this day as\nI think proper. And, moreover, besides my being subject to obey the\ncall of Madam d'Epinay, I was exposed to the still more disagreeable\nimportunities of the public and chance comers. The distance I was at\nfrom Paris did not prevent crowds of idlers, not knowing how to spend\ntheir time, from daily breaking in upon me, and, without the least\nscruple, freely disposing of mine. When I least expected visitors I\nwas unmercifully assailed by them, and I seldom made a plan for the\nagreeable employment of the day that was not counteracted by the arrival\nof some stranger.\n\nIn short, finding no real enjoyment in the midst of the pleasures I had\nbeen most desirous to obtain, I, by sudden mental transitions, returned\nin imagination to the serene days of my youth, and sometimes exclaimed\nwith a sigh: \"Ah! this is not Les Charmettes!\"\n\nThe recollection of the different periods of my life led me to reflect\nupon that at which I was arrived, and I found I was already on the\ndecline, a prey to painful disorders, and imagined I was approaching the\nend of my days without having, tasted, in all its plentitude, scarcely\nany one of the pleasures after which my heart had so much thirsted, or\nhaving given scope to the lively sentiments I felt it had in reserve. I\nhad not favored even that intoxicating voluptuousness with which my\nmind was richly stored, and which, for want of an object, was always\ncompressed, and never exhaled but by signs.\n\nHow was it possible that, with a mind naturally expansive, I, with whom\nto live was to love, should not hitherto have found a friend entirely\ndevoted to me; a real friend: I who felt myself so capable of being such\na friend to another? How can it be accounted for that with such warm\naffections, such combustible senses, and a heart wholly made up of\nlove, I had not once, at least, felt its flame for a determinate object?\nTormented by the want of loving, without ever having been able to\nsatisfy it, I perceived myself approaching the eve of old age, and\nhastening on to death without having lived.\n\nThese melancholy but affecting recollections led me to others, which,\nalthough accompanied with regret, were not wholly unsatisfactory.\nI thought something I had not yet received was still due to me from\ndestiny.\n\nTo what end was I born with exquisite faculties? To suffer them to\nremain unemployed? the sentiment of conscious merit, which made me\nconsider myself as suffering injustice, was some kind of reparation, and\ncaused me to shed tears which with pleasure I suffered to flow.\n\nThese were my mediations during the finest season of the year, in the\nmonth of June, in cool shades, to the songs of the nightingale, and the\nwarbling of brooks. Everything concurred in plunging me into that too\nseducing state of indolence for which I was born, and from which my\naustere manner, proceeding from a long effervescence, should forever\nhave delivered me. I unfortunately remembered the dinner of the Chateau\nde Toune, and my meeting with the two charming girls in the same season,\nin places much resembling that in which I then was. The remembrance of\nthese circumstances, which the innocence that accompanied them rendered\nto me still more dear, brought several others of the nature to my\nrecollection. I presently saw myself surrounded by all the objects\nwhich, in my youth, had given me emotion. Mademoiselle Galley,\nMademoiselle de Graffenried, Mademoiselle de Breil, Madam Basile, Madam\nde Larnage, my pretty scholars, and even the bewitching Zulietta, whom\nmy heart could not forget. I found myself in the midst of a seraglio of\nhouris of my old acquaintance, for whom the most lively inclination was\nnot new to me. My blood became inflamed, my head turned, notwithstanding\nmy hair was almost gray, and the grave citizen of Geneva, the austere\nJean Jacques, at forty-five years of age, again became the fond\nshepherd. The intoxication, with which my mind was seized, although\nsudden and extravagant, was so strong and lasting, that, to enable me to\nrecover from it, nothing less than the unforeseen and terrible crisis it\nbrought on was necessary.\n\nThis intoxication, to whatever degree it was carried, went not so far as\nto make me forget my age and situation, to flatter me that I could still\ninspire love, nor to make me attempt to communicate the devouring flame\nby which ever since my youth I had felt my heart in vain consumed. For\nthis I did not hope; I did not even desire it. I knew the season of love\nwas past; I knew too well in what contempt the ridiculous pretensions of\nsuperannuated gallants were held, ever to add one to the number, and\nI was not a man to become an impudent coxcomb in the decline of life,\nafter having been so little such during the flower of my age. Besides,\nas a friend to peace, I should have been apprehensive of domestic\ndissensions; and I too sincerely loved Theresa to expose her to the\nmortification of seeing me entertain for others more lively sentiments\nthan those with which she inspired me for herself.\n\nWhat step did I take upon this occasion? My reader will already have\nguessed it, if he has taken the trouble to pay the least attention to my\nnarrative. The impossibility of attaining real beings threw me into\nthe regions of chimera, and seeing nothing in existence worthy of my\ndelirium, I sought food for it in the ideal world, which my imagination\nquickly peopled with beings after my own heart. This resource never\ncame more apropos, nor was it ever so fertile. In my continual ecstasy I\nintoxicated my mind with the most delicious sentiments that ever entered\nthe heart of man. Entirely forgetting the human species, I formed to\nmyself societies of perfect beings, whose virtues were as celestial as\ntheir beauty, tender and faithful friends, such as I never found here\nbelow. I became so fond of soaring in the empyrean, in the midst of the\ncharming objects with which I was surrounded, that I thus passed hours\nand days without perceiving it; and, losing the remembrance of all other\nthings, I scarcely had eaten a morsel in haste before I was impatient to\nmake my escape and run to regain my groves. When ready to depart for\nthe enchanted world, I saw arrive wretched mortals who came to detain\nme upon earth, I could neither conceal nor moderate my vexation; and\nno longer master of myself, I gave them so uncivil a reception, that it\nmight justly be termed brutal. This tended to confirm my reputation as\na misanthrope, from the very cause which, could the world have read my\nheart, should have acquired me one of a nature directly opposite.\n\nIn the midst of my exultation I was pulled down like a paper kite, and\nrestored to my proper place by means of a smart attack of my disorder.\nI recurred to the only means that had before given me relief, and thus\nmade a truce with my angelic amours; for besides that it seldom happens\nthat a man is amorous when he suffers, my imagination, which is animated\nin the country and beneath the shade of trees, languishes and becomes\nextinguished in a chamber, and under the joists of a ceiling. I\nfrequently regretted that there existed no dryads; it would certainly\nhave been amongst these that I should have fixed my attachment.\n\nOther domestic broils came at the same time to increase my chagrin.\nMadam le Vasseur, while making me the finest compliments in the world,\nalienated from me her daughter as much as she possibly could. I received\nletters from my late neighborhood, informing me that the good old lady\nhad secretly contracted several debts in the name of Theresa, to whom\nthese became known, but of which she had never mentioned to me a word.\nThe debts to be paid hurt me much less than the secret that had been\nmade of them. How could she, for whom I had never had a secret, have one\nfrom me? Is it possible to dissimulate with persons whom we love? The\n'Coterie Holbachique', who found I never made a journey to Paris, began\nseriously to be afraid I was happy and satisfied in the country, and\nmadman enough to reside there.\n\nHence the cabals by which attempts were made to recall me indirectly to\nthe city. Diderot, who did not immediately wish to show himself, began\nby detaching from me De Leyre, whom I had brought acquainted with him,\nand who received and transmitted to me the impressions Diderot chose to\ngive without suspecting to what end they were directed.\n\nEverything seemed to concur in withdrawing me from my charming and mad\nreverie. I was not recovered from the late attack I had when I received\nthe copy of the poem on the destruction of Lisbon, which I imagined to\nbe sent by the author. This made it necessary I should write to him\nand speak of his composition. I did so, and my letter was a long\ntime afterwards printed without my consent, as I shall hereafter have\noccasion to remark.\n\nStruck by seeing this poor man overwhelmed, if I may so speak, with\nprosperity and honor, bitterly exclaiming against the miseries of this\nlife, and finding everything to be wrong, I formed the mad project of\nmaking him turn his attention to himself, and of proving to him that\neverything was right. Voltaire, while he appeared to believe in God,\nnever really believed in anything but the devil; since his pretended\ndeity is a malicious being, who, according to him, had no pleasure\nbut in evil. The glaring absurdity of this doctrine is particularly\ndisgusting from a man enjoying the greatest prosperity; who, from the\nbosom of happiness, endeavors, by the frightful and cruel image of all\nthe calamities from which he is exempt, to reduce his fellow creatures\nto despair. I, who had a better right than he to calculate and weigh all\nthe evils of human life, impartially examined them, and proved to\nhim that of all possible evils there was not one to be attributed to\nProvidence, and which had not its source rather in the abusive use man\nmade of his faculties than in nature. I treated him, in this letter,\nwith the greatest respect and delicacy possible. Yet, knowing his\nself-love to be extremely irritable, I did not send the letter\nimmediately to himself, but to Doctor Tronchin, his physician and\nfriend, with full power either to give it him or destroy it. Voltaire\ninformed me in a few lines that being ill, having likewise the care of a\nsick person, he postponed his answer until some future day, and said not\na word on the subject. Tronchin, when he sent me the letter, inclosed in\nit another, in which he expressed but very little esteem for the person\nfrom whom he received it.\n\nI have never published, nor even shown, either of these two letters, not\nliking to make a parade of such little triumphs; but the originals are\nin my collections. Since that time Voltaire has published the answer he\npromised me, but which I never received. This is the novel of 'Candide',\nof which I cannot speak because I have not read it.\n\nAll these interruptions ought to have cured me of my fantastic amours,\nand they were perhaps the means offered me by Heaven to prevent their\ndestructive consequences; but my evil genius prevailed, and I had\nscarcely begun to go out before my heart, my head, and my feet returned\nto the same paths. I say the same in certain respects; for my ideas,\nrather less exalted, remained this time upon earth, but yet were busied\nin making so exquisite a choice of all that was to be found there\namiable of every kind, that it was not much less chimerical than the\nimaginary world I had abandoned.\n\nI figured to myself love and friendship, the two idols of my heart,\nunder the most ravishing images. I amused myself in adorning them with\nall the charms of the sex I had always adored. I imagined two female\nfriends rather than two of my own sex, because, although the example\nbe more rare, it is also more amiable. I endowed them with different\ncharacters, but analogous to their connection, with two faces, not\nperfectly beautiful, but according to my taste, and animated with\nbenevolence and sensibility. I made one brown and the other fair, one\nlively and the other languishing, one wise and the other weak, but of\nso amiable a weakness that it seemed to add a charm to virtue. I gave\nto one of the two a lover, of whom the other was the tender friend, and\neven something more, but I did not admit either rivalry, quarrels, or\njealousy: because every painful sentiment is painful for me to imagine,\nand I was unwilling to tarnish this delightful picture by anything which\nwas degrading to nature. Smitten with my two charming models, I drew my\nown portrait in the lover and the friend, as much as it was possible to\ndo it; but I made him young and amiable, giving him, at the same time,\nthe virtues and the defects which I felt in myself.\n\nThat I might place my characters in a residence proper for them, I\nsuccessively passed in review the most beautiful places I had seen in my\ntravels. But I found no grove sufficiently delightful, no landscape that\npleased me. The valleys of Thessaly would have satisfied me had I but\nonce had a sight of them; but my imagination, fatigued with invention,\nwished for some real place which might serve it as a point to rest upon,\nand create in me an illusion with respect to the real existence of the\ninhabitants I intended to place there. I thought a good while upon the\nBorromean Islands, the delightful prospect of which had transported me,\nbut I found in them too much art and ornament for my lovers. I however\nwanted a lake, and I concluded by making choice of that about which my\nheart has never ceased to wander. I fixed myself upon that part of the\nbanks of this lake where my wishes have long since placed my residence\nin the imaginary happiness to which fate has confined me. The native\nplace of my poor mamma had still for me a charm. The contrast of the\nsituations, the richness and variety of the sites, the magnificence, the\nmajesty of the whole, which ravishes the senses, affects the heart, and\nelevates the mind, determined me to give it the preference, and I placed\nmy young pupils at Vervey. This is what I imagined at the first sketch;\nthe rest was not added until afterwards.\n\nI for a long time confined myself to this vague plan, because it was\nsufficient to fill my imagination with agreeable objects, and my heart\nwith sentiments in which it delighted. These fictions, by frequently\npresenting themselves, at length gained a consistence, and took in my\nmind a determined form. I then had an inclination to express upon\npaper some of the situations fancy presented to me, and, recollecting\neverything I had felt during my youth, thus, in some measure, gave an\nobject to that desire of loving, which I had never been able to satisfy,\nand by which I felt myself consumed.\n\nI first wrote a few incoherent letters, and when I afterwards wished to\ngive them connection, I frequently found a difficulty in doing it. What\nis scarcely credible, although most strictly true, is my having written\nthe first two parts almost wholly in this manner, without having any\nplan formed, and not foreseeing I should one day be tempted to make it\na regular work. For this reason the two parts afterwards formed of\nmaterials not prepared for the place in which they are disposed, are\nfull of unmeaning expressions not found in the others.\n\nIn the midst of my reveries I had a visit from Madam d'Houdetot, the\nfirst she had ever made me, but which unfortunately was not the last, as\nwill hereafter appear. The Comtesse d'Houdetot was the daughter of the\nlate M. de Bellegarde, a farmer-general, sister to M. d'Epinay, and\nMessieurs de Lalive and De la Briche, both of whom have since been\nintroductors to ambassadors. I have spoken of the acquaintance I made\nwith her before she was married: since that event I had not seen\nher, except at the fetes at La Chevrette, with Madam d'Epinay, her\nsister-in-law. Having frequently passed several days with her, both\nat La Chevrette and Epinay, I always thought her amiable, and that she\nseemed to be my well-wisher. She was fond of walking with me; we were\nboth good walkers, and the conversation between us was inexhaustible.\nHowever, I never went to see her in Paris, although she had several\ntimes requested and solicited me to do it. Her connections with M.\nde St. Lambert, with whom I began to be intimate, rendered her more\ninteresting to me, and it was to bring me some account of that friend\nwho was, I believe, then at Mahon, that she came to see me at the\nHermitage.\n\nThis visit had something of the appearance of the beginning of a\nromance. She lost her way. Her coachman, quitting the road, which\nturned to the right, attempted to cross straight over from the mill\nof Clairvaux to the Hermitage: her carriage stuck in a quagmire in the\nbottom of the valley, and she got out and walked the rest of the road.\nHer delicate shoes were soon worn through; she sunk into the dirt, her\nservants had the greatest difficulty in extricating her, and she at\nlength arrived at the Hermitage in boots, making the place resound\nwith her laughter, in which I most heartily joined. She had to change\neverything. Theresa provided her with what was necessary, and I\nprevailed upon her to forget her dignity and partake of a rustic\ncollation, with which she seemed highly satisfied. It was late, and her\nstay was short; but the interview was so mirthful that it pleased her,\nand she seemed disposed to return. She did not however put this project\ninto execution until the next year: but, alas! the delay was not\nfavorable to me in anything.\n\nI passed the autumn in an employment no person would suspect me of\nundertaking: this was guarding the fruit of M. d'Epinay. The Hermitage\nwas the reservoir of the waters of the park of the Chevrette; there was\na garden walled round and planted with espaliers and other trees,\nwhich produced M. d'Epinay more fruit than his kitchen-garden at the\nChevrette, although three-fourths of it were stolen from him. That I\nmight not be a guest entirely useless, I took upon myself the direction\nof the garden and the inspection of the conduct of the gardener.\nEverything went on well until the fruit season, but as this became ripe,\nI observed that it disappeared without knowing in what manner it was\ndisposed of. The gardener assured me it was the dormice which eat it\nall. I destroyed a great number of these animals, notwithstanding\nwhich the fruit still diminished. I watched the gardener's motions\nso narrowly, that I found he was the great dormouse. He lodged at\nMontmorency, whence he came in the night with his wife and children to\ntake away the fruit he had concealed in the daytime, and which he sold\nin the market at Paris as publicly as if he had brought it from a garden\nof his own. The wretch whom I loaded with kindness, whose children\nwere clothed by Theresa, and whose father, who was a beggar, I almost\nsupported, robbed us with as much ease as effrontery, not one of the\nthree being sufficiently vigilant to prevent him: and one night he\nemptied my cellar.\n\nWhilst he seemed to address himself to me only, I suffered everything,\nbut being desirous of giving an account of the fruit, I was obliged\nto declare by whom a great part of it had been stolen. Madam d'Epinay\ndesired me to pay and discharge him, and look out for another; I did so.\nAs this rascal rambled about the Hermitage in the night, armed with a\nthick club staff with an iron ferrule, and accompanied by other villains\nlike himself, to relieve the governesses from their fears, I made his\nsuccessor sleep in the house with us; and this not being sufficient\nto remove their apprehensions, I sent to ask M. d'Epinay for a musket,\nwhich I kept in the chamber of the gardener, with a charge not to make\nuse of it except an attempt was made to break open the door or scale\nthe walls of the garden, and to fire nothing but powder, meaning only\nto frighten the thieves. This was certainly the least precaution a\nman indisposed could take for the common safety of himself and family,\nhaving to pass the winter in the midst of a wood, with two timid women.\nI also procured a little dog to serve as a sentinel. De Leyre coming to\nsee me about this time, I related to him my situation, and we laughed\ntogether at my military apparatus. At his return to Paris he wished\nto amuse Diderot with the story, and by this means the 'Coterie\nd'Holbachique' learned that I was seriously resolved to pass the winter\nat the Hermitage. This perseverance, of which they had not imagined me\nto be capable, disconcerted them, and, until they could think of some\nother means of making my residence disagreeable to me, they sent back,\nby means of Diderot, the same De Leyre, who, though at first he had\nthought my precautions quite natural, now pretended to discover that\nthey were inconsistent with my principles, and styled them more than\nridiculous in his letters, in which he overwhelmed me with pleasantries\nsufficiently bitter and satirical to offend me had I been the least\ndisposed to take offence. But at that time being full of tender and\naffectionate sentiments, and not susceptible of any other, I perceived\nin his biting sarcasms nothing more than a jest, and believed him only\njocose when others would have thought him mad.\n\nBy my care and vigilance I guarded the garden so well, that, although\nthere had been but little fruit that year the produce was triple that of\nthe preceding years; it is true, I spared no pains to preserve it, and I\nwent so far as to escort what I sent to the Chevrette and to Epinay,\nand to carry baskets of it myself. The aunt and I carried one of these,\nwhich was so heavy that we were obliged to rest at every dozen steps,\nand which we arrived with it we were quite wet with perspiration.\n\nAs soon as the bad season began to confine me to the house, I wished\nto return to my indolent amusements, but this I found impossible. I had\neverywhere two charming female friends before my eyes, their friend,\neverything by which they were surrounded, the country they inhabited,\nand the objects created or embellished for them by my imagination. I\nwas no longer myself for a moment, my delirium never left me. After\nmany useless efforts to banish all fictions from my mind, they at length\nseduced me, and my future endeavors were confined to giving them order\nand coherence, for the purpose of converting them into a species of\nnovel.\n\nWhat embarrassed me most was, that I had contradicted myself so openly\nand fully. After the severe principles I had just so publicly asserted,\nafter the austere maxims I had so loudly preached, and my violent\ninvectives against books which breathed nothing but effeminacy and love,\ncould anything be less expected or more extraordinary, than to see me,\nwith my own hand, write my name in the list of authors of those books I\nhad so severely censured? I felt this incoherence in all its extent. I\nreproached myself with it, I blushed at it and was vexed; but all this\ncould not bring me back to reason. Completely overcome, I was at all\nrisks obliged to submit, and to resolve to brave whatever the world\nmight say of it. Except only deliberating afterwards whether or not I\nshould show my work, for I did not yet suppose I should ever determine\nto publish it.\n\nThis resolution taken, I entirely abandoned myself to my reveries, and,\nby frequently resolving these in my mind, formed with them the kind\nof plan of which the execution has been seen. This was certainly the\ngreatest advantage that could be drawn from my follies; the love of good\nwhich has never once been effaced from my heart, turned them towards\nuseful objects, the moral of which might have produced its good effects.\nMy voluptuous descriptions would have lost all their graces, had they\nbeen devoid of the coloring of innocence.\n\nA weak girl is an object of pity, whom love may render interesting,\nand who frequently is not therefore the less amiable; but who can see\nwithout indignation the manners of the age; and what is more disgusting\nthan the pride of an unchaste wife, who, openly treading under foot\nevery duty, pretends that her husband ought to be grateful for her\nunwillingness to suffer herself to be taken in the fact? Perfect beings\nare not in nature, and their examples are not near enough to us. But\nwhoever says that the description of a young person born with good\ndispositions, and a heart equally tender and virtuous, who suffers\nherself, when a girl, to be overcome by love, and when a woman, has\nresolution enough to conquer in her turn, is upon the whole scandalous\nand useless, is a liar and a hypocrite; hearken not to him.\n\nBesides this object of morality and conjugal chastity which is radically\nconnected with all social order, I had in view one more secret in behalf\nof concord and public peace, a greater, and perhaps more important\nobject in itself, at least for the moment for which it was created. The\nstorm brought on by the 'Encyclopedie', far from being appeased, was at\nthe time at its height. Two parties exasperated against each other to\nthe last degree of fury soon resembled enraged wolves, set on for their\nmutual destruction, rather than Christians and philosophers, who had\na reciprocal wish to enlighten and convince each other, and lead their\nbrethren to the way of truth. Perhaps nothing more was wanting to each\nparty than a few turbulent chiefs, who possessed a little power, to make\nthis quarrel terminate in a civil war; and God only knows what a civil\nwar of religion founded on each side upon the most cruel intolerance\nwould have produced. Naturally an enemy to all spirit of party, I had\nfreely spoken severe truths to each, of which they had not listened. I\nthought of another expedient, which, in my simplicity, appeared to me\nadmirable: this was to abate their reciprocal hatred by destroying their\nprejudices, and showing to each party the virtue and merit which in\nthe other was worthy of public esteem and respect. This project, little\nremarkable for its wisdom, which supported sincerity in mankind, and\nwhereby I fell into the error with which I reproached the Abbe de\nSaint Pierre, had the success that was to be expected from it: it\ndrew together and united the parties for no other purpose than that of\ncrushing the author. Until experience made me discover my folly, I\ngave my attention to it with a zeal worthy of the motive by which I was\ninspired; and I imagined the two characters of Wolmar and Julia in an\necstasy, which made me hope to render them both amiable, and, what is\nstill more, by means of each other.\n\nSatisfied with having made a rough sketch of my plan, I returned to the\nsituations in detail, which I had marked out; and from the arrangement\nI gave them resulted the first two parts of the Eloisa, which I finished\nduring the winter with inexpressible pleasure, procuring gilt-paper to\nreceive a fair copy of them, azure and silver powder to dry the writing,\nand blue narrow ribbon to tack my sheets together; in a word, I thought\nnothing sufficiently elegant and delicate for my two charming girls, of\nwhom, like another Pygmalion, I became madly enamoured. Every evening,\nby the fireside, I read the two parts to the governesses. The daughter,\nwithout saying a word, was like myself moved to tenderness, and we\nmingled our sighs; her mother, finding there were no compliments,\nunderstood nothing of the matter, remained unmoved, and at the intervals\nwhen I was silent always repeated: \"Sir, that is very fine.\"\n\nMadam d'Epinay, uneasy at my being alone, in winter, in a solitary\nhouse, in the midst of woods, often sent to inquire after my health. I\nnever had such real proofs of her friendship for me, to which mine never\nmore fully answered. It would be wrong in me were not I, among these\nproofs, to make special mention of her portrait, which she sent me, at\nthe same time requesting instructions from me in what manner she\nmight have mine, painted by La Tour, and which had been shown at the\nexhibition. I ought equally to speak of another proof of her attention\nto me, which, although it be laughable, is a feature in the history of\nmy character, on account of the impression received from it. One day\nwhen it froze to an extreme degree, in opening a packet she had sent me\nof several things I had desired her to purchase for me, I found a little\nunder-petticoat of English flannel, which she told me she had worn, and\ndesired I would make of it an under-waistcoat.\n\nThis care, more than friendly, appeared to me so tender, and as if\nshe had stripped herself to clothe me, that in my emotion I repeatedly\nkissed, shedding tears at the same time, both the note and the\npetticoat. Theresa thought me mad. It is singular that of all the marks\nof friendship Madam d'Epinay ever showed me this touched me the most,\nand that ever since our rupture I have never recollected it without\nbeing very sensibly affected. I for a long time preserved her little\nnote, and it would still have been in my possession had not it shared\nthe fate of my other notes received at the same period.\n\nAlthough my disorder then gave me but little respite in winter, and a\npart of the interval was employed in seeking relief from pain, this was\nstill upon the whole the season which since my residence in France I had\npassed with most pleasure and tranquillity. During four or five\nmonths, whilst the bad weather sheltered me from the interruptions of\nimportunate visits, I tasted to a greater degree than I had ever yet\nor have since done, of that equal simple and independent life, the\nenjoyment of which still made it more desirable to me; without any other\ncompany than the two governesses in reality, and the two female cousins\nin idea. It was then especially that I daily congratulated myself\nupon the resolution I had had the good sense to take, unmindful of the\nclamors of my friends, who were vexed at seeing me delivered from their\ntyranny; and when I heard of the attempt of a madman, when De Leyre and\nMadam d'Epinay spoke to me in letters of the trouble and agitation which\nreigned in Paris, how thankful was I to Heaven for having placed me at a\ndistance from all such spectacles of horror and guilt. These would have\nbeen continued and increased the bilious humor which the sight of public\ndisorders had given me; whilst seeing nothing around me in my retirement\nbut gay and pleasing objects, my heart was wholly abandoned to\nsentiments which were amiable.\n\nI remark here with pleasure the course of the last peaceful moments that\nwere left me. The spring succeeding to this winter, which had been so\ncalm, developed the germ of the misfortunes I have yet to describe; in\nthe tissue of which, a like interval, wherein I had leisure to respite,\nwill not be found.\n\nI think however, I recollect, that during this interval of peace, and\nin the bosom of my solitude, I was not quite undisturbed by the\nHolbachiens. Diderot stirred me up some strife, and I am much\ndeceived if it was not in the course of this winter that the 'Fils\nNaturel'--[Natural Son]--of which I shall soon have occasion to speak,\nmade its appearance. Independently of the causes which left me but few\npapers relative to that period, those even which I have been able to\npreserve are not very exact with respect to dates. Diderot never dated\nhis letters--Madam d'Epinay and Madam d' Houdetot seldom dated theirs\nexcept the day of the week, and De Leyre mostly confined himself to the\nsame rules. When I was desirous of putting these letters in order I was\nobliged to supply what was wanting by guessing at dates, so uncertain\nthat I cannot depend upon them. Unable therefore to fix with certainty\nthe beginning of these quarrels, I prefer relating in one subsequent\narticle everything I can recollect concerning them.\n\nThe return of spring had increased my amorous delirium, and in my\nmelancholy, occasioned by the excess of my transports, I had composed\nfor the last parts of Eloisa several letters, wherein evident marks of\nthe rapture in which I wrote them are found. Amongst others I may quote\nthose from the Elysium, and the excursion upon the lake, which, if my\nmemory does not deceive me, are at the end of the fourth part. Whoever,\nin reading these letters, does not feel his heart soften and melt into\nthe tenderness by which they were dictated, ought to lay down the book:\nnature has refused him the means of judging of sentiment.\n\nPrecisely at the same time I received a second unforeseen visit from\nMadam d'Houdetot, in the absence of her husband, who was captain of the\nGendarmarie, and of her lover, who was also in the service. She had come\nto Eaubonne, in the middle of the Valley of Montmorency, where she\nhad taken a pretty house, from thence she made a new excursion to the\nHermitage. She came on horseback, and dressed in men's clothes. Although\nI am not very fond of this kind of masquerade, I was struck with the\nromantic appearance she made, and, for once, it was with love. As this\nwas the first and only time in all my life, the consequence of which\nwill forever render it terrible to my remembrance, I must take the\npermission to enter into some particulars on the subject.\n\nThe Countess d'Houdetot was nearly thirty years of age, and not\nhandsome; her face was marked with the smallpox, her complexion coarse,\nshe was short-sighted, and her eyes were rather round; but she had fine\nlong black hair, which hung down in natural curls below her waist; her\nfigure was agreeable, and she was at once both awkward and graceful\nin her motions; her wit was natural and pleasing; to this gayety,\nheedlessness and ingenuousness were perfectly suited: she abounded in\ncharming sallies, after which she so little sought, that they sometimes\nescaped her lips in spite of herself. She possessed several agreeable\ntalents, played the harpsichord, danced well, and wrote pleasing poetry.\nHer character was angelic--this was founded upon a sweetness of mind,\nand except prudence and fortitude, contained in it every virtue. She was\nbesides so much to be depended upon in all intercourse, so faithful in\nsociety, even her enemies were not under the necessity of concealing\nfrom her their secrets. I mean by her enemies the men, or rather the\nwomen, by whom she was not beloved; for as to herself she had not a\nheart capable of hatred, and I am of opinion this conformity with mine\ngreatly contributed towards inspiring me with a passion for her. In\nconfidence of the most intimate friendship, I never heard her speak ill\nof persons who were absent, not even of her sister-in-law. She could\nneither conceal her thoughts from anyone, nor disguise any of her\nsentiments, and I am persuaded she spoke of her lover to her husband,\nas she spoke of him to her friends and acquaintances, and to everybody\nwithout distinction of persons. What proved, beyond all manner of\ndoubt, the purity and sincerity of her nature was, that subject to\nvery extraordinary absences of mind, and the most laughable\ninconsiderateness, she was often guilty of some very imprudent ones\nwith respect to herself, but never in the least offensive to any person\nwhatsoever.\n\nShe had been married very young and against her inclinations to the\nComte d'Houdetot, a man of fashion, and a good officer; but a man who\nloved play and chicane, who was not very amiable, and whom she never\nloved. She found in M. de Saint Lambert all the merit of her husband,\nwith more agreeable qualities of mind, joined with virtue and talents.\nIf anything in the manners of the age can be pardoned, it is an\nattachment which duration renders more pure, to which its effects do\nhonor, and which becomes cemented by reciprocal esteem. It was a little\nfrom inclination, as I am disposed to think, but much more to please\nSaint Lambert, that she came to see me. He had requested her to do\nit, and there was reason to believe the friendship which began to be\nestablished between us would render this society agreeable to all three.\nShe knew I was acquainted with their connection, and as she could speak\nto me without restraint, it was natural she should find my conversation\nagreeable. She came; I saw her; I was intoxicated with love without an\nobject; this intoxication fascinated my eyes; the object fixed itself\nupon her. I saw my Julia in Madam d'Houdetot, and I soon saw nothing\nbut Madam d'Houdetot, but with all the perfections with which I had just\nadorned the idol of my heart. To complete my delirium she spoke to me of\nSaint Lambert with a fondness of a passionate lover. Contagious force of\nlove! while listening to her, and finding myself near her, I was seized\nwith a delicious trembling, which I had never before experienced when\nnear to any person whatsoever. She spoke, and I felt myself affected;\nI thought I was nothing more than interested in her sentiments, when I\nperceived I possessed those which were similar; I drank freely of the\npoisoned cup, of which I yet tasted nothing more than the sweetness.\nFinally, imperceptibly to us both, she inspired me for herself with all\nshe expressed for her lover. Alas! it was very late in life, and cruel\nwas it to consume with a passion not less violent than unfortunate for a\nwoman whose heart was already in the possession of another.\n\nNotwithstanding the extraordinary emotions I had felt when near to her,\nI did not at first perceive what had happened to me; it was not until\nafter her departure that, wishing to think of Julia, I was struck with\nsurprise at being unable to think of anything but Madam d'Houdetot. Then\nwas it my eyes were opened: I felt my misfortune, and lamented what had\nhappened, but I did not foresee the consequences.\n\nI hesitated a long time on the manner in which I should conduct myself\ntowards her, as if real love left behind it sufficient reason to\ndeliberate and act accordingly. I had not yet determined upon this when\nshe unexpectedly returned and found me unprovided. It was this time,\nperfectly acquainted with my situation, shame, the companion of evil,\nrendered me dumb, and made me tremble in her presence; I neither dared\nto open my mouth or raise my eyes; I was in an inexpressible confusion\nwhich it was impossible she should not perceive. I resolved to confess\nto her my troubled state of mind, and left her to guess the cause whence\nit proceeded: this was telling her in terms sufficiently clear.\n\nHad I been young and amiable, and Madam d'Houdetot afterwards weak,\nI should here blame her conduct; but this was not the case, and I am\nobliged to applaud and admire it. The resolution she took was equally\nprudent and generous. She could not suddenly break with me without\ngiving her reasons for it to Saint Lambert, who himself had desired her\nto come and see me; this would have exposed two friends to a rupture,\nand perhaps a public one, which she wished to avoid. She had for me\nesteem and good wishes; she pitied my folly without encouraging it,\nand endeavored to restore me to reason. She was glad to preserve to her\nlover and herself a friend for whom she had some respect; and she spoke\nof nothing with more pleasure than the intimate and agreeable society we\nmight form between us three the moment I should become reasonable. She\ndid not always confine herself to these friendly exhortations, and,\nin case of need, did not spare me more severe reproaches, which I had\nrichly deserved.\n\nI spared myself still less: the moment I was alone I began to recover; I\nwas more calm after my declaration--love, known to the person by whom it\nis inspired, becomes more supportable.\n\nThe forcible manner in which I approached myself with mine, ought to\nhave cured me of it had the thing been possible. What powerful motives\ndid I not call to my mind to stifle it? My morals, sentiments and\nprinciples; the shame, the treachery and crime, of abusing what was\nconfided to friendship, and the ridiculousness of burning, at my\nage, with the most extravagant passion for an object whose heart was\npreengaged, and who could neither make me a return, nor least hope;\nmoreover with a passion which, far from having anything to gain by\nconstancy, daily became less sufferable.\n\nWe would imagine that the last consideration which ought to have added\nweight to all the others, was that whereby I eluded them! What scruple,\nthought I, ought I to make of a folly prejudicial to nobody but myself?\nAm I then a young man of whom Madam d'Houdetot ought to be afraid? Would\nnot it be said by my presumptive remorse that, by my gallantry, manner\nand dress, I was going to seduce her? Poor Jean Jacques, love on at thy\nease, in all safety of conscience, and be not afraid that thy sighs will\nbe prejudicial to Saint Lambert.\n\nIt has been seen that I never was a coxcomb, not even in my youth. The\nmanner of thinking, of which I have spoken, was according to my turn\nof mind, it flattered my passion; this was sufficient to induce me\nto abandon myself to it without reserve, and to laugh even at the\nimpertinent scruple I thought I had made from vanity, rather than from\nreason. This is a great lesson for virtuous minds, which vice never\nattacks openly; it finds means to surprise them by masking itself with\nsophisms, and not unfrequently with a virtue.\n\nGuilty without remorse, I soon became so without measure; and I entreat\nit may be observed in what manner my passion followed my nature, at\nlength to plunge me into an abyss. In the first place, it assumed the\nair of humility to encourage me; and to render me intrepid it carried\nthis humility even to mistrust. Madam d'Houdetot incessantly putting in\nmind of my duty, without once for a single moment flattering my folly,\ntreated me with the greatest mildness, and remained with me upon the\nfooting of the most tender friendship. This friendship would, I protest,\nhave satisfied my wishes, had I thought it sincere; but finding it too\nstrong to be real, I took it into my head that love, so ill-suited to\nmy age and appearance, had rendered me contemptible in the eyes of Madam\nd'Houdetot; that this young mad creature only wished to divert herself\nwith me and my superannuated passion; that she had communicated this\nto Saint Lambert; and that the indignation caused by my breach of\nfriendship, having made her lover enter into her views, they were agreed\nto turn my head and then to laugh at me. This folly, which at twenty-six\nyears of age, had made me guilty of some extravagant behavior to Madam\nde Larnage, whom I did not know, would have been pardonable in me at\nforty-five with Madam d'Houdetot had not I known that she and her lover\nwere persons of too much uprightness to indulge themselves in such a\nbarbarous amusement.\n\nMadam d' Houdetot continued her visits, which I delayed not to return.\nShe, as well as myself, was fond of walking, and we took long walks in\nan enchanting country. Satisfied with loving and daring to say I\nloved, I should have been in the most agreeable situation had not my\nextravagance spoiled all the charm of it. She, at first, could not\ncomprehend the foolish pettishness with which I received her attentions;\nbut my heart, incapable of concealing what passed in it, did not long\nleave her ignorant of my suspicions; she endeavored to laugh at them,\nbut this expedient did not succeed; transports of rage would have been\nthe consequence, and she changed her tone. Her compassionate gentleness\nwas invincible; she made me reproaches, which penetrated my heart; she\nexpressed an inquietude at my unjust fears, of which I took advantage.\nI required proofs of her being in earnest. She perceived there was no\nother means of relieving me from my apprehensions. I became pressing:\nthe step was delicate. It is astonishing, and perhaps without example,\nthat a woman having suffered herself to be brought to hesitate should\nhave got herself off so well. She refused me nothing the most tender\nfriendship could grant; yet she granted me nothing that rendered her\nunfaithful, and I had the mortification to see that the disorder into\nwhich the most trifling favors had thrown all my senses had not the\nleast effect upon hers.\n\nI have somewhere said, that nothing should be granted to the senses,\nwhen we wished to refuse them anything. To prove how false this maxim\nwas relative to Madam d' Houdetot, and how far she was right to depend\nupon her own strength of mind, it would be necessary to enter into the\ndetail of our long and frequent conversations, and follow them, in\nall their liveliness during the four months we passed together in an\nintimacy almost without example between two friends of different sexes\nwho contain themselves within the bounds which we never exceeded. Ah! if\nI had lived so long without feeling the power of real love, my heart and\nsenses abundantly paid the arrears. What, therefore, are the transports\nwe feel with the object of our affections by whom we are beloved, since\nthe passions of which my idol did not partake inspired such as I felt?\n\nBut I am wrong in saying Madam Houdetot did not partake of the passion\nof love; that which I felt was in some measure confined to myself;\nyet love was equal on both sides, but not reciprocal. We were both\nintoxicated with the passion, she for her lover, and I for herself; our\nsighs and delicious tears were mingled together. Tender confidants\nof the secrets of each other, there was so great a similarity in our\nsentiments that it was impossible they should not find some common point\nof union. In the midst of this delicious intoxication, she never forgot\nherself for a moment, and I solemnly protest that, if ever, led away by\nmy senses, I have attempted to render her unfaithful, I was never really\ndesirous of succeeding. The vehemence itself of my passion restrained it\nwithin bounds. The duty of self-denial had elevated my mind. The lustre\nof every virture adorned in my eyes the idol of my heart; to have soiled\ntheir divine image would have been to destroy it. I might have committed\nthe crime; it has been a hundred times committed in my heart; but to\ndishonor my Sophia! Ah! was this ever possible? No! I have told her\na hundred times it was not. Had I had it in my power to satisfy my\ndesires, had she consented to commit herself to my discretion, I should,\nexcept in a few moments of delirium, have refused to be happy at the\nprice of her honor. I loved her too well to wish to possess her.\n\nThe distance from the Hermitage to Raubonne is almost a league; in my\nfrequent excursions to it I have sometimes slept there. One evening\nafter having supped tete-a-tete we went to walk in the garden by a fine\nmoonlight. At the bottom of the garden a considerable copse, through\nwhich we passed on our way to a pretty grove ornamented with a cascade,\nof which I had given her the idea, and she had procured it to be\nexecuted accordingly.\n\nEternal remembrance of innocence and enjoyment! It was in this grove\nthat, seated by her side upon a seat of turf under an acacia in full\nbloom, I found for the emotions of my heart a language worthy of\nthem. It was the first and only time of my life; but I was sublime: if\neverything amiable and seducing with which the most tender and ardent\nlove can inspire the heart of man can be so called. What intoxicating\ntears did I shed upon her knees! how many did I make her to shed\ninvoluntarily! At length in an involuntary transport she exclaimed: \"No,\nnever was a man so amiable, nor ever was there one who loved like you!\nBut your friend Saint Lambert hears us, and my heart is incapable of\nloving twice.\" I exhausted myself with sighs; I embraced her--what an\nembrace! But this was all. She had lived alone for the last six months,\nthat is absent from her husband and lover; I had seen her almost every\nday during three months, and love seldom failed to make a third. We had\nsupped tete-a-tete, we were alone, in the grove by moonlight, and after\ntwo hours of the most lively and tender conversation, she left this\ngrove at midnight, and the arms of her lover, as morally and physically\npure as she had entered it. Reader, weigh all these circumstances; I\nwill add nothing more.\n\nDo not, however, imagine that in this situation my passions left me as\nundisturbed as I was with Theresa and mamma. I have already observed\nI was this time inspired not only with love, but with love and all its\nenergy and fury. I will not describe either the agitations, tremblings,\npalpitations, convulsionary emotions, nor faintings of the heart, I\ncontinually experienced; these may be judged of by the effect her image\nalone made upon me. I have observed the distance from the Hermitage to\nEaubonne was considerable; I went by the hills of Andilly, which are\ndelightful; I mused, as I walked, on her whom I was going to see, the\ncharming reception she would give me, and upon the kiss which awaited me\nat my arrival. This single kiss, this pernicious embrace, even before I\nreceived it, inflamed my blood to such a degree as to affect my head, my\neyes were dazzled, my knees trembled, and were unable to support me; I\nwas obliged to stop and sit down; my whole frame was in inconceivable\ndisorder, and I was upon the point of fainting. Knowing the danger, I\nendeavored at setting out to divert my attention from the object, and\nthink of something else. I had not proceeded twenty steps before the\nsame recollection, and all that was the consequence of it, assailed me\nin such a manner that it was impossible to avoid them, and in spite of\nall my efforts I do not believe I ever made this little excursion alone\nwith impunity. I arrived at Eaubonne, weak, exhausted, and scarcely able\nto support myself. The moment I saw her everything was repaired; all I\nfelt in her presence was the importunity of an inexhaustible and useless\nardor. Upon the road to Raubonne there was a pleasant terrace called\nMont Olympe, at which we sometimes met. I arrived first, it was proper\nI should wait for her; but how dear this waiting cost me! To divert my\nattention, I endeavored to write with my pencil billets, which I could\nhave written with the purest drops of my blood; I never could finish one\nwhich was eligible. When she found a note in the niche upon which we had\nagreed, all she learned from the contents was the deplorable state in\nwhich I was when I wrote it. This state and its continuation, during\nthree months of irritation and self-denial, so exhausted me, that I was\nseveral years before I recovered from it, and at the end of these it\nleft me an ailment which I shall carry with me, or which will carry\nme to the grave. Such was the sole enjoyment of a man of the most\ncombustible constitution, but who was, at the same time, perhaps, one\nof the most timid mortals nature ever produced. Such were the last happy\ndays I can reckon upon earth; at the end of these began the long train\nof evils, in which there will be found but little interruption.\n\nIt has been seen that, during the whole course of my life, my heart,\nas transparent as crystal, has never been capable of concealing for\nthe space of a moment any sentiment in the least lively which had taken\nrefuge in it. It will therefore be judged whether or not it was possible\nfor me long to conceal my affection for Madam d'Houdetot. Our intimacy\nstruck the eyes of everybody, we did not make of it either a secret or\na mystery. It was not of a nature to require any such precaution, and\nas Madam d'Houdetot had for me the most tender friendship with which she\ndid not reproach herself, and I for her an esteem with the justice\nof which nobody was better acquainted than myself; she frank, absent,\nheedless; I true, awkward, haughty, impatient and choleric; We exposed\nourselves more in deceitful security than we should have done had we\nbeen culpable. We both went to the Chevrette; we sometimes met there by\nappointment. We lived there according to our accustomed manner; walking\ntogether every day talking of our amours, our duties, our friend, and\nour innocent projects; all this in the park opposite the apartment of\nMadam d'Epinay, under her windows, whence incessantly examining us, and\nthinking herself braved, she by her eyes filled her heart with rage and\nindignation.\n\nWomen have the art of concealing their anger, especially when it is\ngreat. Madam d'Epinay, violent but deliberate, possessed this art to an\neminent degree. She feigned not to see or suspect anything, and at\nthe same time that she doubled towards me her cares, attention, and\nallurements, she affected to load her sister-in-law with incivilities\nand marks of disdain, which she seemingly wished to communicate to me.\nIt will easily be imagined she did not succeed; but I was on the rack.\nTorn by opposite passions, at the same time that I was sensible of her\ncaresses, I could scarcely contain my anger when I saw her wanting in\ngood manners to Madam d'Houdetot. The angelic sweetness of this lady\nmade her endure everything without complaint, or even without being\noffended.\n\nShe was, in fact, so absent, and always so little attentive to these\nthings, that half the time she did not perceive them.\n\nI was so taken up with my passion, that, seeing nothing but Sophia (one\nof the names of Madam d'Houdetot), I did not perceive that I was become\nthe laughing-stock of the whole house, and all those who came to it. The\nBaron d'Holbach, who never, as I heard of, had been at the Chevrette,\nwas one of the latter. Had I at that time been as mistrustful as I am\nsince become, I should strongly have suspected Madam d'Epinay to have\ncontrived this journey to give the baron the amusing spectacle of an\namorous citizen. But I was then so stupid that I saw not that even which\nwas glaring to everybody. My stupidity did not, however, prevent me\nfrom finding in the baron a more jovial and satisfied appearance than\nordinary. Instead of looking upon me with his usual moroseness, he said\nto me a hundred jocose things without my knowing what he meant. Surprise\nwas painted in my countenance, but I answered not a word: Madam d'Epinay\nshook her sides with laughing; I knew not what possessed them. As\nnothing yet passed the bounds of pleasantry, the best thing I could\nhave done, had I been in the secret, would have been to have humored the\njoke. It is true I perceived amid the rallying gayety of the baron, that\nhis eyes sparkled with a malicious joy, which could have given me\npain had I then remarked it to the degree it has since occurred to my\nrecollection.\n\nOne day when I went to see Madam d'Houdetot, at Eaubonne, after her\nreturn from one of her journeys to Paris, I found her melancholy, and\nobserved that she had been weeping. I was obliged to put a restraint on\nmyself, because Madam de Blainville, sister to her husband, was present;\nbut the moment I found an opportunity, I expressed to her my uneasiness.\n\"Ah,\" said she, with a sigh, \"I am much afraid your follies will cost me\nthe repose of the rest of my days. St. Lambert has been informed of what\nhas passed, and ill informed of it. He does me justice, but he is vexed;\nand what is still worse, he conceals from me a part of his vexation.\nFortunately I have not concealed from him anything relative to our\nconnection which was formed under his auspices. My letters, like my\nheart, were full of yourself; I made him acquainted with everything,\nexcept your extravagant passion, of which I hoped to cure you; and which\nhe imputes to me as a crime. Somebody has done us ill offices. I have\nbeen injured, but what does this signify? Either let us entirely break\nwith each other, or do you be what you ought to be. I will not in future\nhave anything to conceal from my lover.\"\n\nThis was the first moment in which I was sensible of the shame of\nfeeling myself humbled by the sentiment of my fault, in presence of a\nyoung woman of whose just reproaches I approved, and to whom I ought\nto have been a mentor. The indignation I felt against myself would,\nperhaps, have been sufficient to overcome my weakness, had not the\ntender passion inspired me by the victim of it, again softened my heart.\nAlas! was this a moment to harden it when it was overflowed by the tears\nwhich penetrated it in every part? This tenderness was soon changed into\nrage against the vile informers, who had seen nothing but the evil of a\ncriminal but involuntary sentiment, without believing or even imagining\nthe sincere uprightness of heart by which it was counteracted. We did\nnot remain long in doubt about the hand by which the blow was directed.\n\nWe both knew that Madam d'Epinay corresponded with St. Lambert. This\nwas not the first storm she had raised up against Madam d'Houdetot, from\nwhom she had made a thousand efforts to detach her lover, the success of\nsome of which made the consequences to be dreaded. Besides, Grimm, who,\nI think, had accompanied M. de Castries to the army, was in Westphalia,\nas well as Saint Lambert; they sometimes visited. Grimm had made\nsome attempts on Madam d'Houdetot, which had not succeeded, and being\nextremely piqued, suddenly discontinued his visits to her. Let it be\njudged with what calmness, modest as he is known to be, he supposed she\npreferred to him a man older than himself, and of whom, since he had\nfrequented the great, he had never spoken but as a person whom he\npatronized.\n\nMy suspicions of Madam d'Epinay were changed into a certainty the moment\nI heard what had passed in my own house. When I was at the Chevrette,\nTheresa frequently came there, either to bring me letters or to pay me\nthat attention which my ill state of health rendered necessary. Madam\nd'Epinay had asked her if Madam d'Houdetot and I did not write to each\nother. Upon her answering in the affirmative, Madam d'Epinay pressed her\nto give her the letters of Madam d'Houdetot, assuring her that she\nwould reseal them in such a manner as it should never be known. Theresa,\nwithout showing how much she was shocked at the proposition, and without\neven putting me upon my guard, did nothing more than seal the letters\nshe brought me more carefully; a lucky precaution, for Madam d'Epinay\nhad her watched when she arrived, and, waiting for her in the passage,\nseveral times carried her audaciousness as far as to examine her tucker.\nShe did more even than this: having one day invited herself with M. de\nMargency to dinner at the Hermitage, for the first time since I resided\nthere, she seized the moment I was walking with Margency to go into my\ncloset with the mother and daughter, and to press them to show her the\nletters of Madam d'Houdetot. Had the mother known where the letters\nwere, they would have been given to her; fortunately, the daughter was\nthe only person who was in the secret, and denied my having preserved\nany one of them. A virtuous, faithful and generous falsehood; whilst\ntruth would have been a perfidy. Madam d' Epinay, perceiving Theresa was\nnot to be seduced, endeavored to irritate her by jealousy, reproaching\nher with her easy temper and blindness. \"How is it possible,\" said she\nto her, \"you cannot perceive there is a criminal intercourse between\nthem? If besides what strikes your eyes you stand in need of other\nproofs, lend your assistance to obtain that which may furnish them; you\nsay he tears the letters from Madam d'Houdetot as soon as he has read\nthem. Well, carefully gather up the pieces and give them to me; I will\ntake upon myself to put them together.\"\n\nSuch were the lessons my friend gave to the partner of my bed.\n\nTheresa had the discretion to conceal from me, for a considerable time,\nall these attempts; but perceiving how much I was perplexed, she thought\nherself obliged to inform me of everything, to the end that knowing\nwith whom I had to do, I might take my measures accordingly. My rage and\nindignation are not to be described. Instead of dissembling with Madam\nd'Epinay, according to her own example, and making use of counterplots,\nI abandoned myself without reserve to the natural impetuosity of\nmy temper; and with my accustomed inconsiderateness came to an open\nrupture. My imprudence will be judged of by the following letters,\nwhich sufficiently show the manner of proceeding of both parties on this\noccasion:\n\nNOTE FROM MADAM D'EPINAY. \"Why, my dear friend, do I not see you? You\nmake me uneasy. You have so often promised me to do nothing but go and\ncome between this place and the Hermitage! In this I have left you at\nliberty; and you have suffered a week to pass without coming. Had not I\nbeen told you were well I should have imagined the contrary. I expected\nyou either the day before yesterday, or yesterday, but found myself\ndisappointed. My God, what is the matter with you? You have no business,\nnor can you have any uneasiness; for had this been the case, I\nflatter myself you would have come and communicated it to me. You are,\ntherefore, ill! Relieve me, I beseech you, speedily from my fears.\nAdieu, my dear friend: let this adieu produce me a good-morning from\nyou.\"\n\nANSWER. \"I cannot yet say anything to you. I wait to be better informed,\nand this I shall be sooner or later. In the meantime be persuaded that\ninnocence will find a defender sufficiently powerful to cause some\nrepentance in the slanderers, be they who they may.\"\n\nSECOND NOTE FROM THE SAME. \"Do you know that your letter frightens\nme? What does it mean? I have read it twenty times. In truth I do not\nunderstand what it means. All I can perceive is, that you are uneasy and\ntormented, and that you wait until you are no longer so before you speak\nto me upon the subject. Is this, my dear friend, what we agreed upon?\nWhat then is become of that friendship and confidence, and by what means\nhave I lost them? Is it with me or for me that you are angry? However\nthis may be, come to me this evening I conjure you; remember you\npromised me no longer than a week ago to let nothing remain upon your\nmind, but immediately to communicate to me whatever might make it\nuneasy. My dear friend, I live in that confidence--There--I have just\nread your letter again; I do not understand the contents better, but\nthey make me tremble. You seem to be cruelly agitated. I could wish to\ncalm your mind, but as I am ignorant of the cause whence your uneasiness\narises, I know not what to say, except that I am as wretched as\nyourself, and shall remain so until we meet. If you are not here this\nevening at six o'clock, I set off to morrow for the Hermitage, let the\nweather be how it will, and in whatever state of health I may be; for\nI can no longer support the inquietude I now feel. Good day, my dear\nfriend, at all risks I take the liberty to tell you, without knowing\nwhether or not you are in need of such advice, to endeavor to stop the\nprogress uneasiness makes in solitude. A fly becomes a monster. I have\nfrequently experienced it.\"\n\nANSWER. \"I can neither come to see you nor receive your visit so long\nas my present inquietude continues. The confidence of which you speak no\nlonger exists, and it will be easy for you to recover it. I see nothing\nmore in your present anxiety than the desire of drawing from the\nconfessions of others some advantage agreeable to your views; and my\nheart, so ready to pour its overflowings into another which opens itself\nto receive them, is shut against trick and cunning. I distinguish your\nordinary address in the difficulty you find in understanding my note.\nDo you think me dupe enough to believe you have not comprehended what\nit meant? No: but I shall know how to overcome your subtleties by my\nfrankness. I will explain myself more clearly, that you may understand\nme still less.\n\n\"Two lovers closely united and worthy of each other's love are dear to\nme; I expect you will not know who I mean unless I name them. I presume\nattempts have been made to disunite them, and that I have been made\nuse of to inspire one of the two with jealousy. The choice was not\njudicious, but it appeared convenient to the purposes of malice, and of\nthis malice it is you whom I suspect to be guilty. I hope this becomes\nmore clear.\n\n\"Thus the woman whom I most esteem would, with my knowledge, have been\nloaded with the infamy of dividing her heart and person between two\nlovers, and I with that of being one of these wretches. If I knew that,\nfor a single moment in your life, you ever had thought this, either\nof her or myself, I should hate you until my last hour. But it is with\nhaving said, and not with having thought it, that I charge you. In this\ncase, I cannot comprehend which of the three you wished to injure; but,\nif you love peace of mind, tremble lest you should have succeeded. I\nhave not concealed either from you or her all the ill I think of certain\nconnections, but I wish these to end by a means as virtuous as their\ncause, and that an illegitimate love may be changed into an eternal\nfriendship. Should I, who never do ill to any person, be the innocent\nmeans of doing it to my friends? No, I should never forgive you; I\nshould become your irreconcilable enemy. Your secrets are all I should\nrespect; for I will never be a man without honor.\n\n\"I do not apprehend my present perplexity will continue a long time. I\nshall soon know whether or not I am deceived; I shall then perhaps have\ngreat injuries to repair, which I will do with as much cheerfulness as\nthat with which the most agreeable act of my life has been accompanied.\nBut do you know in what manner I will make amends for my faults during\nthe short space of time I have to remain near to you? By doing what\nnobody but myself would do; by telling you freely what the world\nthinks of you, and the breaches you have to repair in your reputation.\nNotwithstanding all the pretended friends by whom you are surrounded,\nthe moment you see me depart you may bid adieu to truth, you will no\nlonger find any person who will tell it to you.\"\n\n\nTHIRD LETTER FROM THE SAME.\n\n\"I did not understand your letter of this morning; this I told you\nbecause it was the case. I understand that of this evening; do not\nimagine I shall ever return an answer to it; I am too anxious to forget\nwhat it contains; and although you excite my pity, I am not proof\nagainst the bitterness with which it has filled my mind. I! descend to\ntrick and cunning with you! I! accused of the blackest of all infamies!\nAdieu, I regret your having the adieu. I know not what I say adieu: I\nshall be very anxious to forgive you. You will come when you please;\nyou will be better received than your suspicions deserve. All I have\nto desire of you is not to trouble yourself about my reputation. The\nopinion of the world concerning me is of but little importance in my\nesteem. My conduct is good, and this is sufficient for me. Besides, I am\nignorant of what has happened to the two persons who are dear to me as\nthey are to you.\"\n\n\nThis last letter extricated me from a terrible embarrassment, and threw\nme into another of almost the same magnitude. Although these letters and\nanswers were sent and returned the same day with an extreme rapidity,\nthe interval had been sufficient to place another between my rage\nand transport, and to give me time to reflect on the enormity of my\nimprudence. Madam d'Houdetot had not recommended to me anything so much\nas to remain quiet, to leave her the care of extricating herself, and to\navoid, especially at that moment, all noise and rupture; and I, by the\nmost open and atrocious insults, took the properest means of carrying\nrage to its greatest height in the heart of a woman who was already but\ntoo well disposed to it. I now could naturally expect nothing from her\nbut an answer so haughty, disdainful, and expressive of contempt, that\nI could not, without the utmost meanness, do otherwise than immediately\nquit her house. Happily she, more adroit than I was furious, avoided,\nby the manner of her answer, reducing me to that extremity. But it was\nnecessary either to quit or immediately go and see her; the alternative\nwas inevitable; I resolved on the latter, though I foresaw how much I\nmust be embarrassed in the explanation. For how was I to get through it\nwithout exposing either Madam d'Houdetot or Theresa? and woe to her\nwhom I should have named! There was nothing that the vengeance of an\nimplacable and an intriguing woman did not make me fear for the person\nwho should be the object of it. It was to prevent this misfortune that\nin my letter I had spoken of nothing but suspicions, that I might not be\nunder the necessity of producing my proofs. This, it is true, rendered\nmy transports less excusable; no simple suspicions being sufficient to\nauthorize me to treat a woman, and especially a friend, in the manner\nI had treated Madam d'Epinay. But here begins the noble task I worthily\nfulfilled of expiating my faults and secret weaknesses by charging\nmyself with such of the former as I was incapable of committing, and\nwhich I never did commit.\n\nI had not to bear the attack I had expected, and fear was the greatest\nevil I received from it. At my approach, Madam d' Epinay threw her arms\nabout my neck, bursting into tears. This unexpected reception, and by an\nold friend, extremely affected me; I also shed many tears. I said to her\na few words which had not much meaning; she uttered others with still\nless, and everything ended here. Supper was served; we sat down to\ntable, where, in expectation of the explanation I imagined to be\ndeferred until supper was over, I made a very poor figure; for I am\nso overpowered by the most trifling inquietude of mind that I cannot\nconceal it from persons the least clear-sighted. My embarrassed\nappearance must have given her courage, yet she did not risk anything\nupon that foundation. There was no more explanation after than before\nsupper: none took place on the next day, and our little tete-a-tete\nconversations consisted of indifferent things, or some complimentary\nwords on my part, by which, while I informed her I could not say more\nrelative to my suspicions, I asserted, with the greatest truth, that, if\nthey were ill-founded, my whole life should be employed in repairing the\ninjustice. She did not show the least curiosity to know precisely\nwhat they were, nor for what reason I had formed them, and all our\npeacemaking consisted, on her part as well as on mine, in the embrace at\nour first meeting. Since Madam d'Epinay was the only person offended, at\nleast in form, I thought it was not for me to strive to bring about\nan eclaircissement for which she herself did not seem anxious, and I\nreturned as I had come; continuing, besides, to live with her upon the\nsame footing as before, I soon almost entirely forgot the quarrel, and\nfoolishly believed she had done the same, because she seemed not to\nremember what had passed.\n\nThis, it will soon appear, was not the only vexation caused me by\nweakness; but I had others not less disagreeable which I had not brought\nupon myself. The only cause of these was a desire of forcing me from my\nsolitude, by means of tormenting me. These originated from Diderot and\nthe d'Holbachiens.\n\n     [That is to take from it the old woman who was wanted in the\n     conspiracy.  It is astonishing that, during this long quarrel,\n     my stupid confidence presented me from comprehending that it was\n     not me but her whom they wanted in Paris.]\n\nSince I had resided at the Hermitage, Diderot incessantly harrassed me,\neither himself or by means of De Leyre, and I soon perceived from the\npleasantries of the latter upon my ramblings in the groves, with what\npleasure he had travestied the hermit into the gallant shepherd. But\nthis was not the question in my quarrels with Diderot; the cause of\nthese were more serious. After the publication of Fils Naturel he had\nsent me a copy of it, which I had read with the interest and attention\nI ever bestowed on the works of a friend. In reading the kind of poem\nannexed to it, I was surprised and rather grieved to find in it, amongst\nseveral things, disobliging but supportable against men in solitude,\nthis bitter and severe sentence without the least softening: 'Il n'y a\nque le m\u00e9chant qui soit seul.' --This sentence is equivocal, and seems\nto present a double meaning; the one true, the other false, since it is\nimpossible that a man who is determined to remain alone can do the least\nharm to anybody, and consequently he cannot be wicked. The sentence in\nitself therefore required an interpretation; the more so from an author\nwho, when he sent it to the press, had a friend retired from the world.\nIt appeared to me shocking and uncivil, either to have forgotten that\nsolitary friend, or, in remembering him, not to have made from the\ngeneral maxim the honorable and just exception which he owed, not only\nto his friend, but to so many respectable sages, who, in all ages, have\nsought for peace and tranquillity in retirement, and of whom, for the\nfirst time since the creation of the world, a writer took it into his\nhead indiscriminately to make so many villains.\n\nI had a great affection and the most sincere esteem for Diderot, and\nfully depended upon his having the same sentiments for me. But\ntired with his indefatigable obstinacy in continually opposing my\ninclinations, taste, and manner of living, and everything which related\nto no person but myself; shocked at seeing a man younger than I was\nwish, at all events, to govern me like a child; disgusted with his\nfacility in promising, and his negligence in performing; weary of so\nmany appointments given by himself, and capriciously broken, while new\nones were again given only to be again broken; displeased at uselessly\nwaiting for him three or four times a month on the days he had assigned,\nand in dining alone at night after having gone to Saint Denis to meet\nhim, and waited the whole day for his coming; my heart was already\nfull of these multiplied injuries. This last appeared to me still more\nserious, and gave me infinite pain. I wrote to complain of it, but in so\nmild and tender a manner that I moistened my paper with my tears, and my\nletter was sufficiently affecting to have drawn others from himself.\nIt would be impossible to guess his answer on this subject: it was\nliterally as follows: \"I am glad my work has pleased and affected you.\nYou are not of my opinion relative to hermits. Say as much good of them\nas you please, you will be the only one in the world of whom I shall\nthink well: even on this there would be much to say were it possible to\nspeak to you without giving you offence. A woman eighty years of age!\netc. A phrase of a letter from the son of Madam d'Epinay which, if I\nknow you well, must have given you much pain, has been mentioned to me.\"\n\nThe last two expressions of this letter want explanation.\n\nSoon after I went to reside at the Hermitage, Madam le Vasseur seemed\ndissatisfied with her situation, and to think the habitation too\nretired. Having heard she had expressed her dislike to the place, I\noffered to send her back to Paris, if that were more agreeable to her;\nto pay her lodging, and to have the same care taken of her as if she\nremained with me. She rejected my offer, assured me she was very well\nsatisfied with the Hermitage, and that the country air was of service\nto her. This was evident, for, if I may so speak, she seemed to become\nyoung again, and enjoyed better health than at Paris. Her daughter told\nme her mother would, on the whole, have been very sorry to quit the\nHermitage, which was really a very delightful abode, being fond of the\nlittle amusements of the garden and the care of the fruit of which she\nhad the handling, but that she had said, what she had been desired to\nsay, to induce me to return to Paris.\n\nFailing in this attempt they endeavored to obtain by a scruple the\neffect which complaisance had not produced, and construed into a crime\nmy keeping the old woman at a distance from the succors of which, at\nher age, she might be in need. They did not recollect that she, and many\nother old people, whose lives were prolonged by the air of the country,\nmight obtain these succors at Montmorency, near to which I lived; as if\nthere were no old people, except in Paris, and that it was impossible\nfor them to live in any other place. Madam le Vasseur who ate a great\ndeal, and with extreme voracity, was subject to overflowings of bile and\nto strong diarrhoeas, which lasted several days, and served her instead\nof clysters. At Paris she neither did nor took anything for them, but\nleft nature to itself. She observed the same rule at the Hermitage,\nknowing it was the best thing she could do. No matter, since there were\nnot in the country either physicians or apothecaries, keeping her there\nmust, no doubt, be with the desire of putting an end to her existence,\nalthough she was in perfect health. Diderot should have determined at\nwhat age, under pain of being punished for homicide, it is no longer\npermitted to let old people remain out of Paris.\n\nThis was one of the atrocious accusations from which he did not except\nme in his remark; that none but the wicked were alone: and the meaning\nof his pathetic exclamation with the et cetera, which he had benignantly\nadded: A woman of eighty years of age, etc.\n\nI thought the best answer that could be given to this reproach would\nbe from Madam le Vasseur herself. I desired her to write freely and\nnaturally her sentiments to Madam d'Epinay. To relieve her from all\nconstraint I would not see her letter. I showed her that which I am\ngoing to transcribe. I wrote it to Madam d'Epinay upon the subject of\nan answer I wished to return to a letter still more severe from Diderot,\nand which she had prevented me from sending.\n\n                                                  Thursday.\n\n\"My good friend. Madam le Vasseur is to write to you: I have desired\nher to tell you sincerely what she thinks. To remove from her all\nconstraint, I have intimated to her that I will not see what she writes,\nand I beg of you not to communicate to me any part of the contents of\nher letter.\n\n\"I will not send my letter because you do not choose I should; but,\nfeeling myself grievously offended, it would be baseness and falsehood,\nof either of which it is impossible for me to be guilty, to acknowledge\nmyself in the wrong. Holy writ commands him to whom a blow is given, to\nturn the other cheek, but not to ask pardon. Do you remember the man in\ncomedy who exclaims, while he is giving another blows with his staff,\n'This is the part of a philosopher!'\n\n\"Do not flatter yourself that he will be prevented from coming by the\nbad weather we now have. His rage will give him the time and strength\nwhich friendship refuses him, and it will be the first time in his life\nhe ever came upon the day he had appointed.\n\n\"He will neglect nothing to come and repeat to me verbally the injuries\nwith which he loads me in his letters; I will endure them all with\npatience--he will return to Paris to be ill again; and, according to\ncustom, I shall be a very hateful man. What is to be done? Endure it\nall.\n\n\"But do not you admire the wisdom of the man who would absolutely come\nto Saint Denis in a hackney-coach to dine there, bring me home in a\nhackney-coach, and whose finances, eight days afterwards, obliges him\nto come to the Hermitage on foot? It is not possible, to speak his own\nlanguage, that this should be the style of sincerity. But were this the\ncase, strange changes of fortune must have happened in the course of a\nweek.\n\n\"I join in your affliction for the illness of madam, your mother, but\nyou will perceive your grief is not equal to mine. We suffer less by\nseeing the persons we love ill than when they are unjust and cruel.\n\n\"Adieu, my good friend, I shall never again mention to you this unhappy\naffair. You speak of going to Paris with an unconcern, which, at any\nother time, would give me pleasure.\"\n\nI wrote to Diderot, telling him what I had done, relative to Madam\nle Vasseur, upon the proposal of Madam d'Epinay herself; and Madam\nle Vasseur having, as it may be imagined, chosen to remain at the\nHermitage, where she enjoyed a good state of health, always had company,\nand lived very agreeably, Diderot, not knowing what else to attribute to\nme as a crime, construed my precaution into one, and discovered another\nin Madam le Vasseur continuing to reside at the Hermitage, although this\nwas by her own choice; and though her going to Paris had depended, and\nstill depended upon herself, where she would continue to receive the\nsame succors from me as I gave her in my house.\n\nThis is the explanation of the first reproach in the letter of Diderot.\nThat of the second is in the letter which follows: \"The learned man (a\nname given in a joke by Grimm to the son of Madam d'Epinay) must have\ninformed you there were upon the rampart twenty poor persons who were\ndying with cold and hunger, and waiting for the farthing you customarily\ngave them. This is a specimen of our little babbling.....And if you\nunderstand the rest it will amuse you perhap.\"\n\nMy answer to this terrible argument, of which Diderot seemed so proud,\nwas in the following words:\n\n\"I think I answered the learned man; that is, the farmer-general, that I\ndid not pity the poor whom he had seen upon the rampart, waiting for\nmy farthing; that he had probably amply made it up to them; that I\nappointed him my substitute, that the poor of Paris would have no reason\nto complain of the change; and that I should not easily find so good\na one for the poor of Montmorency, who were in much greater need of\nassistance. Here is a good and respectable old man, who, after having\nworked hard all his lifetime, no longer being able to continue his\nlabors, is in his old days dying with hunger. My conscience is more\nsatisfied with the two sous I give him every Monday, than with the\nhundred farthings I should have distributed amongst all the beggars on\nthe rampart. You are pleasant men, you philosophers, while you consider\nthe inhabitants of the cities as the only persons whom you ought to\nbefriend. It is in the country men learn how to love and serve humanity;\nall they learn in cities is to despise it.\"\n\nSuch were the singular scruples on which a man of sense had the folly\nto attribute to me as a crime my retiring from Paris, and pretended to\nprove to me by my own example, that it was not possible to live out of\nthe capital without becoming a bad man. I cannot at present conceive how\nI could be guilty of the folly of answering him, and of suffering myself\nto be angry instead of laughing in his fare. However, the decisions of\nMadam d'Epinay and the clamors of the 'Coterie Holbachique' had so far\noperated in her favor, that I was generally thought to be in the wrong;\nand the D'Houdetot herself, very partial to Diderot, insisted upon\nmy going to see him at Paris, and making all the advances towards an\naccommodation which, full and sincere as it was on my part, was not of\nlong duration. The victorious argument by which she subdued my heart\nwas, that at that moment Diderot was in distress. Besides the storm\nexcited against the 'Encyclopedie', he had then another violent one to\nmake head against, relative to his piece, which, notwithstanding the\nshort history he had printed at the head of it, he was accused of having\nentirely taken from Goldoni. Diderot, more wounded by criticisms than\nVoltaire, was overwhelmed by them. Madam de Grasigny had been malicious\nenough to spread a report that I had broken with him on this account.\nI thought it would be just and generous publicly to prove the contrary,\nand I went to pass two days, not only with him, but at his lodgings.\nThis, since I had taken up my abode at the Hermitage, was my second\njourney to Paris. I had made the first to run to poor Gauffecourt,\nwho had had a stroke of apoplexy, from which he has never perfectly\nrecovered: I did not quit the side of his pillow until he was so far\nrestored as to have no further need of my assistance.\n\nDiderot received me well. How many wrongs are effaced by the embraces of\na friend! after these, what resentment can remain in the heart? We came\nto but little explanation. This is needless for reciprocal invectives.\nThe only thing necessary is to know how to forget them. There had been\nno underhand proceedings, none at least that had come to my knowledge:\nthe case was not the same with Madam d' Epinay. He showed me the plan\nof the 'Pere de Famille'. \"This,\" said I to him, \"is the best defence\nto the 'Fils Naturel'. Be silent, give your attention to this piece, and\nthen throw it at the head of your enemies as the only answer you think\nproper to make them.\" He did so, and was satisfied with what he had\ndone.\n\nI had six months before sent him the first two parts of my 'Eloisa' to\nhave his opinion upon them. He had not yet read the work over. We read\na part of it together. He found this 'feuillet', that was his term, by\nwhich he meant loaded with words and redundancies. I myself had already\nperceived it; but it was the babbling of the fever: I have never\nbeen able to correct it. The last parts are not the same. The fourth\nespecially, and the sixth, are master-pieces of diction.\n\nThe day after my arrival, he would absolutely take me to sup with M.\nd'Holbach. We were far from agreeing on this point; for I wished even to\nget rid of the bargain for the manuscript on chemistry, for which I was\nenraged to be obliged to that man. Diderot carried all before him. He\nswore D'Holbach loved me with all his heart, said I must forgive him his\nmanner, which was the same to everybody, and more disagreeable to his\nfriends than to others. He observed to me that, refusing the produce\nof this manuscript, after having accepted it two years before, was an\naffront to the donor which he had not deserved, and that my refusal\nmight be interpreted into a secret reproach, for having waited so long\nto conclude the bargain. \"I see,\" added he, \"D'Holbach every day, and\nknow better than you do the nature of his disposition. Had you reason to\nbe dissatisfied with him, do you think your friend capable of advising\nyou to do a mean thing?\" In short, with my accustomed weakness, I\nsuffered myself to be prevailed upon, and we went to sup with the baron,\nwho received me as he usually had done. But his wife received me coldly\nand almost uncivilly. I saw nothing in her which resembled the amiable\nCaroline, who, when a maid, expressed for me so many good wishes. I\nthought I had already perceived that since Grimm had frequented the\nhouse of D'Aine, I had not met there so friendly a reception.\n\nWhilst I was at Paris, Saint Lambert arrived there from the army. As I\nwas not acquainted with his arrival, I did not see him until after my\nreturn to the country, first at the Chevrette, and afterwards at the\nHermitage; to which he came with Madam d'Houdetot, and invited himself\nto dinner with me. It may be judged whether or not I received him with\npleasure! But I felt one still greater at seeing the good understanding\nbetween my guests. Satisfied with not having disturbed their happiness,\nI myself was happy in being a witness to it, and I can safely assert\nthat, during the whole of my mad passion, and especially at the moment\nof which I speak, had it been in my power to take from him Madam\nd'Houdetot I would not have done it, nor should I have so much as been\ntempted to undertake it. I found her so amiable in her passion for Saint\nLambert, that I could scarcely imagine she would have been as much so\nhad she loved me instead of him; and without wishing to disturb their\nunion, all I really desired of her was to permit herself to be loved.\nFinally, however violent my passion may have been for this lady, I found\nit as agreeable to be the confidant, as the object of her amours, and\nI never for a moment considered her lover as a rival, but always as\nmy friend. It will be said this was not love: be it so, but it was\nsomething more.\n\nAs for Saint Lambert, he behaved like an honest and judicious man: as\nI was the only person culpable, so was I the only one who was punished;\nthis, however, was with the greatest indulgence. He treated me severely,\nbut in a friendly manner, and I perceived I had lost something in his\nesteem, but not the least part of his friendship. For this I consoled\nmyself, knowing it would be much more easy to me to recover the one than\nthe other, and that he had too much sense to confound an involuntary\nweakness and a passion with a vice of character. If even I were in fault\nin all that had passed, I was but very little so. Had I first sought\nafter his mistress? Had not he himself sent her to me? Did not she come\nin search of me? Could I avoid receiving her? What could I do? They\nthemselves had done the evil, and I was the person on whom it fell. In\nmy situation they would have done as much as I did, and perhaps more;\nfor, however estimable and faithful Madam d'Houdetot might be, she\nwas still a woman; her lover was absent; opportunities were frequent;\ntemptations strong; and it would have been very difficult for her\nalways to have defended herself with the same success against a more\nenterprising man. We certainly had done a great deal in our situation,\nin placing boundaries beyond which we never permitted ourselves to pass.\n\nAlthough at the bottom of my heart I found evidence sufficiently\nhonorable in my favor, so many appearances were against me, that the\ninvincible shame always predominant in me, gave me in his presence the\nappearance of guilt, and of this he took advantage for the purpose\nof humbling me: a single circumstance will describe this reciprocal\nsituation. I read to him, after dinner, the letter I had written the\npreceding year to Voltaire, and of which Saint Lambert had heard speak.\nWhilst I was reading he fell asleep, and I, lately so haughty, at\npresent so foolish, dared not stop, and continued to read whilst he\ncontinued to snore. Such were my indignities and such his revenge; but\nhis generosity never permitted him to exercise them; except between\nourselves.\n\nAfter his return to the army, I found Madam d'Houdetot greatly changed\nin her manner with me. At this I was as much surprised as if it had not\nbeen what I ought to have expected; it affected me more than it ought to\nhave done, and did me considerable harm. It seemed that everything from\nwhich I expected a cure, still plunged deeper into my heart the dart,\nwhich I at length broke in rather than draw out.\n\nI was quite determined to conquer myself, and leave no means untried to\nchange my foolish passion into a pure and lasting friendship. For this\npurpose I had formed the finest projects in the world; for the execution\nof which the concurrence of Madam d' Houdetot was necessary. When I\nwished to speak to her I found her absent and embarrassed; I perceived I\nwas no longer agreeable to her, and that something had passed which\nshe would not communicate to me, and which I have never yet known. This\nchange, and the impossibility of knowing the reason of it, grieved me to\nthe heart.\n\nShe asked me for her letters; these I returned her with a fidelity of\nwhich she did me the insult to doubt for a moment.\n\nThis doubt was another wound given to my heart, with which she must\nhave been so well acquainted. She did me justice, but not immediately:\nI understood that an examination of the packet I had sent her, made her\nperceive her error; I saw she reproached herself with it, by which I\nwas a gainer of something. She could not take back her letters without\nreturning me mine. She told me she had burnt them: of this I dared to\ndoubt in my turn, and I confess I doubt of it at this moment. No, such\nletters as mine to her were, are never thrown into the fire. Those of\nEloisa have been found ardent.\n\nHeavens! what would have been said of these! No, No, she who can inspire\na like passion, will never have the courage to burn the proofs of it.\nBut I am not afraid of her having made a bad use of them: of this I\ndo not think her capable; and besides I had taken proper measures to\nprevent it. The foolish, but strong apprehension of raillery, had made\nme begin this correspondence in a manner to secure my letters from all\ncommunication. I carried the familiarity I permitted myself with her in\nmy intoxication so far as to speak to her in the singular number: but\nwhat theeing and thouing! she certainly could not be offended with\nit. Yet she several times complained, but this was always useless: her\ncomplaints had no other effect than that of awakening my fears, and I\nbesides could not suffer myself to lose ground. If these letters be not\nyet destroyed, and should they ever be made public, the world will see\nin what manner I have loved.\n\nThe grief caused me by the coldness of Madam d'Houdetot, and the\ncertainty of not having merited it, made me take the singular resolution\nto complain of it to Saint Lambert himself. While waiting the effect of\nthe letter I wrote to him, I sought dissipations to which I ought sooner\nto have had recourse. Fetes were given at the Chevrette for which I\ncomposed music. The pleasure of honoring myself in the eyes of Madam\nd'Houdetot by a talent she loved, warmed my imagination, and another\nobject still contributed to give it animation, this was the desire the\nauthor of the 'Devin du Village' had of showing he understood music;\nfor I had perceived some persons had, for a considerable time\npast, endeavored to render this doubtful, at least with respect to\ncomposition. My beginning at Paris, the ordeal through which I had\nseveral times passed there, both at the house of M. Dupin and that of M.\nde la Popliniere; the quantity of music I had composed during fourteen\nyears in the midst of the most celebrated masters and before their\neyes:--finally, the opera of the 'Muses Gallantes', and that even of the\n'Devin'; a motet I had composed for Mademoiselle Fel, and which she had\nsung at the spiritual concert; the frequent conferences I had had\nupon this fine art with the first composers, all seemed to prevent or\ndissipate a doubt of such a nature. This however existed even at the\nChevrette, and in the mind of M. d'Epinay himself. Without appearing to\nobserve it, I undertook to compose him a motet for the dedication of the\nchapel of the Chevrette, and I begged him to make choice of the words.\nHe directed de Linant, the tutor to his son, to furnish me with these.\nDe Linant gave me words proper to the subject, and in a week after I had\nreceived them the motet was finished. This time, spite was my Apollo,\nand never did better music come from my hand. The words began with:\n'Ecce sedes hic Tonantis'. (I have since learned these were by Santeuil,\nand that M. de Linant had without scruple appropriated them to himself.)\nThe grandeur of the opening is suitable to the words, and the rest of\nthe motet is so elegantly harmonious that everyone was struck with it.\nI had composed it for a great orchestra. D'Epinay procured the best\nperformers. Madam Bruna, an Italian singer, sung the motet, and was well\naccompanied. The composition succeeded so well that it was afterwards\nperformed at the spiritual concert, where, in spite of secret cabals,\nand notwithstanding it was badly executed, it was twice generally\napplauded. I gave for the birthday of M. d'Epinay the idea of a kind of\npiece half dramatic and half pantomimical, of which I also composed the\nmusic. Grimm, on his arrival, heard speak of my musical success. An hour\nafterwards not a word more was said on the subject; but there no longer\nremained a doubt, not at least that I know of, of my knowledge of\ncomposition.\n\nGrimm was scarcely arrived at the Chevrette, where I already did not\nmuch amuse myself, before he made it insupportable to me by airs I never\nbefore saw in any person, and of which I had no idea. The evening before\nhe came, I was dislodged from the chamber of favor, contiguous to that\nof Madam d'Epinay; it was prepared for Grimm, and instead of it, I was\nput into another further off. \"In this manner,\" said I, laughingly, to\nMadam d'Epinay, \"new-comers displace those which are established.\" She\nseemed embarrassed. I was better acquainted the same evening with the\nreason for the change, in learning that between her chamber and that I\nhad quitted there was a private door which she had thought needless to\nshow me. Her intercourse with Grimm was not a secret either in her\nown house or to the public, not even to her husband; yet, far from\nconfessing it to me, the confidant of secrets more important to her, and\nwhich was sure would be faithfully kept, she constantly denied it in the\nstrongest manner. I comprehended this reserve proceeded from Grimm, who,\nthough intrusted with all my secrets, did not choose I should be with\nany of his.\n\nHowever prejudiced I was in favor of this man by former sentiments,\nwhich were not extinguished, and by the real merit he had, all was not\nproof against the cares he took to destroy it. He received me like the\nComte de Tuffiere; he scarcely deigned to return my salute; he never\nonce spoke to me, and prevented my speaking to him by not making me any\nanswer; he everywhere passed first, and took the first place without\never paying me the least attention. All this would have been supportable\nhad he not accompanied it with a shocking affectation, which may\nbe judged of by one example taken from a hundred. One evening Madam\nd'Epinay, finding herself a little indisposed, ordered something for her\nsupper to be carried into her chamber, and went up stairs to sup by the\nside of the fire. She asked me to go with her, which I did. Grimm came\nafterwards. The little table was already placed, and there were but two\ncovers. Supper was served; Madam d' Epinay took her place on one side of\nthe fire, Grimm took an armed chair, seated himself at the other, drew\nthe little table between them, opened his napkin, and prepared himself\nfor eating without speaking to me a single word.\n\nMadam d' Epinay blushed at his behavior, and, to induce him to repair\nhis rudeness, offered me her place. He said nothing, nor did he ever\nlook at me. Not being able to approach the fire, I walked about the\nchamber until a cover was brought. Indisposed as I was, older than\nhimself, longer acquainted in the house than he had been, the person who\nhad introduced him there, and to whom as a favorite of the lady he ought\nto have done the honors of it, he suffered me to sup at the end of\nthe table, at a distance from the fire, without showing me the least\ncivility. His whole behavior to me corresponded with this example of it.\nHe did not treat me precisely as his inferior, but he looked upon me as\na cipher. I could scarcely recognize the same Grimm, who, at the house\nof the Prince de Saxe-Gotha, thought himself honored when I cast my\neyes upon him. I had still more difficulty in reconciling this profound\nsilence and insulting haughtiness with the tender friendship he\nprofessed for me to those whom he knew to be real friends. It is true\nthe only proofs he gave of it was pitying my wretched fortune, of\nwhich I did not complain; compassionating my sad fate, with which I was\nsatisfied; and lamenting to see me obstinately refuse the benevolent\nservices, he said, he wished to render me. Thus was it he artfully\nmade the world admire his affectionate generosity, blame my ungrateful\nmisanthropy, and insensibly accustomed people to imagine there was\nnothing more between a protector like him and a wretch like myself, than\na connection founded upon benefactions on one part and obligations on\nthe other, without once thinking of a friendship between equals. For my\npart, I have vainly sought to discover in what I was under an obligation\nto this new protector. I had lent him money, he had never lent me any;\nI had attended him in his illness, he scarcely came to see me in mine;\nI had given him all my friends, he never had given me any of his; I had\nsaid everything I could in his favor, and if ever he has spoken of me\nit has been less publicly and in another manner. He has never either\nrendered or offered me the least service of any kind. How, therefore,\nwas he my Mecaenas? In what manner was I protected by him? This was\nincomprehensible to me, and still remains so.\n\nIt is true, he was more or less arrogant with everybody, but I was the\nonly person with whom he was brutally so. I remember Saint Lambert once\nready to throw a plate at his head, upon his, in some measure, giving\nhim the lie at table by vulgarly saying, \"That is not true.\" With his\nnaturally imperious manner he had the self-sufficiency of an upstart,\nand became ridiculous by being extravagantly impertinent. An intercourse\nwith the great had so far intoxicated him that he gave himself airs\nwhich none but the contemptible part of them ever assume. He never\ncalled his lackey but by \"Eh!\" as if amongst the number of his servants\nmy lord had not known which was in waiting. When he sent him to buy\nanything, he threw the money upon the ground instead of putting it into\nhis hand. In short, entirely forgetting he was a man, he treated him\nwith such shocking contempt, and so cruel a disdain in everything, that\nthe poor lad, a very good creature, whom Madam d'Epinay had recommended,\nquitted his service without any other complaint than that of the\nimpossibility of enduring such treatment. This was the la Fleur of this\nnew presuming upstart.\n\nAs these things were nothing more than ridiculous, but quite opposite to\nmy character, they contributed to render him suspicious to me. I could\neasily imagine that a man whose head was so much deranged could not\nhave a heart well placed. He piqued himself upon nothing so much as\nupon sentiments. How could this agree with defects which are peculiar to\nlittle minds? How can the continued overflowings of a susceptible heart\nsuffer it to be incessantly employed in so many little cares relative\nto the person? He who feels his heart inflamed with this celestial fire\nstrives to diffuse it, and wishes to show what he internally is. He\nwould wish to place his heart in his countenance, and thinks not of\nother paint for his cheeks.\n\nI remember the summary of his morality which Madam d'Epinay had\nmentioned to me and adopted. This consisted in one single article; that\nthe sole duty of man is to follow all the inclinations of his heart.\nThis morality, when I heard it mentioned, gave me great matter of\nreflection, although I at first considered it solely as a play of wit.\nBut I soon perceived it was a principle really the rule of his\nconduct, and of which I afterwards had, at my own expense, but too many\nconvincing proofs. It is the interior doctrine Diderot has so frequently\nintimated to me, but which I never heard him explain.\n\nI remember having several years before been frequently told that Grimm\nwas false, that he had nothing more than the appearance of sentiment,\nand particularly that he did not love me. I recollected several little\nanecdotes which I had heard of him by M. de Francueil and Madam de\nChenonceaux, neither of whom esteemed him, and to whom he must have been\nknown, as Madam de Chenonceaux was daughter to Madam de Rochechouart,\nthe intimate friend of the late Comte de Friese, and that M. de\nFrancueil, at that time very intimate with the Viscount de Polignac,\nhad lived a good deal at the Palais Royal precisely when Grimm began to\nintroduce himself there. All Paris heard of his despair after the death\nof the Comte de Friese. It was necessary to support the reputation he\nhad acquired after the rigors of Mademoiselle Fel, and of which I, more\nthan any other person, should have seen the imposture, had I been less\nblind. He was obliged to be dragged to the Hotel de Castries where\nhe worthily played his part, abandoned to the most mortal affliction.\nThere, he every morning went into the garden to weep at his ease,\nholding before his eyes his handkerchief moistened with tears, as long\nas he was in sight of the hotel, but at the turning of a certain\nalley, people, of whom he little thought, saw him instantly put his\nhandkerchief in his pocket and take out of it a book. This observation,\nwhich was repeatedly made, soon became public in Paris, and was almost\nas soon forgotten. I myself had forgotten it; a circumstance in which I\nwas concerned brought it to my recollection. I was at the point of death\nin my bed, in the Rue de Grenelle, Grimm was in the country; he came one\nmorning, quite out of breath, to see me, saying, he had arrived in town\nthat very instant; and a moment afterwards I learned he had arrived the\nevening before, and had been seen at the theatre.\n\nI heard many things of the same kind; but an observation, which I was\nsurprised not to have made sooner, struck me more than anything else.\nI had given to Grimm all my friends without exception, they were\nbecome his. I was so inseparable from him, that I should have had some\ndifficulty in continuing to visit at a house where he was not received.\nMadam de Crequi was the only person who refused to admit him into her\ncompany, and whom for that reason I have seldom since seen. Grimm on his\npart made himself other friends, as well by his own means, as by those\nof the Comte de Friese. Of all these not one of them ever became my\nfriend: he never said a word to induce me even to become acquainted with\nthem, and not one of those I sometimes met at his apartments ever showed\nme the least good will; the Comte de Friese, in whose house he lived,\nand with whom it consequently would have been agreeable to me to form\nsome connection, not excepted, nor the Comte de Schomberg, his relation,\nwith whom Grimm was still more intimate.\n\nAdd to this, my own friends, whom I made his, and who were all tenderly\nattached to me before this acquaintance, were no longer so the moment it\nwas made. He never gave me one of his. I gave him all mine, and these he\nhas taken from me. If these be the effects of friendship, what are those\nof enmity?\n\nDiderot himself told me several times at the beginning that Grimm\nin whom I had so much confidence, was not my friend. He changed his\nlanguage the moment he was no longer so himself.\n\nThe manner in which I had disposed of my children wanted not the\nconcurrence of any person. Yet I informed some of my friends of it,\nsolely to make it known to them, and that I might not in their eyes\nappear better than I was. These friends were three in number: Diderot,\nGrimm, and Madam d'Epinay. Duclos, the most worthy of my confidence, was\nthe only real friend whom I did not inform of it. He nevertheless knew\nwhat I had done. By whom? This I know not. It is not very probable\nthe perfidy came from Madam d'Epinay, who knew that by following her\nexample, had I been capable of doing it, I had in my power the means of\na cruel revenge. It remains therefore between Grimm and Diderot, then\nso much united, especially against me, and it is probable this crime was\ncommon to them both. I would lay a wager that Duclos, to whom I never\ntold my secret, and who consequently was at liberty to make what use he\npleased of his information, is the only person who has not spoken of it\nagain.\n\nGrimm and Diderot, in their project to take from me the governesses,\nhad used the greatest efforts to make Duclos enter into their views; but\nthis he refused to do with disdain. It was not until sometime afterwards\nthat I learned from him what had passed between them on the subject;\nbut I learned at the time from Theresa enough to perceive there was some\nsecret design, and that they wished to dispose of me, if not against\nmy own consent, at least without my knowledge, or had an intention of\nmaking these two persons serve as instruments of some project they had\nin view. This was far from upright conduct. The opposition of Duclos\nis a convincing proof of it. They who think proper may believe it to be\nfriendship.\n\nThis pretended friendship was as fatal to me at home as it was abroad.\nThe long and frequent conversations with Madam le Vasseur, for several\nyears past, had made a sensible change in this woman's behavior to me,\nand the change was far from being in my favor. What was the subject\nof these singular conversations? Why such a profound mystery? Was the\nconversation of that old woman agreeable enough to take her into favor,\nand of sufficient importance to make of it so great a secret? During\nthe two or three years these colloquies had, from time to time, been\ncontinued, they had appeared to me ridiculous; but when I thought of\nthem again, they began to astonish me. This astonishment would have\nbeen carried to inquietude had I then known what the old creature was\npreparing for me.\n\nNotwithstanding the pretended zeal for my welfare of which Grimm made\nsuch a public boast, difficult to reconcile with the airs he gave\nhimself when we were together, I heard nothing of him from any quarter\nthe least to my advantage, and his feigned commiseration tended less to\ndo me service than to render me contemptible. He deprived me as much\nas he possibly could of the resource I found in the employment I had\nchosen, by decrying me as a bad copyist. I confess he spoke the truth;\nbut in this case it was not for him to do it. He proved himself in\nearnest by employing another copyist, and prevailing upon everybody he\ncould, by whom I was engaged, to do the same. His intention might have\nbeen supposed to be that of reducing me to a dependence upon him and his\ncredit for a subsistence, and to cut off the latter until I was brought\nto that degree of distress.\n\nAll things considered, my reason imposed silence upon my former\nprejudice, which still pleaded in his favor. I judged his character to\nbe at least suspicious, and with respect to his friendship I positively\ndecided it to be false. I then resolved to see him no more, and informed\nMadam d'Epinay of the resolution I had taken, supporting, it with\nseveral unanswerable facts, but which I have now forgotten.\n\nShe strongly combated my resolution without knowing how to reply to the\nreasons on which it was founded. She had not concerted with him; but\nthe next day, instead of explaining herself verbally, she, with great\naddress, gave me a letter they had drawn up together, and by which,\nwithout entering into a detail of facts, she justified him by his\nconcentrated character, attributed to me as a crime my having suspected\nhim of perfidy towards his friend, and exhorted me to come to an\naccommodation with him. This letter staggered me. In a conversation we\nafterwards had together, and in which I found her better prepared than\nshe had been the first time, I suffered myself to be quite prevailed\nupon, and was inclined to believe I might have judged erroneously. In\nthis case I thought I really had done a friend a very serious injury,\nwhich it was my duty to repair. In short, as I had already done several\ntimes with Diderot, and the Baron d'Holbach, half from inclination, and\nhalf from weakness, I made all the advances I had a right to require; I\nwent to M. Grimm, like another George Dandin, to make him my apologies\nfor the offence he had given me; still in the false persuasion, which,\nin the course of my life has made me guilty of a thousand meannesses to\nmy pretended friends, that there is no hatred which may not be disarmed\nby mildness and proper behavior; whereas, on the contrary, the hatred of\nthe wicked becomes still more envenomed by the impossibility of finding\nanything to found it upon, and the sentiment of their own injustice is\nanother cause of offence against the person who is the object of it. I\nhave, without going further than my own history, a strong proof of this\nmaxim in Grimm, and in Tronchin; both became my implacable enemies from\ninclination, pleasure and fancy, without having been able to charge\nme with having done either of them the most trifling injury, and whose\nrage, like that of tigers, becomes daily more fierce by the facility of\nsatiating it.\n\n     [I did not give the surname of Jongleur  to the latter until a\n     long time after his enmity had been declared, and the persecutions\n     he brought upon me at Geneva and elsewhere.  I soon suppressed the\n     name the moment I perceived I was entirely his victim.  Mean\n     vengeance is unworthy of my heart, and hatred never takes the least\n     root in it.]\n\nI expected that Grimm, confused by my condescension and advances, would\nreceive me with open arms, and the most tender friendship. He received\nme as a Roman Emperor would have done, and with a haughtiness I never\nsaw in any person but himself. I was by no means prepared for such a\nreception. When, in the embarrassment of the part I had to act, and\nwhich was so unworthy of me, I had, in a few words and with a timid air,\nfulfilled the object which had brought me to him; before he received me\ninto favor, he pronounced, with a deal of majesty, an harangue he had\nprepared, and which contained a long enumeration of his rare virtues,\nand especially those connected with friendship. He laid great stress\nupon a thing which at first struck me a great deal: this was his having\nalways preserved the same friends. Whilst he was yet speaking, I said to\nmyself, it would be cruel for me to be the only exception to this rule.\nHe returned to the subject so frequently, and with such emphasis, that I\nthought, if in this he followed nothing but the sentiments of his heart,\nhe would be less struck with the maxim, and that he made of it an art\nuseful to his views by procuring the means of accomplishing them. Until\nthen I had been in the same situation; I had preserved all my first\nfriends, those even from my tenderest infancy, without having lost one\nof them except by death, and yet I had never before made the reflection:\nit was not a maxim I had prescribed myself. Since, therefore, the\nadvantage was common to both, why did he boast of it in preference, if\nhe had not previously intended to deprive me of the merit? He afterwards\nendeavored to humble me by proofs of the preference our common friends\ngave to him. With this I was as well acquainted as himself; the question\nwas, by what means he had obtained it? whether it was by merit or\naddress? by exalting himself, or endeavoring to abase me? At last, when\nhe had placed between us all the distance that he could add to the value\nof the favor he was about to confer, he granted me the kiss of peace,\nin a slight embrace which resembled the accolade which the king gives to\nnewmade knights. I was stupefied with surprise: I knew not what to say;\nnot a word could I utter. The whole scene had the appearance of the\nreprimand a preceptor gives to his pupil while he graciously spares\ninflicting the rod. I never think of it without perceiving to what\ndegree judgments, founded upon appearances to which the vulgar give so\nmuch weight, are deceitful, and how frequently audaciousness and pride\nare found in the guilty, and shame and embarrassment in the innocent.\n\nWe were reconciled: this was a relief to my heart, which every kind of\nquarrel fills with anguish. It will naturally be supposed that a like\nreconciliation changed nothing in his manners; all it effected was to\ndeprive me of the right of complaining of them. For this reason I took a\nresolution to endure everything, and for the future to say not a word.\n\nSo many successive vexations overwhelmed me to such a degree as to\nleave me but little power over my mind. Receiving no answer from Saint\nLambert, neglected by Madam d'Houdetot, and no longer daring to open my\nheart to any person, I began to be afraid that by making friendship my\nidol, I should sacrifice my whole life to chimeras. After putting all\nthose with whom I had been acquainted to the test, there remained but\ntwo who had preserved my esteem, and in whom my heart could confide:\nDuclos, of whom since my retreat to the Hermitage I had lost sight, and\nSaint Lambert. I thought the only means of repairing the wrongs I\nhad done the latter, was to open myself to him without reserve, and I\nresolved to confess to him everything by which his mistress should not\nbe exposed. I have no doubt but this was another snare of my passions to\nkeep me nearer to her person; but I should certainly have had no reserve\nwith her lover, entirely submitting to his direction, and carrying\nsincerity as far as it was possible to do it. I was upon the point of\nwriting to him a second letter, to which I was certain he would have\nreturned an answer, when I learned the melancholy cause of his silence\nrelative to the first. He had been unable to support until the end\nthe fatigues of the campaign. Madam d'Epinay informed me he had had an\nattack of the palsy, and Madam d'Houdetot, ill from affliction, wrote me\ntwo or three days after from Paris, that he was going to Aix-la-Chapelle\nto take the benefit of the waters. I will not say this melancholy\ncircumstance afflicted me as it did her; but I am of opinion my grief of\nheart was as painful as her tears. The pain of knowing him to be in such\na state, increased by the fear least inquietude should have contributed\nto occasion it, affected me more than anything that had yet happened,\nand I felt most cruelly a want of fortitude, which in my estimation\nwas necessary to enable me to support so many misfortunes. Happily this\ngenerous friend did not long leave me so overwhelmed with affliction; he\ndid not forget me, notwithstanding his attack; and I soon learned from\nhimself that I had ill judged his sentiments, and been too much alarmed\nfor his situation. It is now time I should come to the grand revolution\nof my destiny, to the catastrophe which has divided my life in two parts\nso different from each other, and, from a very trifling cause, produced\nsuch terrible effects.\n\nOne day, little thinking of what was to happen, Madam d'Epinay sent for\nme to the Chevrette. The moment I saw her I perceived in her eyes and\nwhole countenance an appearance of uneasiness, which struck me the more,\nas this was not customary, nobody knowing better than she did how to\ngovern her features and her movements. \"My friend,\" said she to me, \"I\nam immediately going to set off for Geneva; my breast is in a bad state,\nand my health so deranged that I must go and consult Tronchin.\" I was\nthe more astonished at this resolution so suddenly taken, and at the\nbeginning of the bad season of the year, as thirty-six hours before she\nhad not, when I left her, so much as thought of it. I asked her who she\nwould take with her. She said her son and M. de Linant; and afterwards\ncarelessly added, \"And you, dear, will not you go also?\" As I did not\nthink she spoke seriously, knowing that at the season of the year I was\nscarcely in a situation to go to my chamber, I joked upon the utility of\nthe company, of one sick person to another. She herself had not seemed\nto make the proposition seriously, and here the matter dropped. The rest\nof our conversation ran upon the necessary preparations for her journey,\nabout which she immediately gave orders, being determined to set off\nwithin a fortnight. She lost nothing by my refusal, having prevailed\nupon her husband to accompany her.\n\nA few days afterwards I received from Diderot the note I am going to\ntranscribe. This note, simply doubled up, so that the contents were\neasily read, was addressed to me at Madam d'Epinay's, and sent to M. de\nLinant, tutor to the son, and confidant to the mother.\n\n\nNOTE FROM DIDEROT.\n\n\"I am naturally disposed to love you, and am born to give you trouble.\nI am informed Madam d'Epinay is going to Geneva, and do not hear you are\nto accompany her. My friend, you are satisfied with Madam d'Epinay, you\nmust go, with her; if dissatisfied you ought still less to hesitate. Do\nyou find the weight of the obligations you are under to her uneasy to\nyou? This is an opportunity of discharging a part of them, and relieving\nyour mind. Do you ever expect another opportunity like the present one,\nof giving her proofs of your gratitude? She is going to a country where\nshe will be quite a stranger. She is ill, and will stand in need of\namusement and dissipation. The winter season too! Consider, my friend.\nYour ill state of health may be a much greater objection than I think it\nis; but are you now more indisposed than you were a month ago, or than\nyou will be at the beginning of spring? Will you three months hence be\nin a situation to perform the journey more at your ease than at present?\nFor my part I cannot but observe to you that were I unable to bear the\nshaking of the carriage I would take my staff and follow her. Have\nyou no fears lest your conduct should be misinterpreted? You will be\nsuspected of ingratitude or of a secret motive. I well know, that let\nyou do as you will you will have in your favor the testimony of your\nconscience, but will this alone be sufficient, and is it permitted\nto neglect to a certain degree that which is necessary to acquire the\napprobation of others? What I now write, my good friend, is to acquit\nmyself of what I think I owe to us both. Should my letter displease\nyou, throw it into the fire and let it be forgotten. I salute, love and\nembrace you.\"\n\nAlthough trembling and almost blind with rage whilst I read this\nepistle, I remarked the address with which Diderot affected a milder\nand more polite language than he had done in his former ones, wherein he\nnever went further than \"My dear,\" without ever deigning to add the name\nof friend. I easily discovered the secondhand means by which the letter\nwas conveyed to me; the subscription, manner and form awkwardly betrayed\nthe manoeuvre; for we commonly wrote to each other by post, or the\nmessenger of Montmorency, and this was the first and only time he sent\nme his letter by any other conveyance.\n\nAs soon as the first transports of my indignation permitted me to write,\nI, with great precipitation, wrote him the following answer, which I\nimmediately carried from the Hermitage, where I then was, to Chevrette,\nto show it to Madam d' Epinay; to whom, in my blind rage, I read the\ncontents, as well as the letter from Diderot.\n\n\"You cannot, my dear friend, either know the magnitude of the\nobligations I am under to Madam d'Epinay, to what a degree I am bound by\nthem, whether or not she is desirous of my accompanying her, that this\nis possible, or the reasons I may have for my noncompliance. I have\nno objection to discuss all these points with you; but you will in the\nmeantime confess that prescribing to me so positively what I ought to\ndo, without first enabling yourself to judge of the matter, is, my\ndear philosopher, acting very inconsiderately. What is still worse, I\nperceive the opinion you give comes not from yourself. Besides my being\nbut little disposed to suffer myself to be led by the nose under your\nname by any third or fourth person, I observe in this secondary advice\ncertain underhand dealing, which ill agrees with your candor, and from\nwhich you will on your account, as well as mine, do well in future to\nabstain.\n\n\"You are afraid my conduct should be misinterpreted; but I defy a heart\nlike yours to think ill of mine. Others would perhaps speak better of\nme if I resembled them more. God preserve me from gaining their\napprobation! Let the vile and wicked watch over my conduct and\nmisinterpret my actions, Rousseau is not a man to be afraid of them, nor\nis Diderot to be prevailed upon to hearken to what they say.\n\n\"If I am displeased with your letter, you wish me to throw it into the\nfire, and pay no attention to the contents. Do you imagine that anything\ncoming from you can be forgotten in such a manner? You hold, my dear\nfriend, my tears as cheap in the pain you give me, as you do my life and\nhealth, in the cares you exhort me to take. Could you but break yourself\nof this, your friendship would be more pleasing to me, and I should be\nless to be pitied.\"\n\nOn entering the chamber of Madam d'Epinay I found Grimm with her, with\nwhich I was highly delighted. I read to them, in a loud and clear voice,\nthe two letters, with an intrepidity of which I should not have thought\nmyself capable, and concluded with a few observations not in the least\nderogatory to it. At this unexpected audacity in a man generally timid,\nthey were struck dumb with surprise; I perceived that arrogant man look\ndown upon the ground, not daring to meet my eyes, which sparkled\nwith indignation; but in the bottom of his heart he from that instant\nresolved upon my destruction, and, with Madam d' Epinay, I am certain\nconcerted measures to that effect before they separated.\n\nIt was much about this time that I at length received, by Madam\nd'Houdetot, the answer from Saint Lambert, dated from Wolfenb\u00fcttel, a\nfew days after the accident had happened to him, to my letter which had\nbeen long delayed upon the road. This answer gave me the consolation of\nwhich I then stood so much in need; it was full of assurance of esteem\nand friendship, and these gave me strength and courage to deserve\nthem. From that moment I did my duty, but had Saint Lambert been less\nreasonable, generous and honest, I was inevitably lost.\n\nThe season became bad, and people began to quit the country. Madam\nd'Houdetot informed me of the day on which she intended to come and bid\nadieu to the valley, and gave me a rendezvous at Eaubonne. This happened\nto be the same day on which Madam d'Epinay left the Chevrette to go\nto Paris for the purpose of completing preparations for her journey.\nFortunately she set off in the morning, and I had still time to go and\ndine with her sister-in-law. I had the letter from Saint Lambert in my\npocket, and read it over several times as I walked along, This letter\nserved me as a shield against my weakness. I made and kept to the\nresolution of seeing nothing in Madam d'Houdetot but my friend and the\nmistress of Saint Lambert; and I passed with her a tete-a-tete of four\nhours in a most delicious calm, infinitely preferable, even with respect\nto enjoyment, to the paroxysms of a burning fever, which, always, until\nthat moment, I had had when in her presence. As she too well knew my\nheart not to be changed, she was sensible of the efforts I made to\nconquer myself, and esteemed me the more for them, and I had the\npleasure of perceiving that her friendship for me was not extinguished.\nShe announced to me the approaching return of Saint Lambert, who,\nalthough well enough recovered from his attack, was unable to bear the\nfatigues of war, and was quitting the service to come and live in peace\nwith her. We formed the charming project of an intimate connection\nbetween us three, and had reason to hope it would be lasting, since it\nwas founded on every sentiment by which honest and susceptible hearts\ncould be united; and we had moreover amongst us all the knowledge and\ntalents necessary to be sufficient to ourselves without the aid of\nany foreign supplement. Alas! in abandoning myself to the hope of so\nagreeable a life I little suspected that which awaited me.\n\nWe afterwards spoke of my situation with Madam d'Epinay. I showed\nher the letter from Diderot, with my answer to it; I related to her\neverything that had passed upon the subject, and declared to her my\nresolution of quitting the Hermitage.\n\nThis she vehemently opposed, and by reasons all powerful over my heart.\nShe expressed to me how much she could have wished I had been of the\nparty to Geneva, foreseeing she should inevitably be considered as\nhaving caused the refusal, which the letter of Diderot seemed previously\nto announce. However, as she was acquainted with my reasons, she did\nnot insist upon this point, but conjured me to avoid coming to an open\nrupture let it cost me what mortification it would, and to palliate\nmy refusal by reasons sufficiently plausible to put away all unjust\nsuspicions of her having been the cause of it. I told her the task she\nimposed on me was not easy; but that, resolved to expiate my faults at\nthe expense of my reputation, I would give the preference to hers in\neverything that honor permitted me to suffer. It will soon be seen\nwhether or not I fulfilled this engagement.\n\nMy passion was so far from having lost any part of its force that I\nnever in my life loved my Sophia so ardently and tenderly as on that\nday, but such was the impression made upon me by the letter of Saint\nLambert, the sentiment of my duty and the horror in which I held\nperfidy, that during the whole time of the interview my senses left me\nin peace, and I was not so much as tempted to kiss her hand. At parting\nshe embraced me before her servants. This embrace, so different from\nthose I had sometimes stolen from her under the foliage, proved I was\nbecome master of myself; and I am certain that had my mind, undisturbed,\nhad time to acquire more firmness, three months would have cured me\nradically.\n\nHere ends my personal connections with Madam d'Houdetot; connections\nof which each has been able to judge by appearance according to the\ndisposition of his own heart, but in which the passion inspired me by\nthat amiable woman, the most lively passion, perhaps, man ever felt,\nwill be honorable in our own eyes by the rare and painful sacrifice we\nboth made to duty, honor, love, and friendship. We each had too high\nan opinion of the other easily to suffer ourselves to do anything\nderogatory to our dignity. We must have been unworthy of all esteem\nhad we not set a proper value upon one like this, and the energy of my\nsentiments which have rendered us culpable, was that which prevented us\nfrom becoming so.\n\nThus after a long friendship for one of these women, and the strongest\naffection for the other, I bade them both adieu the same day, to\none never to see her more, to the other to see her again twice, upon\noccasions of which I shall hereafter speak.\n\nAfter their departure, I found myself much embarrassed to fulfill\nso many pressing and contradictory duties, the consequences of my\nimprudence; had I been in my natural situation, after the proposition\nand refusal of the journey to Geneva, I had only to remain quiet, and\neverything was as it should be. But I had foolishly made of it an affair\nwhich could not remain in the state it was, and an explanation was\nabsolutely necessary, unless I quitted the Hermitage, which I had just\npromised Madam d'Houdetot not to do, at least for the present. Moreover\nshe had required me to make known the reasons for my refusal to my\npretended friends, that it might not be imputed to her. Yet I could not\nstate the true reason without doing an outrage to Madam d'Epinay, who\ncertainly had a right to my gratitude for what she had done for me.\nEverything well considered, I found myself reduced to the severe but\nindispensable necessity of failing in respect, either to Madam d'Upinay,\nMadam d'Houdetot or to myself; and it was the last I resolved to make\nmy victim. This I did without hesitation, openly and fully, and with so\nmuch generosity as to make the act worthy of expiating the faults which\nhad reduced me to such an extremity. This sacrifice, taken advantage of\nby my enemies, and which they, perhaps, did not expect, has ruined my\nreputation, and by their assiduity, deprived me of the esteem of the\npublic; but it has restored to me my own, and given me consolation in\nmy misfortune. This, as it will hereafter appear, is not the last time I\nmade such a sacrifice, nor that advantages were taken of it to do me an\ninjury.\n\nGrimm was the only person who appeared to have taken no part in the\naffair, and it was to him I determined to address myself. I wrote him a\nlong letter, in which I set forth the ridiculousness of considering it\nas my duty to accompany Madam d' Epinay to Geneva, the inutility of the\nmeasure, and the embarrassment even it would have caused her, besides\nthe inconvenience to myself. I could not resist the temptation of\nletting him perceive in this letter how fully I was informed in what\nmanner things were arranged, and that to me it appeared singular I\nshould be expected to undertake the journey whilst he himself dispensed\nwith it, and that his name was never mentioned. This letter, wherein,\non account of my not being able clearly to state my reasons, I was often\nobliged to wander from the text, would have rendered me culpable in the\neyes of the public, but it was a model of reservedness and discretion\nfor the people who, like Grimm, were fully acquainted with the things\nI forbore to mention, and which justified my conduct. I did not even\nhesitate to raise another prejudice against myself in attributing the\nadvice of Diderot, to my other friends. This I did to insinuate that\nMadam d'Houdetot had been in the same opinion as she really was, and\nin not mentioning that, upon the reasons I gave her, she thought\ndifferently, I could not better remove the suspicion of her having\nconnived at my proceedings than appearing dissatisfied with her\nbehavior.\n\nThis letter was concluded by an act of confidence which would have had\nan effect upon any other man; for, in desiring Grimm to weigh my reasons\nand afterwards to give me his opinion, I informed him that, let this be\nwhat it would, I should act accordingly, and such was my intention had\nhe even thought I ought to set off; for M. d'Epinay having appointed\nhimself the conductor of his wife, my going with them would then have\nhad a different appearance; whereas it was I who, in the first place,\nwas asked to take upon me that employment, and he was out of the\nquestion until after my refusal.\n\nThe answer from Grimm was slow incoming; it was singular enough, on\nwhich account I will here transcribe it.\n\n\"The departure of Madam d'Epinay is postponed; her son is ill, and it\nis necessary to wait until his health is re-established. I will consider\nthe contents of your letter. Remain quiet at your Hermitage. I will send\nyou my opinion as soon as this shall be necessary. As she will certainly\nnot set off for some days, there is no immediate occasion for it. In the\nmeantime you may, if you think proper, make her your offers, although\nthis to me seems a matter of indifference. For, knowing your situation\nas well as you do yourself, I doubt not of her returning to your offer\nsuch an answer as she ought to do; and all the advantage which, in my\nopinion, can result from this, will be your having it in your power to\nsay to those by whom you may be importuned, that your not being of the\ntravelling party was not for want of having made your offers to that\neffect. Moreover, I do not see why you will absolutely have it that the\nphilosopher is the speaking-trumpet of all the world, nor because he\nis of opinion you ought to go, why you should imagine all your friends\nthink as he does? If you write to Madam d'Epinay, her answer will be\nyours to all your friends, since you have it so much at heart to give\nthem all an answer. Adieu. I embrace Madam le Vasseur and the Criminal.\"\n\n     [M. le Vasseur, whose wife governed him rather rudely, called her\n     the Lieutenant Criminal.  Grimm in a joke gave the same name to the\n     daughter, and by way of abridgment was pleased to retrench the first\n     word.]\n\nStruck with astonishment at reading this letter I vainly endeavored to\nfind out what it meant. How! instead of answering me with simplicity,\nhe took time to consider of what I had written, as if the time he\nhad already taken was not sufficient! He intimates even the state of\nsuspense in which he wishes to keep me, as if a profound problem was to\nbe resolved, or that it was of importance to his views to deprive me of\nevery means of comprehending his intentions until the moment he should\nthink proper to make them known. What therefore did he mean by these\nprecautions, delays, and mysteries? Was this manner of acting consistent\nwith honor and uprightness? I vainly sought for some favorable\ninterpretation of his conduct; it was impossible to find one. Whatever\nhis design might be, were this inimical to me, his situation facilitated\nthe execution of it without its being possible for me in mine to oppose\nthe least obstacle. In favor in the house of a great prince, having an\nextensive acquaintance, and giving the tone to common circles of which\nhe was the oracle, he had it in his power, with his usual address,\nto dispose everything in his favor; and I, alone in my Hermitage, far\nremoved from all society, without the benefit of advice, and having no\ncommunication with the world, had nothing to do but to remain in peace.\nAll I did was to write to Madam d'Epinay upon the illness of her son,\nas polite a letter as could be written, but in which I did not fall into\nthe snare of offering to accompany her to Geneva.\n\nAfter waiting for a long time in the most cruel uncertainty, into which\nthat barbarous man had plunged me, I learned, at the expiration of eight\nor ten days, that Madam d'Epinay was set off, and received from him a\nsecond letter. It contained not more than seven or eight lines which I\ndid not entirely read. It was a rupture, but in such terms as the most\ninfernal hatred only can dictate, and these became unmeaning by the\nexcessive degree of acrimony with which he wished to charge them. He\nforbade me his presence as he would have forbidden me his states. All\nthat was wanting to his letter to make it laughable, was to be read over\nwith coolness. Without taking a copy of it, or reading the whole of the\ncontents, I returned it him immediately, accompanied by the following\nnote:\n\n\"I refused to admit the force of the just reasons I had of suspicion:\nI now, when it is too late, am become sufficiently acquainted with your\ncharacter.\n\n\"This then is the letter upon which you took time to meditate: I return\nit to you, it is not for me. You may show mine to the whole world and\nhate me openly; this on your part will be a falsehood the less.\"\n\nMy telling he might show my preceding letter related to an article in\nhis by which his profound address throughout the whole affair will be\njudged of.\n\nI have observed that my letter might inculpate me in the eyes of persons\nunacquainted with the particulars of what had passed. This he was\ndelighted to discover; but how was he to take advantage of it without\nexposing himself? By showing the letter he ran the risk of being\nreproached with abusing the confidence of his friend.\n\nTo relieve himself from this embarrassment he resolved to break with me\nin the most violent manner possible, and to set forth in his letter\nthe favor he did me in not showing mine. He was certain that in my\nindignation and anger I should refuse his feigned discretion, and permit\nhim to show my letter to everybody; this was what he wished for, and\neverything turned out as he expected it would. He sent my letter all\nover Paris, with his own commentaries upon it, which, however, were not\nso successful as he had expected them to be. It was not judged that the\npermission he had extorted to make my letter public exempted him from\nthe blame of having so lightly taken me at my word to do me an injury.\nPeople continually asked what personal complaints he had against me to\nauthorize so violent a hatred. Finally, it was thought that if even my\nbehavior had been such as to authorize him to break with me, friendship,\nalthough extinguished, had rights which he ought to have respected. But\nunfortunately the inhabitants of Paris are frivolous; remarks of the\nmoment are soon forgotten; the absent and unfortunate are neglected;\nthe man who prospers secures favor by his presence; the intriguing and\nmalicious support each other, renew their vile efforts, and the effects\nof these, incessantly succeeding each other, efface everything by which\nthey were preceded.\n\nThus, after having so long deceived me, this man threw aside his mask;\nconvinced that, in the state to which he had brought things, he no\nlonger stood in need of it. Relieved from the fear of being unjust\ntowards the wretch, I left him to his reflections, and thought no more\nof him. A week afterwards I received an answer from Madam d'Epinay,\ndated from Geneva. I understood from the manner of her letter, in which\nfor the first time in her life, she put on airs of state with me,\nthat both depending but little upon the success of their measures, and\nconsidering me a man inevitably lost, their intentions were to give\nthemselves the pleasure of completing my destruction.\n\nIn fact, my situation was deplorable. I perceived all my friends\nwithdrew themselves from me without knowing how or for why. Diderot, who\nboasted of the continuation of his attachment, and who, for three months\npast, had promised me a visit, did not come. The winter began to\nmake its appearance, and brought with it my habitual disorders. My\nconstitution, although vigorous, had been unequal to the combat of so\nmany opposite passions. I was so exhausted that I had neither strength\nnor courage sufficient to resist the most trifling indisposition. Had\nmy engagements, and the continued remonstrances of Diderot and Madam\nd'Houdetot then permitted me to quit the Hermitage, I knew not where\nto go, nor in what manner to drag myself along. I remained stupid and\nimmovable. The idea alone of a step to take, a letter to write, or a\nword to say, made me tremble. I could not however do otherwise than\nreply to the letter of Madam d'Epinay without acknowledging myself to be\nworthy of the treatment with which she and her friend overwhelmed me.\nI determined upon notifying to her my sentiments and resolutions, not\ndoubting a moment that from humanity, generosity, propriety, and\nthe good manner of thinking, I imagined I had observed in her,\nnotwithstanding her bad one, she would immediately subscribe to them. My\nletter was as follows:\n\n                                        HERMITAGE 23d NOV., 1757.\n\n\"Were it possible to die of grief I should not now be alive.\n\n\"But I have at length determined to triumph over everything. Friendship,\nmadam, is extinguished between us, but that which no longer exists still\nhas its rights, and I respect them.\n\n\"I have not forgotten your goodness to me, and you may, on my part,\nexpect as much gratitude as it is possible to have towards a person I no\nlonger can love. All further explanation would be useless. I have in my\nfavor my own conscience, and I return you your letter.\n\n\"I wished to quit the Hermitage, and I ought to have done it. My friends\npretend I must stay there until spring; and since my friends desire it I\nwill remain there until that season if you will consent to my stay.\"\n\nAfter writing and despatching this letter all I thought of was remaining\nquiet at the Hermitage and taking care of my health; of endeavoring to\nrecover my strength, and taking measures to remove in the spring without\nnoise or making the rupture public. But these were not the intentions\neither of Grimm or Madam d'Epinay, as it will presently appear.\n\nA few days afterwards, I had the pleasure of receiving from Diderot the\nvisit he had so frequently promised, and in which he had as constantly\nfailed. He could not have come more opportunely; he was my oldest\nfriend: almost the only one who remained to me; the pleasure I felt in\nseeing him, as things were circumstanced, may easily be imagined. My\nheart was full, and I disclosed it to him. I explained to him several\nfacts which either had not come to his knowledge, or had been disguised\nor suppressed. I informed him, as far as I could do it with propriety,\nof all that had passed. I did not affect to conceal from him that\nwith which he was but too well acquainted, that a passion equally\nunreasonable and unfortunate, had been the cause of my destruction; but\nI never acknowledged that Madam d'Houdetot had been made acquainted with\nit, or at least that I had declared it to her. I mentioned to him the\nunworthy manoeuvres of Madam d'Epinay to intercept the innocent letters\nher sister-in-law wrote to me. I was determined he should hear the\nparticulars from the mouth of the persons whom she had attempted to\nseduce. Theresa related them with great precision; but what was my\nastonishment when the mother came to speak, and I heard her declare and\nmaintain that nothing of this had come to her knowledge? These were\nher words from which she would never depart. Not four days before she\nherself had recited to me all the particulars Theresa had just stated,\nand in presence of my friend she contradicted me to my face. This, to\nme, was decisive, and I then clearly saw my imprudence in having so long\na time kept such a woman near me. I made no use of invective; I scarcely\ndeigned to speak to her a few words of contempt. I felt what I owed to\nthe daughter, whose steadfast uprightness was a perfect contrast to the\nbase monoeuvres of the mother. But from the instant my resolution was\ntaken relative to the old woman, and I waited for nothing but the moment\nto put it into execution.\n\nThis presented itself sooner than I expected. On the 10th of December\nI received from Madam d'Epinay the following answer to my preceding\nletter:\n\n                                   GENEVA, 1st December, 1757.\n\n\"After having for several years given you every possible mark of\nfriendship all I can now do is to pity you. You are very unhappy. I wish\nyour conscience may be as calm as mine. This may be necessary to the\nrepose of your whole life.\n\n\"Since you are determined to quit the Hermitage, and are persuaded that\nyou ought to do it, I am astonished your friends have prevailed upon you\nto stay there. For my part I never consult mine upon my duty, and I have\nnothing further to say to you upon your own.\"\n\nSuch an unforeseen dismission, and so fully pronounced, left me not\na moment to hesitate. It was necessary to quit immediately, let the\nweather and my health be in what state they might, although I were to\nsleep in the woods and upon the snow, with which the ground was then\ncovered, and in defiance of everything Madam d'Houdetot might say; for\nI was willing to do everything to please her except render myself\ninfamous.\n\nI never had been so embarrassed in my whole life as I then was; but my\nresolution was taken. I swore, let what would happen, not to sleep at\nthe Hermitage on the night of that day week. I began to prepare for\nsending away my effects, resolving to leave them in the open field\nrather than not give up the key in the course of the week: for I was\ndetermined everything should be done before a letter could be written\nto Geneva, and an answer to it received. I never felt myself so inspired\nwith courage: I had recovered all my strength. Honor and indignation,\nupon which Madam d'Epinay had not calculated, contributed to restore me\nto vigor. Fortune aided my audacity. M. Mathas, fiscal procurer, heard\nof my embarrassment. He sent to offer me a little house he had in his\ngarden of Mont Louis, at Montmorency. I accepted it with eagerness\nand gratitude. The bargain was soon concluded: I immediately sent to\npurchase a little furniture to add to that we already had. My effects\nI had carted away with a deal of trouble, and a great expense:\nnotwithstanding the ice and snow my removal was completed in a couple\nof days, and on the fifteenth of December I gave up the keys of the\nHermitage, after having paid the wages of the gardener, not being able\nto pay my rent.\n\nWith respect to Madam le Vasseur, I told her we must part; her daughter\nattempted to make me renounce my resolution, but I was inflexible.\nI sent her off, to Paris in a carriage of the messenger with all the\nfurniture and effects she and her daughter had in common. I gave\nher some money, and engaged to pay her lodging with her children,\nor elsewhere to provide for her subsistence as much as it should be\npossible for me to do it, and never to let her want bread as long as I\nshould have it myself.\n\nFinally the day after my arrival at Mont Louis, I wrote to Madam\nd'Epinay the following letter:\n\n                                   MONTMORENCY, 17th December 1757.\n\n\"Nothing, madam, is so natural and necessary as to leave your house the\nmoment you no longer approve of my remaining there. Upon you refusing\nyour consent to my passing the rest of the winter at the Hermitage I\nquitted it on the fifteenth of December. My destiny was to enter it in\nspite of myself and to leave it the same. I thank you for the residence\nyou prevailed upon me to make there, and I would thank you still more\nhad I paid for it less dear. You are right in believing me unhappy;\nnobody upon earth knows better than yourself to what a degree I must be\nso. If being deceived in the choice of our friends be a misfortune, it\nis another not less cruel to recover from so pleasing an error.\"\n\nSuch is the faithful narrative of my residence at the Hermitage, and\nof the reasons which obliged me to leave it. I could not break off the\nrecital, it was necessary to continue it with the greatest exactness;\nthis epoch of my life having had upon the rest of it an influence which\nwill extend to my latest remembrance.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\n\n[Illustration: 0156]\n\n\n|The extraordinary degree of strength a momentary effervescence had given\nme to quit the Hermitage, left me the moment I was out of it. I was\nscarcely established in my new habitation before I frequently suffered\nfrom retentions, which were accompanied by a new complaint; that of a\nrupture, from which I had for some time, without knowing what it was,\nfelt great inconvenience. I soon was reduced to the most cruel state.\nThe physician Thieiry, my old friend, came to see me, and made me\nacquainted with my situation. The sight of all the apparatus of the\ninfirmities of years, made me severely feel that when the body is no\nlonger young, the heart is not so with impunity. The fine season did not\nrestore me, and I passed the whole year, 1758, in a state of languor,\nwhich made me think I was almost at the end of my career. I saw, with\nimpatience, the closing scene approach. Recovered from the chimeras\nof friendship, and detached from everything which had rendered life\ndesirable to me, I saw nothing more in it that could make it agreeable;\nall I perceived was wretchedness and misery, which prevented me from\nenjoying myself. I sighed after the moment when I was to be free and\nescape from my enemies. But I must follow the order of events.\n\nMy retreat to Montmorency seemed to disconcert Madam d'Epinay; probably\nshe did not expect it. My melancholy situation, the severity of the\nseason, the general dereliction of me by my friends, all made her and\nGrimm believe, that by driving me to the last extremity, they should\noblige me to implore mercy, and thus, by vile meanness, render myself\ncontemptible, to be suffered to remain in an asylum which honor\ncommanded me to leave. I left it so suddenly that they had not time\nto prevent the step from being taken, and they were reduced to the\nalternative of double or quit, to endeavor to ruin me entirely, or to\nprevail upon me to return. Grimm chose the former; but I am of opinion\nMadam d'Epinay would have preferred the latter, and this from her answer\nto my last letter, in which she seemed to have laid aside the airs she\nhad given herself in the preceding ones, and to give an opening to an\naccommodation. The long delay of this answer, for which she made me wait\na whole month, sufficiently indicates the difficulty she found in giving\nit a proper turn, and the deliberations by which it was preceded. She\ncould not make any further advances without exposing herself; but\nafter her former letters, and my sudden retreat from her house, it is\nimpossible not to be struck with the care she takes in this letter\nnot to suffer an offensive expression to escape her. I will copy it at\nlength to enable my reader to judge of what she wrote:\n\n                                   GENEVA, January 17, 1758.\n\n\"SIR: I did not receive your letter of the 17th of December until\nyesterday. It was sent me in a box filled with different things, and\nwhich has been all this time upon the road. I shall answer only the\npostscript. You may recollect, sir, that we agreed the wages of the\ngardener of the Hermitage should pass through your hands, the better to\nmake him feel that he depended upon you, and to avoid the ridiculous\nand indecent scenes which happened in the time of his predecessor. As a\nproof of this, the first quarter of his wages were given to you, and a\nfew days before my departure we agreed I should reimburse you what you\nhad advanced. I know that of this you, at first, made some difficulty;\nbut I had desired you to make these advances; it was natural I should\nacquit myself towards you, and this we concluded upon. Cahouet informs\nme that you refused to receive the money. There is certainly some\nmistake in the matter. I have given orders that it may again be offered\nto you, and I see no reason for your wishing to pay my gardener,\nnotwithstanding our conventions, and beyond the term even of your\ninhabiting the Hermitage. I therefore expect, sir, that recollecting\neverything I have the honor to state, you will not refuse to be\nreimbursed for the sums you have been pleased to advance for me.\"\n\nAfter what had passed, not having the least confidence in Madam d'\nEpinay, I was unwilling to renew my connection with her; I returned no\nanswer to this letter, and there our correspondence ended. Perceiving I\nhad taken my resolution, she took hers; and, entering into all the views\nof Grimm and the Coterie Holbachique, she united her efforts with theirs\nto accomplish my destruction. Whilst they manoevured at Paris, she did\nthe same at Geneva. Grimm, who afterwards went to her there, completed\nwhat she had begun. Tronchin, whom they had no difficulty in gaining\nover, seconded them powerfully, and became the most violent of my\npersecutors, without having against me, any more than Grimm had, the\nleast subject of complaint. They all three spread in silence that of\nwhich the effects were seen there four years afterwards.\n\nThey had more trouble at Paris, where I was better known to the\ncitizens, whose hearts, less disposed to hatred, less easily received\nits impressions. The better to direct their blow, they began by giving\nout that it was I who had left them. Thence, still feigning to be\nmy friends, they dexterously spread their malignant accusations by\ncomplaining of the injustice of their friend. Their auditors, thus\nthrown off their guard, listened more attentively to what was said of\nme, and were inclined to blame my conduct. The secret accusations of\nperfidy and ingratitude were made with greater precaution, and by that\nmeans with greater effect. I knew they imputed to me the most atrocious\ncrimes without being able to learn in what these consisted. All I\ncould infer from public rumor was that this was founded upon the four\nfollowing capital offences: my retiring to the country; my passion for\nMadam d'Houdetot; my refusing to accompany Madam d'Epinay to Geneva, and\nmy leaving the Hermitage. If to these they added other griefs, they took\ntheir measures so well that it has hitherto been impossible for me to\nlearn the subject of them.\n\nIt is therefore at this period that I think I may fix the establishment\nof a system, since adopted by those by whom my fate has been determined,\nand which has made such a progress as will seem miraculous to persons\nwho know not with what facility everything which favors the malignity of\nman is established. I will endeavor to explain in a few words what to me\nappeared visible in this profound and obscure system.\n\nWith a name already distinguished and known throughout all Europe, I had\nstill preserved my primitive simplicity. My mortal aversion to all party\nfaction and cabal had kept me free and independent, without any other\nchain than the attachments of my heart. Alone, a stranger, without\nfamily or fortune, and unconnected with everything except my principles\nand duties, I intrepidly followed the paths of uprightness, never\nflattering or favoring any person at the expense of truth and justice.\nBesides, having lived for two years past in solitude, without observing\nthe course of events, I was unconnected with the affairs of the world,\nand not informed of what passed, nor desirous of being acquainted with\nit. I lived four leagues from Paris as much separated from that capital\nby my negligence as I should have been in the Island of Tinian by the\nsea.\n\nGrimm, Diderot and D'Holbach were, on the contrary, in the centre of the\nvortex, lived in the great world, and divided amongst them almost all\nthe spheres of it. The great wits, men of letters, men of long robe,\nand women, all listened to them when they chose to act in concert. The\nadvantage three men in this situation united must have over a fourth in\nmine, cannot but already appear. It is true Diderot and D'Holbach were\nincapable, at least I think so, of forming black conspiracies; one of\nthem was not base enough, nor the other sufficiently able; but it was\nfor this reason that the party was more united. Grimm alone formed his\nplan in his own mind, and discovered more of it than was necessary to\ninduce his associates to concur in the execution. The ascendency he\nhad gained over them made this quite easy, and the effect of the whole\nanswered to the superiority of his talents.\n\nIt was with these, which were of a superior kind, that, perceiving the\nadvantage he might acquire from our respective situations, he conceived\nthe project of overturning my reputation, and, without exposing himself,\nof giving me one of a nature quite opposite, by raising up about me an\nedifice of obscurity which it was impossible for me to penetrate, and by\nthat means throw a light upon his manoevures and unmask him.\n\nThis enterprise was difficult, because it was necessary to palliate the\niniquity in the eyes of those of whose assistance he stood in need.\nHe had honest men to deceive, to alienate from me the good opinion of\neverybody, and to deprive me of all my friends. What say I? He had to\ncut off all communication with me, that not a single word of truth might\nreach my ears. Had a single man of generosity come and said to me, \"You\nassume the appearance of virtue, yet this is the manner in which you are\ntreated, and these the circumstances by which you are judged: what have\nyou to say?\" truth would have triumphed and Grimm have been undone.\nOf this he was fully convinced; but he had examined his own heart and\nestimated men according to their merit. I am sorry, for the honor of\nhumanity, that he judged with so much truth.\n\nIn these dark and crooked paths his steps to be the more sure were\nnecessarily slow. He has for twelve years pursued his plan and the\nmost difficult part of the execution of it is still to come; this is to\ndeceive the public entirely. He is afraid of this public, and dares not\nlay his conspiracy open.\n\n     [Since this was written he has made the dangerous step with the\n     fullest and most inconceivable success.  I am of opinion it was\n     Tronchin who inspired him with courage, and supplied him with the\n     means.]\n\nBut he has found the easy means of accompanying it with power, and\nthis power has the disposal of me. Thus supported he advances with\nless danger. The agents of power piquing themselves but little on\nuprightness, and still less on candor, he has no longer the indiscretion\nof an honest man to fear. His safety is in my being enveloped in an\nimpenetrable obscurity, and in concealing from me his conspiracy, well\nknowing that with whatever art he may have formed it, I could by a\nsingle glance of the eye discover the whole. His great address consists\nin appearing to favor whilst he defames me, and in giving to his perfidy\nan air of generosity.\n\nI felt the first effects of this system by the secret accusations of the\nCoterie Holbachique without its being possible for me to know in what\nthe accusations consisted, or to form a probable conjecture as to the\nnature of them. De Leyre informed me in his letters that heinous things\nwere attributed to me. Diderot more mysteriously told me the same thing,\nand when I came to an explanation with both, the whole was reduced to\nthe heads of accusation of which I have already spoken. I perceived a\ngradual increase of coolness in the letters from Madam d'Houdetot. This\nI could not attribute to Saint Lambert; he continued to write to me with\nthe same friendship, and came to see me after his return. It was also\nimpossible to think myself the cause of it, as we had separated well\nsatisfied with each other, and nothing since that time had happened on\nmy part, except my departure from the Hermitage, of which she felt\nthe necessity. Therefore, not knowing whence this coolness, which she\nrefused to acknowledge, although my heart was not to be deceived, could\nproceed, I was uneasy upon every account. I knew she greatly favored her\nsister-in-law and Grimm, in consequence of their connections with Saint\nLambert; and I was afraid of their machinations. This agitation opened\nmy wounds, and rendered my correspondence so disagreeable as quite\nto disgust her with it. I saw, as at a distance, a thousand cruel\ncircumstances, without discovering anything distinctly. I was in a\nsituation the most insupportable to a man whose imagination is easily\nheated. Had I been quite retired from the world, and known nothing of\nthe matter I should have become more calm; but my heart still clung to\nattachments, by means of which my enemies had great advantages over me;\nand the feeble rays which penetrated my asylum conveyed to me nothing\nmore than a knowledge of the blackness of the mysteries which were\nconcealed from my eyes.\n\nI should have sunk, I have not a doubt of it, under these torments,\ntoo cruel and insupportable to my open disposition, which, by the\nimpossibility of concealing my sentiments, makes me fear everything from\nthose concealed from me, if fortunately objects sufficiently interesting\nto my heart to divert it from others with which, in spite of myself, my\nimagination was filled, had not presented themselves. In the last\nvisit Diderot paid me, at the Hermitage, he had spoken of the article\n'Geneva', which D'Alembert had inserted in the 'Encyclopedie'; he\nhad informed me that this article, concerted with people of the first\nconsideration, had for object the establishment of a theatre at Geneva,\nthat measures had been taken accordingly, and that the establishment\nwould soon take place. As Diderot seemed to think all this very proper,\nand did not doubt of the success of the measure, and as I had besides to\nspeak to him upon too many other subjects to touch upon that article, I\nmade him no answer: but scandalized at these preparatives to corruption\nand licentiousness in my country, I waited with impatience for the\nvolume of the 'Encyclopedie', in which the article was inserted; to see\nwhether or not it would be possible to give an answer which might ward\noff the blow. I received the volume soon after my establishment at Mont\nLouis, and found the articles to be written with much art and address,\nand worthy of the pen whence it proceeded. This, however, did not abate\nmy desire to answer it, and notwithstanding the dejection of spirits I\nthen labored under, my griefs and pains, the severity of the season, and\nthe inconvenience of my new abode, in which I had not yet had time\nto arrange myself, I set to work with a zeal which surmounted every\nobstacle.\n\nIn a severe winter, in the month of February, and in the situation I\nhave described, I went every day, morning and evening, to pass a couple\nof hours in an open alcove which was at the bottom of the garden in\nwhich my habitation stood. This alcove, which terminated an alley of\na terrace, looked upon the valley and the pond of Montmorency, and\npresented to me, as the closing point of a prospect, the plain but\nrespectable castle of St. Gratien, the retreat of the virtuous Catinat.\nIt was in this place, then, exposed to freezing cold, that without being\nsheltered from the wind and snow, and having no other fire than that\nin my heart; I composed, in the space of three weeks, my letter to\nD'Alembert on theatres. It was in this, for my 'Eloisa' was not then\nhalf written, that I found charms in philosophical labor. Until then\nvirtuous indignation had been a substitute to Apollo, tenderness and a\ngentleness of mind now became so. The injustice I had been witness\nto had irritated me, that of which I became the object rendered me\nmelancholy; and this melancholy without bitterness was that of a heart\ntoo tender and affectionate, and which, deceived by those in whom it\nhad confided, was obliged to remain concentred. Full of that which had\nbefallen me, and still affected by so many violent emotions, my\nheart added the sentiment of its sufferings to the ideas with which\na meditation on my subject had inspired me; what I wrote bore evident\nmarks of this mixture. Without perceiving it I described the situation I\nwas then in, gave portraits of Grimm, Madam d'Epinay, Madam d' Houdetot,\nSaint Lambert and myself. What delicious tears did I shed as I wrote!\nAlas! in these descriptions there are proofs but too evident that\nlove, the fatal love of which I made such efforts to cure myself, still\nremained in my heart. With all this there was a certain sentiment of\ntenderness relative to myself; I thought I was dying, and imagined I\nbid the public my last adieu. Far from fearing death, I joyfully saw it\napproach; but I felt some regret at leaving my fellow creatures without\ntheir having perceived my real merit, and being convinced how much I\nshould have deserved their esteem had they known me better. These are\nthe secret causes of the singular manner in which this work, opposite\nto that of the work by which it was preceded, is written.--[Discours sur\nl'Inegalite. Discourse on the Inequality of Mankind.]\n\nI corrected and copied the letter, and was preparing to print it when,\nafter a long silence, I received one from Madam d'Houdetot, which\nbrought upon me a new affliction more painful than any I had yet\nsuffered. She informed me that my passion for her was known to all\nParis, that I had spoken of it to persons who had made it public, that\nthis rumor, having reached the ears of her lover, had nearly cost him\nhis life; yet he did her justice, and peace was restored between\nthem; but on his account, as well as on hers, and for the sake of her\nreputation, she thought it her duty to break off all correspondence\nwith me, at the same time assuring me that she and her friend were both\ninterested in my welfare, that they would defend me to the public, and\nthat she herself would, from time to time, send to inquire after my\nhealth.\n\n\"And thou also, Diderot,\" exclaimed I, \"unworthy friend!\"\n\nI could not, however, yet resolve to condemn him. My weakness was known\nto others who might have spoken of it. I wished to doubt, but this was\nsoon out of my power. Saint Lambert shortly after performed an action\nworthy of himself. Knowing my manner of thinking, he judged of the state\nin which I must be; betrayed by one part of my friends and forsaken by\nthe other. He came to see me. The first time he had not many moments\nto spare. He came again. Unfortunately, not expecting him, I was not at\nhome. Theresa had with him a conversation of upwards of two hours, in\nwhich they informed each other of facts of great importance to us all.\nThe surprise with which I learned that nobody doubted of my having lived\nwith Madam d'Epinay, as Grimm then did, cannot be equalled, except by\nthat of Saint Lambert, when he was convinced that the rumor was false.\nHe, to the great dissatisfaction of the lady, was in the same situation\nwith myself, and the eclaircissements resulting from the conversation\nremoved from me all regret, on account of my having broken with\nher forever. Relative to Madam d'Houdetot, he mentioned several\ncircumstances with which neither Theresa nor Madam d'Houdetot herself\nwere acquainted; these were known to me only in the first instance,\nand I had never mentioned them except to Diderot, under the seal of\nfriendship; and it was to Saint Lambert himself to whom he had chosen\nto communicate them. This last step was sufficient to determine me.\nI resolved to break with Diderot forever, and this without further\ndeliberation, except on the manner of doing it; for I had perceived\nsecret ruptures turned to my prejudice, because they left the mask of\nfriendship in possession of my most cruel enemies.\n\nThe rules of good breeding, established in the world on this head, seem\nto have been dictated by a spirit of treachery and falsehood. To appear\nthe friend of a man when in reality we are no longer so, is to reserve\nto ourselves the means of doing him an injury by surprising honest men\ninto an error. I recollected that when the illustrious Montesquieu broke\nwith Father de Tournemine, he immediately said to everybody: \"Listen\nneither to Father Tournemine nor myself, when we speak of each other,\nfor we are no longer friends.\" This open and generous proceeding was\nuniversally applauded. I resolved to follow the example with Diderot;\nbut what method was I to take to publish the rupture authentically from\nmy retreat, and yet without scandal? I concluded on inserting in the\nform of a note, in my work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus,\nwhich declared the rupture and even the subject of it, in terms\nsufficiently clear to such as were acquainted with the previous\ncircumstances, but could signify nothing to the rest of the world.\nI determined not to speak in my work of the friend whom I renounced,\nexcept with the honor always due to extinguished friendship. The whole\nmay be seen in the work itself.\n\nThere is nothing in this world but time and misfortune, and every act\nof courage seems to be a crime in adversity. For that which has been\nadmired in Montesquieu, I received only blame and reproach. As soon\nas my work was printed, and I had copies of it, I sent one to Saint\nLambert, who, the evening before, had written to me in his own name\nand that of Madam d' Houdetot, a note expressive of the most tender\nfriendship.\n\nThe following is the letter he wrote to me when he returned the copy I\nhad sent him.\n\n                                   EAUBONNE, 10th October, 1758.\n\n\"Indeed, sir, I cannot accept the present you have just made me. In that\npart of your preface where, relative to Diderot, you quote a passage\nfrom Ecclesiastes (he mistakes, it is from Ecclesiasticus) the book\ndropped from my hand. In the conversations we had together in the\nsummer, you seemed to be persuaded Diderot was not guilty of the\npretended indiscretions you had imputed to him. You may, for aught I\nknow to the contrary, have reason to complain of him, but this does not\ngive you a right to insult him publicly. You are not unacquainted with\nthe nature of the persecutions he suffers, and you join the voice of an\nold friend to that of envy. I cannot refrain from telling you, sir, how\nmuch this heinous act of yours has shocked me. I am not acquainted with\nDiderot, but I honor him, and I have a lively sense of the pain you give\nto a man, whom, at least not in my hearing, you have never reproached\nwith anything more than a trifling weakness. You and I, sir, differ too\nmuch in our principles ever to be agreeable to each other. Forget that I\nexist; this you will easily do. I have never done to men either good or\nevil of a nature to be long remembered. I promise you, sir, to forget\nyour person and to remember nothing relative to you but your talents.\"\n\nThis letter filled me with indignation and affliction; and, in the\nexcess of my pangs, feeling my pride wounded, I answered him by the\nfollowing note:\n\n                              MONTMORENCY, 11th October, 1758.\n\n\"SIR: While reading your letter, I did you the honor to be surprised\nat it, and had the weakness to suffer it to affect me; but I find it\nunworthy of an answer.\n\n\"I will no longer continue the copies of Madam d'Houdetot. If it be not\nagreeable to her to keep that she has, she may send it me back and I\nwill return her money. If she keeps it, she must still send for the rest\nof her paper and the money; and at the same time I beg she will return\nme the prospectus which she has in her possession. Adieu, sir.\"\n\nCourage under misfortune irritates the hearts of cowards, but it is\npleasing to generous minds. This note seemed to make Saint Lambert\nreflect with himself and to regret his having been so violent; but\ntoo haughty in his turn to make open advances, he seized and perhaps\nprepared, the opportunity of palliating what he had done.\n\nA fortnight afterwards I received from Madam d'Epinay the following\nletter:\n\n                                        Thursday, 26th.\n\n\"SIR: I received the book you had the goodness to send me, and which\nI have read with much pleasure. I have always experienced the same\nsentiment in reading all the works which have come from your pen.\nReceive my thanks for the whole. I should have returned you these\nin person had my affairs permitted me to remain any time in your\nneighborhood; but I was not this year long at the Chevrette. M. and\nMadam Dupin come there on Sunday to dinner. I expect M. de Saint\nLambert, M. de Francueil, and Madam d'Houdetot will be of the party; you\nwill do me much pleasure by making one also. All the persons who are to\ndine with me, desire, and will, as well as myself, be delighted to pass\nwith you a part of the day. I have the honor to be with the most perfect\nconsideration,\" etc.\n\nThis letter made my heart beat violently; after having for a year past\nbeen the subject of conversation of all Paris, the idea of presenting\nmyself as a spectacle before Madam d'Houdetot, made me tremble, and I\nhad much difficulty to find sufficient courage to support that ceremony.\nYet as she and Saint Lambert were desirous of it, and Madam d'Epinay\nspoke in the name of her guests without naming one whom I should not be\nglad to see, I did not think I should expose myself accepting a dinner\nto which I was in some degree invited by all the persons who with myself\nwere to partake of it. I therefore promised to go: on Sunday the weather\nwas bad, and Madam D'Epinay sent me her carriage.\n\nMy arrival caused a sensation. I never met a better reception. An\nobserver would have thought the whole company felt how much I stood in\nneed of encouragement. None but French hearts are susceptible of this\nkind of delicacy. However, I found more people than I expected to see.\nAmongst others the Comte d' Houdetot, whom I did not know, and his\nsister Madam de Blainville, without whose company I should have been as\nwell pleased. She had the year before came several times to Eaubonne,\nand her sister-in-law had left her in our solitary walks to wait\nuntil she thought proper to suffer her to join us. She had harbored a\nresentment against me, which during this dinner she gratified at her\nease. The presence of the Comte d' Houdetot and Saint Lambert did\nnot give me the laugh on my side, and it may be judged that a man\nembarrassed in the most common conversations was not very brilliant\nin that which then took place. I never suffered so much, appeared so\nawkward, or received more unexpected mortifications. As soon as we had\nrisen from table, I withdrew from that wicked woman; I had the pleasure\nof seeing Saint Lambert and Madam d'Houdetot approach me, and we\nconversed together a part of the afternoon, upon things very indifferent\nit is true, but with the same familiarity as before my involuntary\nerror. This friendly attention was not lost upon my heart, and could\nSaint Lambert have read what passed there, he certainly would have been\nsatisfied with it. I can safely assert that although on my arrival the\npresence of Madam d'Houdetot gave me the most violent palpitations, on\nreturning from the house I scarcely thought of her; my mind was entirely\ntaken up with Saint Lambert.\n\nNotwithstanding the malignant sarcasms of Madam de Blainville, the\ndinner was of great service to me, and I congratulated myself upon not\nhaving refused the invitation. I not only discovered that the intrigues\nof Grimm and the Holbachiens had not deprived me of my old acquaintance,\nbut, what flattered me still more, that Madam d'Houdetot and Saint\nLambert were less changed than I had imagined, and I at length\nunderstood that his keeping her at a distance from me proceeded more\nfrom jealousy than from disesteem.\n\n     [Such in the simplicity of my heart was my opinion when I wrote\n     these confessions.]\n\nThis was a consolation to me, and calmed my mind. Certain of not being\nan object of contempt in the eyes of persons whom I esteemed, I worked\nupon my own heart with greater courage and success. If I did not quite\nextinguish in it a guilty and an unhappy passion, I at least so well\nregulated the remains of it that they have never since that moment led\nme into the most trifling error. The copies of Madam d' Houdetot, which\nshe prevailed upon me to take again, and my works, which I continued to\nsend her as soon as they appeared, produced me from her a few notes\nand messages, indifferent but obliging. She did still more, as will\nhereafter appear, and the reciprocal conduct of her lover and myself,\nafter our intercourse had ceased, may serve as an example of the manner\nin which persons of honor separate when it is no longer agreeable to\nthem to associate with each other.\n\nAnother advantage this dinner procured me was its being spoken of\nin Paris, where it served as a refutation of the rumor spread by my\nenemies, that I had quarrelled with every person who partook of it, and\nespecially with M. d'Epinay. When I left the Hermitage I had written him\na very polite letter of thanks, to which he answered not less politely,\nand mutual civilities had continued, as well between us as between me\nand M. de la Lalive, his brother-in-law, who even came to see me at\nMontmorency, and sent me some of his engravings. Excepting the two\nsisters-in-law of Madam d'Houdetot, I have never been on bad terms with\nany person of the family.\n\nMy letter to D'Alembert had great success. All my works had been very\nwell received, but this was more favorable to me. It taught the public\nto guard against the insinuations of the Coterie Holbachique. When\nI went to the Hermitage, this Coterie predicted with its usual\nsufficiency, that I should not remain there three months. When I had\nstayed there twenty months, and was obliged to leave it, I still fixed\nmy residence in the country. The Coterie insisted this was from a motive\nof pure obstinacy, and that I was weary even to death of my retirement;\nbut that, eaten up with pride, I chose rather to become a victim of my\nstubbornness than to recover from it and return to Paris. The letter to\nD'Alembert breathed a gentleness of mind which every one perceived not\nto be affected. Had I been dissatisfied with my retreat, my style and\nmanner would have borne evident marks of my ill-humor. This reigned in\nall the works I had written in Paris; but in the first I wrote in the\ncountry not the least appearance of it was to be found. To persons who\nknew how to distinguish, this remark was decisive. They perceived I was\nreturned to my element.\n\nYet the same work, notwithstanding all the mildness it breathed, made me\nby a mistake of my own and my usual ill-luck, another enemy amongst men\nof letters. I had become acquainted with Marmontel at the house of M.\nde la Popliniere, and his acquaintance had been continued at that of the\nbaron. Marmontel at that time wrote the 'Mercure de France'. As I\nhad too much pride to send my works to the authors of periodical\npublications, and wishing to send him this without his imagining it was\nin consequence of that title, or being desirous he should speak of it in\nthe Mercure, I wrote upon the book that it was not for the author of the\nMercure, but for M. Marmontel. I thought I paid him a fine compliment;\nhe mistook it for a cruel offence, and became my irreconcilable enemy.\nHe wrote against the letter with politeness, it is true, but with a\nbitterness easily perceptible, and since that time has never lost an\nopportunity of injuring me in society, and of indirectly ill-treating\nme in his works. Such difficulty is there in managing the irritable\nself-love of men of letters, and so careful ought every person to be not\nto leave anything equivocal in the compliments they pay them.\n\nHaving nothing more to disturb me, I took advantage of my leisure and\nindependence to continue my literary pursuits with more coherence. I\nthis winter finished my Eloisa, and sent it to Rey, who had it printed\nthe year following. I was, however, interrupted in my projects by a\ncircumstance sufficiently disagreeable. I heard new preparations were\nmaking at the opera-house to give the 'Devin du Village'. Enraged at\nseeing these people arrogantly dispose of my property, I again took\nup the memoir I had sent to M. D'Argenson, to which no answer had been\nreturned, and having made some trifling alterations in it, I sent the\nmanuscript by M. Sellon, resident from Geneva, and a letter with which\nhe was pleased to charge himself, to the Comte de St. Florentin, who\nhad succeeded M. D'Argenson in the opera department. Duclos, to whom I\ncommunicated what I had done, mentioned it to the 'petits violons',\nwho offered to restore me, not my opera, but my freedom of the theatre,\nwhich I was no longer in a situation to enjoy. Perceiving I had not from\nany quarter the least justice to expect, I gave up the affair; and the\ndirectors of the opera, without either answering or listening to my\nreasons, have continued to dispose as of their own property, and to turn\nto their profit, the Devin du Village, which incontestably belongs to\nnobody but myself.\n\nSince I had shaken off the yoke of my tyrants, I led a life sufficiently\nagreeable and peaceful; deprived of the charm of too strong attachments\nI was delivered from the weight of their chains. Disgusted with the\nfriends who pretended to be my protectors, and wished absolutely to\ndispose of me at will, and in spite of myself, to subject me to\ntheir pretended good services, I resolved in future to have no other\nconnections than those of simple benevolence. These, without the least\nconstraint upon liberty, constitute the pleasure of society, of which\nequality is the basis. I had of them as many as were necessary to\nenable me to taste of the charm of liberty without being subject to the\ndependence of it; and as soon as I had made an experiment of this manner\nof life, I felt it was the most proper to my age, to end my days in\npeace, far removed from the agitations, quarrels and cavillings in which\nI had just been half submerged.\n\nDuring my residence at the Hermitage, and after my settlement at\nMontmorency, I had made in the neighborhood some agreeable acquaintance,\nand which did not subject me to any inconvenience. The principal of\nthese was young Loyseau de Mauleon, who, then beginning to plead at the\nbar, did not yet know what rank he would one day hold there. I for my\npart was not in the least doubt about the matter. I soon pointed out\nto him the illustrious career in the midst of which he is now seen, and\npredicted that, if he laid down to himself rigid rules for the choice\nof causes, and never became the defender of anything but virtue and\njustice, his genius, elevated by this sublime sentiment, would be equal\nto that of the greatest orators. He followed my advice, and now feels\nthe good effects of it. His defence of M. de Portes is worthy of\nDemosthenes. He came every year within a quarter of a league of the\nHermitage to pass the vacation at St. Brice, in the fief of Mauleon,\nbelonging to his mother, and where the great Bossuet had formerly\nlodged. This is a fief, of which a like succession of proprietors would\nrender nobility difficult to support.\n\nI had also for a neighbor in the same village of St. Brice, the\nbookseller Guerin, a man of wit, learning, of an amiable disposition,\nand one of the first in his profession. He brought me acquainted with\nJean Neaulme, bookseller of Amsterdam, his friend and correspondent, who\nafterwards printed Emilius.\n\nI had another acquaintance still nearer than St. Brice, this was M.\nMaltor, vicar of Groslay, a man better adapted for the functions of a\nstatesman and a minister, than for those of the vicar of a village, and\nto whom a diocese at least would have been given to govern if talents\ndecided the disposal of places. He had been secretary to the Comte de\nLuc, and was formerly intimately acquainted with Jean Bapiste Rousseau.\nHolding in as much esteem the memory of that illustrious exile, as\nhe held the villain who ruined him in horror; he possessed curious\nanecdotes of both, which Segur had not inserted in the life, still in\nmanuscript, of the former, and he assured me that the Comte de Luc, far\nfrom ever having had reason to complain of his conduct, had until his\nlast moment preserved for him the warmest friendship. M. Maltor, to whom\nM. de Vintimille gave this retreat after the death of his patron, had\nformerly been employed in many affairs of which, although far advanced\nin years, he still preserved a distinct remembrance, and reasoned upon\nthem tolerably well. His conversation, equally amusing and instructive,\nhad nothing in it resembling that of a village pastor: he joined the\nmanners of a man of the world to the knowledge of one who passes his\nlife in study. He, of all my permanent neighbors, was the person whose\nsociety was the most agreeable to me.\n\nI was also acquainted at Montmorency with several fathers of the\noratory, and amongst others Father Berthier, professor of natural\nphilosophy; to whom, notwithstanding some little tincture of pedantry, I\nbecome attached on account of a certain air of cordial good nature which\nI observed in him. I had, however, some difficulty to reconcile this\ngreat simplicity with the desire and the art he had of everywhere\nthrusting himself into the company of the great, as well as that of the\nwomen, devotees, and philosophers. He knew how to accommodate himself\nto every one. I was greatly pleased with the man, and spoke of my\nsatisfaction to all my other acquaintances. Apparently what I said of\nhim came to his ear. He one day thanked me for having thought him a\ngood-natured man. I observed something in his forced smile which, in my\neyes, totally changed his physiognomy, and which has since frequently\noccurred to my mind. I cannot better compare this smile than to that of\nPanurge purchasing the Sheep of Dindenaut. Our acquaintance had begun\na little time after my arrival at the Hermitage, to which place he\nfrequently came to see me. I was already settled at Montmorency when he\nleft it to go and reside at Paris. He often saw Madam le Vasseur there.\nOne day, when I least expected anything of the kind, he wrote to me in\nbehalf of that woman, informing me that Grimm offered to maintain\nher, and to ask my permission to accept the offer. This I understood\nconsisted in a pension of three hundred livres, and that Madam le\nVasseur was to come and live at Deuil, between the Chevrette and\nMontmorency. I will not say what impression the application made on me.\nIt would have been less surprising had Grimm had ten thousand livres a\nyear, or any relation more easy to comprehend with that woman, and had\nnot such a crime been made of my taking her to the country, where, as\nif she had become younger, he was now pleased to think of placing her.\nI perceived the good old lady had no other reason for asking my\npermission, which she might easily have done without, but the fear of\nlosing what I already gave her, should I think ill of the step she took.\nAlthough this charity appeared to be very extraordinary, it did not\nstrike me so much then as afterwards. But had I known even everything I\nhave since discovered, I should still as readily have given my consent\nas I did and was obliged to do, unless I had exceeded the offer of M.\nGrimm. Father Berthier afterwards cured me a little of my opinion of\nhis good nature and cordiality, with which I had so unthinkingly charged\nhim.\n\nThis same Father Berthier was acquainted with two men, who, for what\nreason I know not, were to become so with me; there was but little\nsimilarity between their taste and mine. They were the children of\nMelchisedec, of whom neither the country nor the family was known, no\nmore than, in all probability, the real name. They were Jansenists, and\npassed for priests in disguise, perhaps on account of their ridiculous\nmanner of wearing long swords, to which they appeared to have been\nfastened. The prodigious mystery in all their proceedings gave them the\nappearance of the heads of a party, and I never had the least doubt of\ntheir being the authors of the 'Gazette Ecclesiastique'. The one, tall,\nsmooth-tongued, and sharping, was named Ferrand; the other, short,\nsquat, a sneerer, and punctilious, was a M. Minard. They called each\nother cousin. They lodged at Paris with D'Alembert, in the house of\nhis nurse named Madam Rousseau, and had taken at Montmorency a little\napartment to pass the summers there. They did everything for themselves,\nand had neither a servant nor runner; each had his turn weekly to\npurchase provisions, do the business of the kitchen, and sweep the\nhouse. They managed tolerably well, and we sometimes ate with each\nother. I know not for what reason they gave themselves any concern about\nme: for my part, my only motive for beginning an acquaintance with them\nwas their playing at chess, and to make a poor little party I suffered\nfour hours' fatigue. As they thrust themselves into all companies, and\nwished to intermeddle in everything, Theresa called them the gossips,\nand by this name they were long known at Montmorency.\n\nSuch, with my host M. Mathas, who was a good man, were my principal\ncountry acquaintance. I still had a sufficient number at Paris to\nlive there agreeably whenever I chose it, out of the sphere of men of\nletters, amongst whom Duclos, was the only friend I reckoned: for De\nLeyre was still too young, and although, after having been a witness to\nthe manoeuvres of the philosophical tribe against me, he had withdrawn\nfrom it, at least I thought so, I could not yet forget the facility\nwith which he made himself the mouthpiece of all the people of that\ndescription.\n\nIn the first place I had my old and respectable friend Roguin. This was\na good old-fashioned friend for whom I was not indebted to my writings\nbut to myself, and whom for that reason I have always preserved. I had\nthe good Lenieps, my countryman, and his daughter, then alive, Madam\nLambert. I had a young Genevese, named Coindet, a good creature,\ncareful, officious, zealous, who came to see me soon after I had gone to\nreside at the Hermitage, and, without any other introducer than himself,\nhad made his way into my good graces. He had a taste for drawing, and\nwas acquainted with artists. He was of service to me relative to the\nengravings of the New Eloisa; he undertook the direction of the drawings\nand the plates, and acquitted himself well of the commission.\n\nI had free access to the house of M. Dupin, which, less brilliant than\nin the young days of Madam Dupin, was still, by the merit of the heads\nof the family, and the choice of company which assembled there, one of\nthe best houses in Paris. As I had not preferred anybody to them, and\nhad separated myself from their society to live free and independent,\nthey had always received me in a friendly manner, and I was always\ncertain of being well received by Madam Dupin. I might even have counted\nher amongst my country neighbors after her establishment at Clichy, to\nwhich place I sometimes went to pass a day or two, and where I should\nhave been more frequently had Madam Dupin and Madam de Chenonceaux been\nupon better terms. But the difficulty of dividing my time in the same\nhouse between two women whose manner of thinking was unfavorable to each\nother, made this disagreeable: however I had the pleasure of seeing her\nmore at my ease at Deuil, where, at a trifling distance from me, she had\ntaken a small house, and even at my own habitation, where she often came\nto see me.\n\nI had likewise for a friend Madam de Crequi, who, having become devout,\nno longer received D'Alembert, Marmontel, nor a single man of letters,\nexcept, I believe the Abbe Trublet, half a hypocrite, of whom she was\nweary. I, whose acquaintance she had sought, lost neither her good\nwishes nor intercourse. She sent me young fat pullets from Mons, and her\nintention was to come and see me the year following had not a journey,\nupon which Madam de Luxembourg determined, prevented her. I here owe\nher a place apart; she will always hold a distinguished one in my\nremembrance.\n\nIn this list I should also place a man whom, except Roguin, I ought\nto have mentioned as the first upon it; my old friend and brother\npolitician, De Carrio, formerly titulary secretary to the embassy from\nSpain to Venice, afterwards in Sweden, where he was charge des affaires,\nand at length really secretary to the embassy from Spain at Paris. He\ncame and surprised me at Montmorency when I least expected him. He was\ndecorated with the insignia of a Spanish order, the name of which I have\nforgotten, with a fine cross in jewelry. He had been obliged, in his\nproofs of nobility, to add a letter to his name, and to bear that of\nthe Chevalier de Carrion. I found him still the same man, possessing the\nsame excellent heart, and his mind daily improving, and becoming more\nand more amiable. We would have renewed our former intimacy had not\nCoindet interposed according to custom, taken advantage of the distance\nI was at from town to insinuate himself into my place, and, in my name,\ninto his confidence, and supplant me by the excess of his zeal to render\nme services.\n\nThe remembrance of Carrion makes me recollect one of my country\nneighbors, of whom I should be inexcusable not to speak, as I have to\nmake confession of an unpardonable neglect of which I was guilty towards\nhim: this was the honest M. le Blond, who had done me a service at\nVenice, and, having made an excursion to France with his family, had\ntaken a house in the country, at Birche, not far from Montmorency.\n\n     [When I wrote this, full of my blind confidence, I was far from\n     suspecting the real motive and the effect of his journey to Paris.]\n\nAs soon as I heard he was my neighbor, I, in the joy of my heart, and\nmaking it more a pleasure than a duty, went to pay him a visit. I set\noff upon this errand the next day. I was met by people who were coming\nto see me, and with whom I was obliged to return. Two days afterwards I\nset off again for the same purpose: he had dined at Paris with all his\nfamily. A third time he was at home: I heard the voice of women, and\nsaw, at the door, a coach which alarmed me. I wished to see him, at\nleast for the first time, quite at my ease, that we might talk over what\nhad passed during our former connection.\n\nIn fine, I so often postponed my visit from day to day, that the shame\nof discharging a like duty so late prevented me from doing it at all;\nafter having dared to wait so long, I no longer dared to present myself.\nThis negligence, at which M. le Blond could not but be justly offended,\ngave, relative to him, the appearance of ingratitude to my indolence,\nand yet I felt my heart so little culpable that, had it been in my\npower to do M. le Blond the least service, even unknown to himself, I am\ncertain he would not have found me idle. But indolence, negligence and\ndelay in little duties to be fulfilled have been more prejudicial to me\nthan great vices. My greatest faults have been omissions: I have seldom\ndone what I ought not to have done, and unfortunately it has still more\nrarely happened that I have done what I ought.\n\nSince I am now upon the subject of my Venetian acquaintance, I must\nnot forget one which I still preserved for a considerable time after\nmy intercourse with the rest had ceased. This was M. de Joinville, who\ncontinued after his return from Genoa to show me much friendship. He was\nfond of seeing me and of conversing with me upon the affairs of Italy,\nand the follies of M. de Montaigu, of whom he of himself knew many\nanecdotes, by means of his acquaintance in the office for foreign\naffairs in which he was much connected. I had also the pleasure of\nseeing at my house my old comrade Dupont who had purchased a place\nin the province of which he was, and whose affairs had brought him to\nParis. M. de Joinville became by degrees so desirous of seeing me, that\nhe in some measure laid me under constraint; and, although our places\nof residence were at a great distance from each other, we had a friendly\nquarrel when I let a week pass without going to dine with him. When he\nwent to Joinville he was always desirous of my accompanying him; but\nhaving once been there to pass a week I had not the least desire to\nreturn. M. de Joinville was certainly an honest man, and even amiable\nin certain respects but his understanding was beneath mediocrity; he was\nhandsome, rather fond of his person and tolerably fatiguing. He had one\nof the most singular collections perhaps in the world, to which he gave\nmuch of his attention and endeavored to acquire it that of his friends,\nto whom it sometimes afforded less amusement than it did to himself.\nThis was a complete collection of songs of the court and Paris for\nupwards of fifty years past, in which many anecdotes were to be found\nthat would have been sought for in vain elsewhere. These are memoirs for\nthe history of France, which would scarcely be thought of in any other\ncountry.\n\nOne day, whilst we were still upon the very best terms, he received me\nso coldly and in a manner so different from that which was customary\nto him, that after having given him an opportunity to explain, and even\nhaving begged him to do it, I left his house with a resolution, in which\nI have persevered, never to return to it again; for I am seldom seen\nwhere I have been once ill received, and in this case there was no\nDiderot who pleaded for M. de Joinville. I vainly endeavored to discover\nwhat I had done to offend him; I could not recollect a circumstance\nat which he could possibly have taken offence. I was certain of never\nhaving spoken of him or his in any other than in the most honorable\nmanner; for he had acquired my friendship, and besides my having nothing\nbut favorable things to say of him, my most inviolable maxim has been\nthat of never speaking but in an honorable manner of the houses I\nfrequented.\n\nAt length, by continually ruminating. I formed the following conjecture:\nthe last time we had seen each other, I had supped with him at the\napartment of some girls of his acquaintance, in company with two or\nthree clerks in the office of foreign affairs, very amiable men, and who\nhad neither the manner nor appearance of libertines; and on my part,\nI can assert that the whole evening passed in making melancholy\nreflections on the wretched fate of the creatures with whom we were. I\ndid not pay anything, as M. de Joinville gave the supper, nor did I make\nthe girls the least present, because I gave them not the opportunity I\nhad done to the padoana of establishing a claim to the trifle I might\nhave offered. We all came away together, cheerfully and upon very good\nterms. Without having made a second visit to the girls, I went three or\nfour days afterwards to dine with M. de Joinville, whom I had not seen\nduring that interval, and who gave me the reception of which I\nhave spoken. Unable to suppose any other cause for it than some\nmisunderstanding relative to the supper, and perceiving he had no\ninclination to explain, I resolved to visit him no longer, but I still\ncontinued to send him my works: he frequently sent me his compliments,\nand one evening, meeting him in the green-room of the French theatre,\nhe obligingly reproached me with not having called to see him, which,\nhowever, did not induce me to depart from my resolution. Therefore this\naffair had rather the appearance of a coolness than a rupture. However,\nnot having heard of nor seen him since that time, it would have been too\nlate after an absence of several years, to renew my acquaintance with\nhim. It is for this reason M. de Joinville is not named in my list,\nalthough I had for a considerable time frequented his house.\n\nI will not swell my catalogue with the names of many other persons with\nwhom I was or had become less intimate, although I sometimes saw them in\nthe country, either at my own house or that of some neighbor, such\nfor instance as the Abbes de Condillac and De Malby, MM. de Mairan, de\nLalive, De Boisgelou, Vatelet, Ancelet, and others. I will also pass\nlightly over that of M. de Margency, gentleman in ordinary of the king,\nan ancient member of the 'Coterie Holbachique', which he had quitted as\nwell as myself, and the old friend of Madam d'Epinay from whom he had\nseparated as I had done; I likewise consider that of M. Desmahis, his\nfriend, the celebrated but short-lived author of the comedy of the\nImpertinent, of much the same importance. The first was my neighbor in\nthe country, his estate at Margency being near to Montmorency. We were\nold acquaintances, but the neighborhood and a certain conformity of\nexperience connected us still more. The last died soon afterwards. He\nhad merit and even wit, but he was in some degree the original of his\ncomedy, and a little of a coxcomb with women, by whom he was not much\nregretted.\n\n[Illustration: 0178]\n\nI cannot, however, omit taking notice of a new correspondence I entered\ninto at this period, which has had too much influence over the rest of\nmy life not to make it necessary for me to mark its origin. The person\nin question is De Lamoignon de Malesherbes of the 'Cour des aides', then\ncensor of books, which office he exercised with equal intelligence and\nmildness, to the great satisfaction of men of letters. I had not once\nbeen to see him at Paris; yet I had never received from him any other\nthan the most obliging condescensions relative to the censorship, and\nI knew that he had more than once very severely reprimanded persons\nwho had written against me. I had new proofs of his goodness upon the\nsubject of the edition of Eloisa. The proofs of so great a work being\nvery expensive from Amsterdam by post, he, to whom all letters were\nfree, permitted these to be addressed to him, and sent them to me under\nthe countersign of the chancellor his father. When the work was printed\nhe did not permit the sale of it in the kingdom until, contrary to my\nwishes, an edition had been sold for my benefit. As the profit of this\nwould on my part have been a theft committed upon Rey, to whom I had\nsold the manuscript, I not only refused to accept the present intended\nme, without his consent, which he very generously gave, but persisted\nupon dividing with him the hundred pistoles (a thousand livres--forty\npounds), the amount of it but of which he would not receive anything.\nFor these hundred pistoles I had the mortification, against which M. de\nMalesherbes had not guarded me, of seeing my work horribly mutilated,\nand the sale of the good edition stopped until the bad one was entirely\ndisposed of.\n\nI have always considered M. de Malesherbes as a man whose uprightness\nwas proof against every temptation. Nothing that has happened has even\nmade me doubt for a moment of his probity; but, as weak as he is polite,\nhe sometimes injures those he wishes to serve by the excess of his zeal\nto preserve them from evil. He not only retrenched a hundred pages in\nthe edition of Paris, but he made another retrenchment, which no person\nbut the author could permit himself to do, in the copy of the good\nedition he sent to Madam de Pompadour. It is somewhere said in that work\nthat the wife of a coal-heaver is more respectable than the mistress of\na prince. This phrase had occurred to me in the warmth of composition\nwithout any application. In reading over the work I perceived it would\nbe applied, yet in consequence of the very imprudent maxim I had adopted\nof not suppressing anything, on account of the application which might\nbe made, when my conscience bore witness to me that I had not made\nthem at the time I wrote, I determined not to expunge the phrase, and\ncontented myself with substituting the word Prince to King, which I\nhad first written. This softening did not seem sufficient to M. de\nMalesherbes: he retrenched the whole expression in a new sheet which\nhe had printed on purpose and stuck in between the other with as much\nexactness as possible in the copy of Madam de Pompadour. She was not\nignorant of this manoeuvre. Some good-natured people took the trouble to\ninform her of it. For my part, it was not until a long time afterwards,\nand when I began to feel the consequences of it, that the matter came to\nmy knowledge.\n\nIs not this the origin of the concealed but implacable hatred of another\nlady who was in a like situation, without my knowing it, or even being\nacquainted with her person when I wrote the passage? When the book was\npublished the acquaintance was made, and I was very uneasy. I mentioned\nthis to the Chevalier de Lorenzy, who laughed at me, and said the lady\nwas so little offended that she had not even taken notice of the matter.\nI believed him, perhaps rather too lightly, and made myself easy when\nthere was much reason for my being otherwise.\n\nAt the beginning of the winter I received an additional mark of the\ngoodness of M. de Malesherbes of which I was very sensible, although I\ndid not think proper to take advantage of it. A place was vacant in the\n'Journal des Savans'. Margency wrote to me, proposing to me the place,\nas from himself. But I easily perceived from the manner of the letter\nthat he was dictated to and authorized; he afterwards told me he had\nbeen desired to make me the offer. The occupations of this place were\nbut trifling. All I should have had to do would have been to make\ntwo abstracts a month, from the books brought to me for that purpose,\nwithout being under the necessity of going once to Paris, not even to\npay the magistrate a visit of thanks. By this employment I should have\nentered a society of men of letters of the first merit; M. de Mairan,\nClairaut, De Guignes and the Abbe Barthelemi, with the first two of whom\nI had already made an acquaintance, and that of the two others was very\ndesirable. In fine, for this trifling employment, the duties of which\nI might so commodiously have discharged, there was a salary of eight\nhundred livres (thirty-three pounds); I was for a few hours undecided,\nand this from a fear of making Margency angry and displeasing M. de\nMalesherbes. But at length the insupportable constraint of not having it\nin my power to work when I thought proper, and to be commanded by time;\nand moreover the certainty of badly performing the functions with which\nI was to charge myself, prevailed over everything, and determined me\nto refuse a place for which I was unfit. I knew that my whole talent\nconsisted in a certain warmth of mind with respect to the subjects of\nwhat I had to treat, and that nothing but the love of that which was\ngreat, beautiful and sublime, could animate my genius. What would the\nsubjects of the extracts I should have had to make from books, or even\nthe books themselves, have signified to me? My indifference about them\nwould have frozen my pen, and stupefied my mind. People thought I\ncould make a trade of writing, as most of the other men of letters did,\ninstead of which I never could write but from the warmth of imagination.\nThis certainly was not necessary for the 'Journal des Savans'. I\ntherefore wrote to Margency a letter of thanks, in the politest terms\npossible, and so well explained to him my reasons, that it was not\npossible that either he or M. de Malesherbes could imagine there was\npride or ill-humor in my refusal. They both approved of it without\nreceiving me less politely, and the secret was so well kept that it was\nnever known to the public.\n\nThe proposition did not come in a favorable moment. I had some time\nbefore this formed the project of quitting literature, and especially\nthe trade of an author. I had been disgusted with men of letters by\neverything that had lately befallen me, and had learned from experience\nthat it was impossible to proceed in the same track without having some\nconnections with them. I was not much less dissatisfied with men of\nthe world, and in general with the mixed life I had lately led, half to\nmyself and half devoted to societies for which I was unfit. I felt more\nthan ever, and by constant experience, that every unequal association is\ndisadvantageous to the weaker person. Living with opulent people, and in\na situation different from that I had chosen, without keeping a house\nas they did, I was obliged to imitate them in many things; and little\nexpenses, which were nothing to their fortunes, were for me not less\nruinous than indispensable. Another man in the country-house of a\nfriend, is served by his own servant, as well at table as in his\nchamber; he sends him to seek for everything he wants; having nothing\ndirectly to do with the servants of the house, not even seeing them, he\ngives them what he pleases, and when he thinks proper; but I, alone,\nand without a servant, was at the mercy of the servants of the house,\nof whom it was necessary to gain the good graces, that I might not have\nmuch to suffer; and being treated as the equal of their master, I was\nobliged to treat them accordingly, and better than another would have\ndone, because, in fact, I stood in greater need of their services. This,\nwhere there are but few domestics, may be complied with; but in the\nhouses I frequented there were a great number, and the knaves so well\nunderstood their interests that they knew how to make me want the\nservices of them all successively. The women of Paris, who have so\nmuch wit, have no just idea of this inconvenience, and in their zeal\nto economize my purse they ruined me. If I supped in town, at any\nconsiderable distance from my lodgings, instead of permitting me to send\nfor a hackney coach, the mistress of the house ordered her horses to be\nput to and sent me home in her carriage. She was very glad to save me\nthe twenty-four sous (shilling) for the fiacre, but never thought of\nthe half-crown I gave to her coachman and footman. If a lady wrote to\nme from Paris to the Hermitage or to Montmorency, she regretted the four\nsous (two pence) the postage of the letter would have cost me, and sent\nit by one of her servants, who came sweating on foot, and to whom I gave\na dinner and half a crown, which he certainly had well earned. If\nshe proposed to me to pass with her a week or a fortnight at her\ncountry-house, she still said to herself, \"It will be a saving to the\npoor man; during that time his eating will cost him nothing.\" She never\nrecollected that I was the whole time idle, that the expenses of my\nfamily, my rent, linen and clothes were still going on, that I paid my\nbarber double that it cost me more being in her house than in my own,\nand although I confined my little largesses to the house in which I\ncustomarily lived, that these were still ruinous to me. I am certain\nI have paid upwards of twenty-five crowns in the house of Madam\nd'Houdetot, at Raubonne, where I never slept more than four or five\ntimes, and upwards of a thousand livres (forty pounds) as well at Epinay\nas at the Chevrette, during the five or six years I was most assiduous\nthere. These expenses are inevitable to a man like me, who knows not\nhow to provide anything for himself, and cannot support the sight of a\nlackey who grumbles and serves him with a sour look. With Madam Dupin,\neven where I was one of the family, and in whose house I rendered many\nservices to the servants, I never received theirs but for my money. In\ncourse of time it was necessary to renounce these little liberalities,\nwhich my situation no longer permitted me to bestow, and I felt\nstill more severely the inconvenience of associating with people in a\nsituation different from my own.\n\nHad this manner of life been to my taste, I should have been consoled\nfor a heavy expense, which I dedicated to my pleasures; but to ruin\nmyself at the same time that I fatigued my mind, was insupportable, and\nI had so felt the weight of this, that, profiting by the interval of\nliberty I then had, I was determined to perpetuate it, and entirely to\nrenounce great companies, the composition of books, and all literary\nconcerns, and for the remainder of my days to confine myself to the\nnarrow and peaceful sphere in which I felt I was born to move.\n\nThe produce of this letter to D'Alembert, and of the New Elosia, had a\nlittle improved the state of my finances, which had been considerably\nexhausted at the Hermitage. Emilius, to which, after I had finished\nEloisa, I had given great application, was in forwardness, and the\nproduce of this could not be less than the sum of which I was already\nin possession. I intended to place this money in such a manner as to\nproduce me a little annual income, which, with my copying, might be\nsufficient to my wants without writing any more. I had two other works\nupon the stocks. The first of these was my 'Institutions Politiques'.\nI examined the state of this work, and found it required several years'\nlabor. I had not courage enough to continue it, and to wait until it\nwas finished before I carried my intentions into execution. Therefore,\nlaying the book aside, I determined to take from it all I could, and\nto burn the rest; and continuing this with zeal without interrupting\nEmilius, I finished the 'Contrat Social'.\n\nThe dictionary of music now remained. This was mechanical, and might\nbe taken up at any time; the object of it was entirely pecuniary. I\nreserved to myself the liberty of laying it aside, or of finishing it\nat my ease, according as my other resources collected should render this\nnecessary or superfluous. With respect to the 'Morale Sensitive', of\nwhich I had made nothing more than a sketch, I entirely gave it up.\n\nAs my last project, if I found I could not entirely do without copying,\nwas that of removing from Paris, where the affluence of my visitors\nrendered my housekeeping expensive, and deprived me of the time I should\nhave turned to advantage to provide for it; to prevent in my retirement\nthe state of lassitude into which an author is said to fall when he has\nlaid down his pen, I reserved to myself an occupation which might fill\nup the void in my solitude without tempting me to print anything more. I\nknow not for what reason they had long tormented me to write the memoirs\nof my life. Although these were not until that time interesting as to\nthe facts, I felt they might become so by the candor with which I was\ncapable of giving them, and I determined to make of these the only work\nof the kind, by an unexampled veracity, that, for once at least, the\nworld might see a man such as he internally was. I had always laughed\nat the false ingenuousness of Montaigne, who, feigning to confess his\nfaults, takes great care not to give himself any, except such as are\namiable; whilst I, who have ever thought, and still think myself,\nconsidering everything, the best of men, felt there is no human being,\nhowever pure he may be, who does not internally conceal some odious\nvice. I knew I was described to the public very different from what\nI really was, and so opposite, that notwithstanding my faults, all of\nwhich I was determined to relate, I could not but be a gainer by showing\nmyself in my proper colors. This, besides, not being to be done without\nsetting forth others also in theirs and the work for the same reason\nnot being of a nature to appear during my lifetime, and that of several\nother persons, I was the more encouraged to make my confession, at which\nI should never have to blush before any person. I therefore resolved\nto dedicate my leisure to the execution of this undertaking, and\nimmediately began to collect such letters and papers as might guide\nor assist my memory, greatly regretting the loss of all I had burned,\nmislaid and destroyed.\n\nThe project of absolute retirement, one of the most reasonable I had\never formed, was strongly impressed upon my mind, and for the execution\nof it I was already taking measures, when Heaven, which prepared me a\ndifferent destiny, plunged me into a another vortex.\n\nMontmorency, the ancient and fine patrimony of the illustrious family of\nthat name, was taken from it by confiscation. It passed by the sister\nof Duke Henry, to the house of Conde, which has changed the name of\nMontmorency to that of Enguien, and the duchy has no other castle than\nan old tower, where the archives are kept, and to which the vassals come\nto do homage. But at Montmorency, or Enguien, there is a private house,\nbuilt by Crosat, called 'le pauvre', which having the magnificence of\nthe most superb chateaux, deserves and bears the name of a castle.\nThe majestic appearance of this noble edifice, the view from it, not\nequalled perhaps in any country; the spacious saloon, painted by the\nhand of a master; the garden, planted by the celebrated Le Notre; all\ncombined to form a whole strikingly majestic, in which there is still a\nsimplicity that enforces admiration. The Marechal Duke de Luxembourg who\nthen inhabited this house, came every year into the neighborhood where\nformerly his ancestors were the masters, to pass, at least, five or\nsix weeks as a private inhabitant, but with a splendor which did not\ndegenerate from the ancient lustre of his family. On the first journey\nhe made to it after my residing at Montmorency, he and his lady sent to\nme a valet de chambre, with their compliments, inviting me to sup with\nthem as often as it should be agreeable to me; and at each time of\ntheir coming they never failed to reiterate the same compliments and\ninvitation. This called to my recollection Madam Beuzenval sending me to\ndine in the servants' hall. Times were changed; but I was still the same\nman. I did not choose to be sent to dine in the servants' hall, and was\nbut little desirous of appearing at the table of the great; I should\nhave been much better pleased had they left me as I was, without\ncaressing me and rendering me ridiculous. I answered politely and\nrespectfully to Monsieur and Madam de Luxembourg, but I did not accept\ntheir offers, and my indisposition and timidity, with my embarrassment\nin speaking; making me tremble at the idea alone of appearing in an\nassembly of people of the court. I did not even go to the castle to pay\na visit of thanks, although I sufficiently comprehended this was all\nthey desired, and that their eager politeness was rather a matter of\ncuriosity than benevolence.\n\nHowever, advances still were made, and even became more pressing.\nThe Countess de Boufflers, who was very intimate with the lady of the\nmarechal, sent to inquire after my health, and to beg I would go and see\nher. I returned her a proper answer, but did not stir from my house.\nAt the journey of Easter, the year following, 1759, the Chevalier de\nLorenzy, who belonged to the court of the Prince of Conti, and was\nintimate with Madam de Luxembourg, came several times to see me, and we\nbecame acquainted; he pressed me to go to the castle, but I refused to\ncomply. At length, one afternoon, when I least expected anything of the\nkind, I saw coming up to the house the Marechal de Luxembourg, followed\nby five or six persons. There was now no longer any means of defence;\nand I could not, without being arrogant and unmannerly, do otherwise\nthan return this visit, and make my court to Madam la Marechale, from\nwhom the marechal had been the bearer of the most obliging compliments\nto me. Thus, under unfortunate auspices, began the connections from\nwhich I could no longer preserve myself, although a too well-founded\nforesight made me afraid of them until they were made.\n\nI was excessively afraid of Madam de Luxembourg. I knew she was amiable\nas to manner. I had seen her several times at the theatre, when she was\nDuchess of Boufflers, and in the bloom of her beauty; but she was said\nto be malignant; and this in a woman of her rank made me tremble. I had\nscarcely seen her before I was subjugated. I thought her charming, with\nthat charm proof against time and which had the most powerful action\nupon my heart. I expected to find her conversation satirical and full\nof pleasantries and points. It was not so; it was much better. The\nconversation of Madam de Luxembourg is not remarkably full of wit; it\nhas no sallies, nor even finesse; it is exquisitely delicate, never\nstriking, but always pleasing. Her flattery is the more intoxicating as\nit is natural; it seems to escape her involuntarily, and her heart to\noverflow because it is too full. I thought I perceived, on my\nfirst visit, that notwithstanding my awkward manner and embarrassed\nexpression, I was not displeasing to her. All the women of the court\nknow how to persuade us of this when they please, whether it be true or\nnot, but they do not all, like Madam de Luxembourg, possess the art of\nrendering that persuasion so agreeable that we are no longer disposed\never to have a doubt remaining. From the first day my confidence in\nher would have been as full as it soon afterwards became, had not the\nDuchess of Montmorency, her daughter-in-law, young, giddy, and malicious\nalso, taken it into her head to attack me, and in the midst of the\neulogiums of her mamma, and feigned allurements on her own account, made\nme suspect I was only considered by them as a subject of ridicule.\n\nIt would perhaps have been difficult to relieve me from this fear with\nthese two ladies had not the extreme goodness of the marechal confirmed\nme in the belief that theirs was not real. Nothing is more surprising,\nconsidering my timidity, than the promptitude with which I took him at\nhis word on the footing of equality to which he would absolutely reduce\nhimself with me, except it be that with which he took me at mine with\nrespect to the absolute independence in which I was determined to live.\nBoth persuaded I had reason to be content with my situation, and that I\nwas unwilling to change it, neither he nor Madam de Luxembourg seemed to\nthink a moment of my purse or fortune; although I can have no doubt of\nthe tender concern they had for me, they never proposed to me a place\nnor offered me their interest, except it were once, when Madam de\nLuxembourg seemed to wish me to become a member of the French Academy. I\nalleged my religion; this she told me was no obstacle, or if it was one\nshe engaged to remove it. I answered, that however great the honor of\nbecoming a member of so illustrious a body might be, having refused M.\nde Tressan, and, in some measure, the King of Poland, to become a member\nof the Academy at Nancy, I could not with propriety enter into any\nother. Madam de Luxembourg did not insist, and nothing more was said\nupon the subject. This simplicity of intercourse with persons of\nsuch rank, and who had the power of doing anything in my favor, M. de\nLuxembourg being, and highly deserving to be, the particular friend of\nthe king, affords a singular contrast with the continual cares, equally\nimportunate and officious, of the friends and protectors from whom I had\njust separated, and who endeavored less to serve me than to render me\ncontemptible.\n\nWhen the marechal came to see me at Mont Louis, I was uneasy at\nreceiving him and his retinue in my only chamber; not because I was\nobliged to make them all sit down in the midst of my dirty plates and\nbroken pots, but on account of the state of the floor, which was rotten\nand falling to ruin, and I was afraid the weight of his attendants would\nentirely sink it. Less concerned on account of my own danger than for\nthat to which the affability of the marechal exposed him, I hastened to\nremove him from it by conducting him, notwithstanding the coldness of\nthe weather, to my alcove, which was quite open to the air, and had no\nchimney. When he was there I told him my reason for having brought him\nto it; he told it to his lady, and they both pressed me to accept, until\nthe floor was repaired, a lodging of the castle; or, if I preferred it,\nin a separate edifice called the Little Castle which was in the middle\nof the park. This delightful abode deserves to be spoken of.\n\nThe park or garden of Montmorency is not a plain, like that of the\nChevrette. It is uneven, mountainous, raised by little hills and\nvalleys, of which the able artist has taken advantage; and thereby\nvaried his groves, ornaments, waters, and points of view, and, if I may\nso speak, multiplied by art and genius a space in itself rather narrow.\nThis park is terminated at the top by a terrace and the castle; at\nbottom it forms a narrow passage which opens and becomes wider towards\nthe valley, the angle of which is filled up with a large piece of water.\nBetween the orangery, which is in this widening, and the piece of water,\nthe banks of which are agreeably decorated, stands the Little Castle\nof which I have spoken. This edifice, and the ground about it, formerly\nbelonged to the celebrated Le Brun, who amused himself in building and\ndecorating it in the exquisite taste of architectual ornaments which\nthat great painter had formed to himself. The castle has since been\nrebuilt, but still, according to the plan and design of its first\nmaster. It is little and simple, but elegant. As it stands in a hollow\nbetween the orangery and the large piece of water, and consequently is\nliable to be damp, it is open in the middle by a peristyle between two\nrows of columns, by which means the air circulating throughout the whole\nedifice keeps it dry, notwithstanding its unfavorable situation. When\nthe building is seen from the opposite elevation, which is a point of\nview, it appears absolutely surrounded with water, and we imagine we\nhave before our eyes an enchanted island, or the most beautiful of the\nthree Boromeans, called Isola Bella, in the greater lake.\n\nIn this solitary edifice I was offered the choice of four complete\napartments it contains, besides the ground floor, consisting of a\ndancing room, billiard room and a kitchen. I chose the smallest over the\nkitchen, which also I had with it. It was charmingly neat, with blue and\nwhite furniture. In this profound and delicious solitude, in the midst\nof the woods, the singing of birds of every kind, and the perfume of\norange flowers, I composed, in a continual ecstasy, the fifth book of\nEmilius, the coloring of which I owe in a great measure to the lively\nimpression I received from the place I inhabited.\n\nWith what eagerness did I run every morning at sunrise to respire\nthe perfumed air in the peristyle! What excellent coffee I took there\ntete-a-tete with my Theresa. My cat and dog were our company. This\nretinue alone would have been sufficient for me during my whole life,\nin which I should not have had one weary moment. I was there in a\nterrestrial paradise; I lived in innocence and tasted of happiness.\n\nAt the journey of July, M. and Madam de Luxembourg showed me so much\nattention, and were so extremely kind, that, lodged in their house, and\noverwhelmed with their goodness, I could not do less than make them\na proper return in assiduous respect near their persons; I scarcely\nquitted them; I went in the morning to pay my court to Madam la\nMarechale; after dinner I walked with the marechal; but did not sup at\nthe castle on account of the numerous guests, and because they supped\ntoo late for me. Thus far everything was as it should be, and no harm\nwould have been done could I have remained at this point. But I have\nnever known how to preserve a medium in my attachments, and simply\nfulfil the duties of society. I have ever been everything or nothing.\nI was soon everything; and receiving the most polite attention from\npersons of the highest rank, I passed the proper bounds, and conceived\nfor them a friendship not permitted except among equals. Of these I had\nall the familiarity in my manners, whilst they still preserved in theirs\nthe same politeness to which they had accustomed me. Yet I was never\nquite at my ease with Madam de Luxembourg. Although I was not quite\nrelieved from my fears relative to her character, I apprehended less\ndanger from it than from her wit. It was by this especially that she\nimpressed me with awe. I knew she was difficult as to conversation, and\nshe had a right to be so. I knew women, especially those of her rank,\nwould absolutely be amused, that it was better to offend than to weary\nthem, and I judged by her commentaries upon what the people who went\naway had said what she must think of my blunders. I thought of an\nexpedient to spare me with her the embarrassment of speaking; this was\nreading. She had heard of my Eloisa, and knew it was in the press; she\nexpressed a desire to see the work; I offered to read it to her, and\nshe accepted my offer. I went to her every morning at ten o'clock; M. de\nLuxembourg was present, and the door was shut. I read by the side of\nher bed, and so well proportioned my readings that there would have been\nsufficient for the whole time she had to stay, had they even not been\ninterrupted.\n\n     [The loss of a great battle, which much afflicted the King,\n     obliged M. de Luxembourg precipitately to return to court.]\n\nThe success of this expedient surpassed my expectation. Madam de\nLuxembourg took a great liking to Julia and the author; she spoke of\nnothing but me, thought of nothing else, said civil things to me from\nmorning till night, and embraced me ten times a day. She insisted on me\nalways having my place by her side at table, and when any great lords\nwished it she told them it was mine, and made them sit down somewhere\nelse. The impression these charming manners made upon me, who was\nsubjugated by the least mark of affection, may easily be judged of. I\nbecame really attached to her in proportion to the attachment she showed\nme. All my fear in perceiving this infatuation, and feeling the want of\nagreeableness in myself to support it, was that it would be changed into\ndisgust; and unfortunately this fear was but too well founded.\n\nThere must have been a natural opposition between her turn of mind and\nmine, since, independently of the numerous stupid things which at every\ninstant escaped me in conversation, and even in my letters, and when I\nwas upon the best terms with her, there were certain other things with\nwhich she was displeased without my being able to imagine the reason.\nI will quote one instance from among twenty. She knew I was writing for\nMadam d'Houdetot a copy of the New Eloisa. She was desirous to have one\non the same footing. This I promised her, and thereby making her one\nof my customers, I wrote her a polite letter upon the subject, at least\nsuch was my intention. Her answer, which was as follows, stupefied me\nwith surprise.\n\n                                             VERSAILLES, Tuesday.\n\n\"I am ravished, I am satisfied: your letter has given me infinite\npleasure, and I take the earliest moment to acquaint you with, and thank\nyou for it.\n\n\"These are the exact words of your letter: 'Although you are certainly a\nvery good customer, I have some pain in receiving your money: according\nto regular order I ought to pay for the pleasure I should have in\nworking for you.' I will say nothing more on the subject. I have to\ncomplain of your not speaking of your state of health: nothing interests\nme more. I love you with all my heart: and be assured that I write this\nto you in a very melancholy mood, for I should have much pleasure in\ntelling it to you myself. M. de Luxembourg loves and embraces you with\nall his heart.\n\n\"On receiving the letter I hastened to answer it, reserving to myself\nmore fully to examine the matter, protesting against all disobliging\ninterpretation, and after having given several days to this examination\nwith an inquietude which may easily be conceived, and still without\nbeing able to discover in what I could have erred, what follows was my\nfinal answer on the subject.\n\n                                   \"MONTMORENCY, 8th December, 1759.\n\n\"Since my last letter I have examined a hundred times the passage in\nquestion. I have considered it in its proper and natural meaning, as\nwell as in every other which may be given to it, and I confess to you,\nmadam, that I know not whether it be I who owe to you excuses, or you\nfrom whom they are due to me.\"\n\nIt is now ten years since these letters were written. I have since that\ntime frequently thought of the subject of them; and such is still my\nstupidity that I have hitherto been unable to discover what in the\npassages, quoted from my letter, she could find offensive, or even\ndispleasing.\n\nI must here mention, relative to the manuscript copy of Eloisa Madam\nde Luxembourg wished to have, in what manner I thought to give it some\nmarked advantage which should distinguish it from all others. I had\nwritten separately the adventures of Lord Edward, and had long been\nundetermined whether I should insert them wholly, or in extracts, in\nthe work in which they seemed to be wanting. I at length determined to\nretrench them entirely, because, not being in the manner of the rest,\nthey would have spoiled the interesting simplicity, which was its\nprincipal merit. I had still a stronger reason when I came to know Madam\nde Luxembourg: There was in these adventures a Roman marchioness, of a\nbad character, some parts of which, without being applicable, might have\nbeen applied to her by those to whom she was not particularly known.\nI was therefore, highly pleased with the determination to which I had\ncome, and resolved to abide by it. But in the ardent desire to enrich\nher copy with something which was not in the other, what should I fall\nupon but these unfortunate adventures, and I concluded on making an\nextract from them to add to the work; a project dictated by madness,\nof which the extravagance is inexplicable, except by the blind fatality\nwhich led me on to destruction.\n\n               'Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementet.'\n\nI was stupid enough to make this extract with the greatest care and\npains, and to send it her as the finest thing in the world; it is true,\nI at the same time informed her the original was burned, which was\nreally the case, that the extract was for her alone, and would never be\nseen, except by herself, unless she chose to show it; which, far from\nproving to her my prudence and discretion, as it was my intention to do,\nclearly intimated what I thought of the application by which she might\nbe offended. My stupidity was such, that I had no doubt of her being\ndelighted with what I had done. She did not make me the compliment upon\nit which I expected, and, to my great surprise, never once mentioned the\npaper I had sent her. I was so satisfied with myself, that it was not\nuntil a long time afterwards, I judged, from other indications, of the\neffect it had produced.\n\nI had still, in favor of her manuscript, another idea more reasonable,\nbut which, by more distant effects, has not been much less prejudicial\nto me; so much does everything concur with the work of destiny, when\nthat hurries on a man to misfortune. I thought of ornamenting the\nmanuscript with the engravings of the New Eloisa, which were of the\nsame size. I asked Coindet for these engravings, which belonged to me by\nevery kind of title, and the more so as I had given him the produce of\nthe plates, which had a considerable sale. Coindet is as cunning as I am\nthe contrary. By frequently asking him for the engravings he came to the\nknowledge of the use I intended to make of them. He then, under pretence\nof adding some new ornament, still kept them from me; and at length\npresented them himself.\n\n               'Ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores.'\n\nThis gave him an introduction upon a certain footing to the Hotel de\nLuxembourg. After my establishment at the little castle he came rather\nfrequently to see me, and always in the morning, especially when M. and\nMadam de Luxembourg were at Montmorency. Therefore that I might pass\nthe day with him, I did not go the castle. Reproaches were made me on\naccount of my absence; I told the reason of them. I was desired to\nbring with me M. Coindet; I did so. This was, what he had sought after.\nTherefore, thanks to the excessive goodness M. and Madam de Luxembourg\nhad for me, a clerk to M. Thelusson, who was sometimes pleased to give\nhim his table when he had nobody else to dine with him, was suddenly\nplaced at that of a marechal of France, with princes, duchesses, and\npersons of the highest rank at court. I shall never forget, that one day\nbeing obliged to return early to Paris, the marechal said, after dinner,\nto the company, \"Let us take a walk upon the road to St. Denis, and we\nwill accompany M. Coindet.\" This was too much for the poor man; his head\nwas quite turned. For my part, my heart was so affected that I could not\nsay a word. I followed the company, weeping like a child, and having\nthe strongest desire to kiss the foot of the good marechal; but the\ncontinuation of the history of the manuscript has made me anticipate. I\nwill go a little back, and, as far as my memory will permit, mark each\nevent in its proper order.\n\nAs soon as the little house of Mont Louis was ready, I had it neatly\nfurnished and again established myself there. I could not break through\nthe resolution I had made on quitting the Hermitage of always having my\napartment to myself; but I found a difficulty in resolving to quit\nthe little castle. I kept the key of it, and being delighted with the\ncharming breakfasts of the peristyle, frequently went to the castle to\nsleep, and stayed three or four days as at a country-house. I was at\nthat time perhaps better and more agreeably lodged than any private\nindividual in Europe. My host, M. Mathas, one of the best men in the\nworld, had left me the absolute direction of the repairs at Mont Louis,\nand insisted upon my disposing of his workmen without his interference.\nI therefore found the means of making of a single chamber upon the\nfirst story, a complete set of apartments consisting of a chamber,\nantechamber, and a water closet. Upon the ground-floor was the kitchen\nand the chamber of Theresa. The alcove served me for a closet by means\nof a glazed partition and a chimney I had made there. After my return\nto this habitation, I amused myself in decorating the terrace, which was\nalready shaded by two rows of linden trees; I added two others to make\na cabinet of verdure, and placed in it a table and stone benches: I\nsurrounded it with lilies, syringa and woodbines, and had a beautiful\nborder of flowers parallel with the two rows of trees. This terrace,\nmore elevated than that of the castle, from which the view was at\nleast as fine, and where I had tamed a great number of birds, was my\ndrawing-room, in which I received M. and Madam de Luxembourg, the Duke\nof Villeroy, the Prince of Tingry, the Marquis of Armentieres, the\nDuchess of Montmorency, the Duchess of Bouffiers, the Countess of\nValentinois, the Countess of Boufflers, and other persons of the first\nrank; who, from the castle disdained not to make, over a very fatiguing\nmountain, the pilgrimage of Mont Louis. I owed all these visits to the\nfavor of M. and Madam de Luxembourg; this I felt, and my heart on that\naccount did them all due homage. It was with the same sentiment that I\nonce said to M. de Luxembourg, embracing him: \"Ah! Monsieur le Marechal,\nI hated the great before I knew you, and I have hated them still more\nsince you have shown me with what ease they might acquire universal\nrespect.\" Further than this I defy any person with whom I was then\nacquainted, to say I was ever dazzled for an instant with splendor, or\nthat the vapor of the incense I received ever affected my head; that\nI was less uniform in my manner, less plain in my dress, less easy of\naccess to people of the lowest rank, less familiar with neighbors, or\nless ready to render service to every person when I had it in my power\nso to do, without ever once being discouraged by the numerous and\nfrequently unreasonable importunities with which I was incessantly\nassailed.\n\nAlthough my heart led me to the castle of Montmorency, by my sincere\nattachment to those by whom it was inhabited, it by the same means drew\nme back to the neighborhood of it, there to taste the sweets of the\nequal and simple life, in which my only happiness consisted. Theresa\nhad contracted a friendship with the daughter of one of my neighbors, a\nmason of the name of Pilleu; I did the same with the father, and after\nhaving dined at the castle, not without some constraint, to please Madam\nde Luxembourg, with what eagerness did I return in the evening to sup\nwith the good man Pilleu and his family, sometimes at his own house and\nat others at mine.\n\nBesides my two lodgings in the country, I soon had a third at the Hotel\nde Luxembourg, the proprietors of which pressed me so much to go and\nsee them there, that I consented, notwithstanding my aversion to Paris,\nwhere, since my retiring to the Hermitage, I had been but twice, upon\nthe two occasions of which I have spoken. I did not now go there except\non the days agreed upon, solely to supper, and the next morning I\nreturned to the country. I entered and came out by the garden which\nfaces the boulevard, so that I could with the greatest truth, say I had\nnot set my foot upon the stones of Paris.\n\nIn the midst of this transient prosperity, a catastrophe, which was to\nbe the conclusion of it, was preparing at a distance. A short time after\nmy return to Mont Louis, I made there, and as it was customary, against\nmy inclination, a new acquaintance, which makes another era in my\nprivate history. Whether this be favorable or unfavorable, the\nreader will hereafter be able to judge. The person with whom I became\nacquainted was the Marchioness of Verdelin, my neighbor, whose husband\nhad just bought a country-house at Soisy, near Montmorency. Mademoiselle\nd'Ars, daughter to the Comte d'Ars, a man of fashion, but poor, had\nmarried M. de Verdelin, old, ugly, deaf, uncouth, brutal, jealous, with\ngashes in his face, and blind of one eye, but, upon the whole, a good\nman when properly managed, and in possession of a fortune of from\nfifteen to twenty thousand a year. This charming object, swearing,\nroaring, scolding, storming, and making his wife cry all day long, ended\nby doing whatever she thought proper, and this to set her in a rage,\nbecause she knew how to persuade him that it was he who would, and she\nwould not have it so. M. de Margency, of whom I have spoken, was the\nfriend of madam, and became that of monsieur. He had a few years before\nlet them his castle of Margency, near Eaubonne and Andilly, and they\nresided there precisely at the time of my passion for Madam d'Houdetot.\nMadam d'Houdetot and Madam de Verdelin became acquainted with each\nother, by means of Madam d'Aubeterre their common friend; and as the\ngarden of Margency was in the road by which Madam d'Houdetot went to\nMont Olympe, her favorite walk, Madam de Verdelin gave her a key that\nshe might pass through it. By means of this key I crossed it several\ntimes with her; but I did not like unexpected meetings, and when Madam\nde Verdelin was by chance upon our way I left them together without\nspeaking to her, and went on before. This want of gallantry must have\nmade on her an impression unfavorable to me. Yet when she was at Soisy\nshe was anxious to have my company. She came several times to see me at\nMont Louis, without finding me at home, and perceiving I did not return\nher visit, took it into her head, as a means of forcing me to do it,\nto send me pots of flowers for my terrace. I was under the necessity\nof going to thank her; this was all she wanted, and we thus became\nacquainted.\n\nThis connection, like every other I formed; or was led into contrary to\nmy inclination, began rather boisterously. There never reigned in it\na real calm. The turn of mind of Madam de Verdelinwas too opposite to\nmine. Malignant expressions and pointed sarcasms came from her with so\nmuch simplicity, that a continual attention too fatiguing for me was\nnecessary to perceive she was turning into ridicule the person to whom\nshe spoke. One trivial circumstance which occurs to my recollection\nwill be sufficient to give an idea of her manner. Her brother had just\nobtained the command of a frigate cruising against the English. I\nspoke of the manner of fitting out this frigate without diminishing its\nswiftness of sailing. \"Yes,\" replied she, in the most natural tone of\nvoice, \"no more cannon are taken than are necessary for fighting.\" I\nseldom have heard her speak well of any of her absent friends without\nletting slip something to their prejudice. What she did not see with an\nevil eye she looked upon with one of ridicule, and her friend Margency\nwas not excepted. What I found most insupportable in her was the\nperpetual constraint proceeding from her little messages, presents and\nbillets, to which it was a labor for me to answer, and I had continual\nembarrassments either in thanking or refusing. However, by frequently\nseeing this lady I became attached to her. She had her troubles as\nwell as I had mine. Reciprocal confidence rendered our conversations\ninteresting. Nothing so cordially attaches two persons as the\nsatisfaction of weeping together. We sought the company of each other\nfor our reciprocal consolation, and the want of this has frequently made\nme pass over many things. I had been so severe in my frankness with her,\nthat after having sometimes shown so little esteem for her character,\na great deal was necessary to be able to believe she could sincerely\nforgive me.\n\nThe following letter is a specimen of the epistles I sometimes wrote to\nher, and it is to be remarked that she never once in any of her answers\nto them seemed to be in the least degree piqued.\n\n                                   MONTMORENCY, 5th November, 1760.\n\n\"You tell me, madam, you have not well explained yourself, in order\nto make me understand I have explained myself ill. You speak of your\npretended stupidity for the purpose of making me feel my own. You boast\nof being nothing more than a good kind of woman, as if you were afraid\nto being taken at your word, and you make me apologies to tell me I owe\nthem to you. Yes, madam, I know it; it is I who am a fool, a good kind\nof man; and, if it be possible, worse than all this; it is I who make a\nbad choice of my expressions in the opinion of a fine French lady,\nwho pays as much attention to words, and speaks as well as you do. But\nconsider that I take them in the common meaning of the language without\nknowing or troubling my head about the polite acceptations in which\nthey are taken in the virtuous societies of Paris. If my expressions\nare sometimes equivocal, I endeavored by my conduct to determine their\nmeaning,\" etc. The rest of the letter is much the same.\n\nCoindet, enterprising, bold, even to effrontery, and who was upon the\nwatch after all my friends, soon introduced himself in my name to the\nhouse of Madam de Verdelin, and, unknown to me, shortly became there\nmore familiar than myself. This Coindet was an extraordinary man. He\npresented himself in my name in the houses of all my acquaintance,\ngained a footing in them, and ate there without ceremony. Transported\nwith zeal to do me service, he never mentioned my name without his eyes\nbeing suffused with tears; but, when he came to see me, he kept the most\nprofound silence on the subject of all these connections, and especially\non that in which he knew I must be interested. Instead of telling me\nwhat he had heard, said, or seen, relative to my affairs, he waited for\nmy speaking to him, and even interrogated me. He never knew anything of\nwhat passed in Paris, except that which I told him: finally, although\neverybody spoke to me of him, he never once spoke to me of any person;\nhe was secret and mysterious with his friend only; but I will for the\npresent leave Coindet and Madam de Verdelin, and return to them at a\nproper time.\n\nSometime after my return to Mont Louis, La Tour, the painter, came to\nsee me, and brought with him my portrait in crayons, which a few\nyears before he had exhibited at the salon. He wished to give me this\nportrait, which I did not choose to accept. But Madam d'Epinay, who had\ngiven me hers, and would have had this, prevailed upon me to ask him\nfor it. He had taken some time to retouch the features. In the interval\nhappened my rupture with Madam d'Epinay; I returned her her portrait;\nand giving her mine being no longer in question, I put it into my\nchamber, in the castle. M. de Luxembourg saw it there, and found it a\ngood one; I offered it him, he accepted it, and I sent it to the castle.\nHe and his lady comprehended I should be very glad to have theirs. They\nhad them taken in miniature by a very skilful hand, set in a box of rock\ncrystal, mounted with gold, and in a very handsome manner, with which\nI was delighted, made me a present of both. Madam de Luxenbourg would\nnever consent that her portrait should be on the upper part of the box.\nShe had reproached me several times with loving M. de Luxembourg better\nthan I did her; I had not denied it because it was true. By this manner\nof placing her portrait she showed very politely, but very clearly, she\nhad not forgotten the preference.\n\nMuch about this time I was guilty of a folly which did not contribute\nto preserve me to her good graces. Although I had no knowledge of M. de\nSilhoutte, and was not much disposed to like him, I had a great opinion\nof his administration. When he began to let his hand fall rather\nheavily upon financiers, I perceived he did not begin his operation in\na favorable moment, but he had my warmest wishes for his success; and\nas soon as I heard he was displaced I wrote to him, in my intrepid,\nheedless manner, the following letter, which I certainly do not\nundertake to justify.\n\n                              MONTMORENCY, 2d December, 1759.\n\n\"Vouchsafe, sir, to receive the homage of a solitary man, who is not\nknown to you, but who esteems you for your talents, respects you for\nyour administration, and who did you the honor to believe you would not\nlong remain in it. Unable to save the State, except at the expense of\nthe capital by which it has been ruined, you have braved the clamors of\nthe gainers of money. When I saw you crush these wretches, I envied\nyou your place; and at seeing you quit it without departing from your\nsystem, I admire you. Be satisfied with yourself, sir; the step you have\ntaken will leave you an honor you will long enjoy without a competitor.\nThe malediction of knaves is the glory of an honest man.\"\n\nMadam de Luxembourg, who knew I had written this letter, spoke to me of\nit when she came into the country at Easter. I showed it to her and she\nwas desirous of a copy; this I gave her, but when I did it I did not\nknow she was interested in under-farms, and the displacing of M. de\nSilhoutte. By my numerous follies any person would have imagined I\nwilfully endeavored to bring on myself the hatred of an amiable woman\nwho had power, and to whom, in truth, I daily became more attached, and\nwas far from wishing to occasion her displeasure, although by my awkward\nmanner of proceeding, I did everything proper for that purpose. I think\nit superfluous to remark here, that it is to her the history of the\nopiate of M. Tronchin, of which I have spoken in the first part of my\nmemoirs, relates; the other lady was Madam de Mirepoix. They have never\nmentioned to me the circumstance, nor has either of them, in the least,\nseemed to have preserved a remembrance of it; but to presume that\nMadam de Luxembourg can possibly have forgotten it appears to me very\ndifficult, and would still remain so, even were the subsequent events\nentirely unknown. For my part, I fell into a deceitful security relative\nto the effects of my stupid mistakes, by an internal evidence of my not\nhaving taken any step with an intention to offend; as if a woman could\never forgive what I had done, although she might be certain the will had\nnot the least part in the matter.\n\nAlthough she seemed not to see or feel anything, and that I did not\nimmediately find either her warmth of friendship diminished or the least\nchange in her manner, the continuation and even increase of a too well\nfounded foreboding made me incessantly tremble, lest disgust should\nsucceed to infatuation. Was it possible for me to expect in a lady of\nsuch high rank, a constancy proof against my want of address to support\nit? I was unable to conceal from her this secret foreboding, which made\nme uneasy, and rendered me still more disagreeable. This will be judged\nof by the following letter, which contains a very singular prediction.\n\nN. B. This letter, without date in my rough copy, was written in\nOctober, 1760, at latest.\n\n\"How cruel is your goodness? Why disturb the peace of a solitary mortal\nwho had renounced the pleasures of life, that he might no longer suffer\nthe fatigues of them. I have passed my days in vainly searching for\nsolid attachments. I have not been able to form any in the ranks to\nwhich I was equal; is it in yours that I ought to seek for them? Neither\nambition nor interest can tempt me: I am not vain, but little fearful;\nI can resist everything except caresses. Why do you both attack me by a\nweakness which I must overcome, because in the distance by which we are\nseparated, the over-flowings of susceptible hearts cannot bring mine\nnear to you? Will gratitude be sufficient for a heart which knows not\ntwo manners of bestowing its affections, and feels itself incapable of\neverything except friendship? Of friendship, madam la marechale! Ah!\nthere is my misfortune! It is good in you and the marechal to make use\nof this expression; but I am mad when I take you at your word. You amuse\nyourselves, and I become attached; and the end of this prepares for me\nnew regrets. How I do hate all your titles, and pity you on account\nof your being obliged to bear them? You seem to me to be so worthy of\ntasting the charms of private life! Why do not you reside at Clarens?\nI would go there in search of happiness; but the castle of Montmorency,\nand the Hotel de Luxembourg! Is it in these places Jean Jacques ought to\nbe seen? Is it there a friend to equality ought to carry the affections\nof a sensible heart, and who thus paying the esteem in which he is held,\nthinks he returns as much as he receives? You are good and susceptible\nalso: this I know and have seen; I am sorry I was not sooner convinced\nof it; but in the rank you hold, in the manner of living, nothing can\nmake a lasting impression; a succession of new objects efface each other\nso that not one of them remains. You will forget me, madam, after having\nmade it impossible for me to imitate you. You have done a great deal to\nmake me unhappy, to be inexcusable.\"\n\nI joined with her the marechal, to render the compliment less severe;\nfor I was moreover so sure of him, that I never had a doubt in my mind\nof the continuation of his friendship. Nothing that intimidated me in\nmadam la marechale, ever for a moment extended to him. I never have had\nthe least mistrust relative to his character, which I knew to be feeble,\nbut constant. I no more feared a coldness on his part than I expected\nfrom him an heroic attachment. The simplicity and familiarity of our\nmanners with each other proved how far dependence was reciprocal. We\nwere both always right: I shall ever honor and hold dear the memory of\nthis worthy man, and, notwithstanding everything that was done to detach\nhim from me, I am as certain of his having died my friend as if I had\nbeen present in his last moments.\n\nAt the second journey to Montmorency, in the year 1760, the reading of\nEloisa being finished, I had recourse to that of Emilius, to support\nmyself in the good graces of Madam de Luxembourg; but this, whether\nthe subject was less to her taste; or that so much reading at length\nfatigued her, did not succeed so well. However, as she reproached me\nwith suffering myself to be the dupe of booksellers, she wished me to\nleave to her care the printing the work, that I might reap from it a\ngreater advantage. I consented to her doing it, on the express condition\nof its not being printed in France, on which we had along dispute;\nI affirming that it was impossible to obtain, and even imprudent\nto solicit, a tacit permission; and being unwilling to permit the\nimpression upon any other terms in the kingdom; she, that the censor\ncould not make the least difficulty, according to the system government\nhad adopted. She found means to make M. de Malesherbes enter into her\nviews. He wrote to me on the subject a long letter with his own hand, to\nprove the profession of faith of the Savoyard vicar to be a composition\nwhich must everywhere gain the approbation of its readers and that of\nthe court, as things were then circumstanced. I was surprised to see\nthis magistrate, always so prudent, become so smooth in the business,\nas the printing of a book was by that alone legal, I had no longer any\nobjection to make to that of the work. Yet, by an extraordinary scruple,\nI still required it should be printed in Holland, and by the bookseller\nNeaulme, whom, not satisfied with indicating him, I informed of my\nwishes, consenting the edition should be brought out for the profit of a\nFrench bookseller, and that as soon as it was ready it should be sold at\nParis, or wherever else it might be thought proper, as with this I had\nno manner of concern. This is exactly what was agreed upon between Madam\nde Luxembourg and myself, after which I gave her my manuscript.\n\nMadam de Luxembourg was this time accompanied by her granddaughter\nMademoiselle de Boufflers, now Duchess of Lauzun. Her name was Amelia.\nShe was a charming girl. She really had a maiden beauty, mildness and\ntimidity. Nothing could be more lovely than her person, nothing more\nchaste and tender than the sentiments she inspired. She was, besides,\nstill a child under eleven years of age. Madam de Luxembourg, who\nthought her too timid, used every endeavor to animate her. She\npermitted me several times to give her a kiss, which I did with my usual\nawkwardness. Instead of saying flattering things to her, as any other\nperson would have done, I remained silent and disconcerted, and I know\nnot which of the two, the little girl or myself, was most ashamed.\n\n[Illustration: 0202\n\nI met her one day alone in the staircase of the little castle. She had\nbeen to see Theresa, with whom her governess still was. Not knowing what\nelse to say, I proposed to her a kiss, which, in the innocence of her\nheart, she did not refuse; having in the morning received one from me\nby order of her grandmother, and in her presence. The next day, while\nreading Emilius by the side of the bed of Madam de Luxembourg, I came to\na passage in which I justly censure that which I had done the preceding\nevening. She thought the reflection extremely just, and said some very\nsensible things upon the subject which made me blush. How was I enraged\nat my incredible stupidity, which has frequently given me the appearance\nof guilt when I was nothing more than a fool and embarrassed! A\nstupidity, which in a man known to be endowed with some wit, is\nconsidered as a false excuse. I can safely swear that in this kiss, as\nwell as in the others, the heart and thoughts of Mademoiselle Amelia\nwere not more pure than my own, and that if I could have avoided meeting\nher I should have done it; not that I had not great pleasure in seeing\nher, but from the embarrassment of not finding a word proper to say.\nWhence comes it that even a child can intimidate a man, whom the power\nof kings has never inspired with fear? What is to be done? How, without\npresence of mind, am I to act? If I strive to speak to the persons I\nmeet, I certainly say some stupid thing to them; if I remain silent, I\nam a misanthrope, an unsociable animal, a bear. Total imbecility would\nhave been more favorable to me; but the talents which I have failed to\nimprove in the world have become the instruments of my destruction, and\nof that of the talents I possessed.\n\nAt the latter end of this journey, Madam de Luxembourg did a good action\nin which I had some share. Diderot having very imprudently offended the\nPrincess of Robeck, daughter of M. de Luxembourg, Palissot, whom she\nprotected, took up the quarrel, and revenged her by the comedy of\n'The Philosophers', in which I was ridiculed, and Diderot very roughly\nhandled. The author treated me with more gentleness, less, I am of\nopinion, on account of the obligation he was under to me, than from the\nfear of displeasing the father of his protectress, by whom he knew I\nwas beloved. The bookseller Duchesne, with whom I was not at that time\nacquainted, sent me the comedy when it was printed, and this I suspect\nwas by the order of Palissot, who, perhaps, thought I should have a\npleasure in seeing a man with whom I was no longer connected defamed.\nHe was greatly deceived. When I broke with Diderot, whom I thought less\nill-natured than weak and indiscreet, I still always preserved for his\nperson an attachment, an esteem even, and a respect for our ancient\nfriendship, which I know was for a long time as sincere on his part as\non mine. The case was quite different with Grimm; a man false by nature,\nwho never loved me, who is not even capable of friendship, and a person\nwho, without the least subject of complaint, and solely to satisfy his\ngloomy jealousy, became, under the mask of friendship, my most cruel\ncalumniator. This man is to me a cipher; the other will always be my old\nfriend.\n\nMy very bowels yearned at the sight of this odious piece: the reading\nof it was insupportable to me, and, without going through the whole, I\nreturned the copy to Duchesne with the following letter:\n\n                                   MONTMORENCY, 21st, May, 1760.\n\n\"In casting my eyes over the piece you sent me, I trembled at seeing\nmyself well spoken of in it. I do not accept the horrid present. I am\npersuaded that in sending it me, you did not intend an insult; but you\ndo not know, or have forgotten, that I have the honor to be the friend\nof a respectable man, who is shamefully defamed and calumniated in this\nlibel.\"\n\nDuchense showed the letter. Diderot, upon whom it ought to have had an\neffect quite contrary, was vexed at it. His pride could not forgive\nme the superiority of a generous action, and I was informed his wife\neverywhere inveighed against me with a bitterness with which I was not\nin the least affected, as I knew she was known to everybody to be a\nnoisy babbler.\n\nDiderot in his turn found an avenger in the Abbe Morrellet, who wrote\nagainst Palissot a little work, imitated from the 'Petit Prophete', and\nentitled the Vision. In this production he very imprudently offended\nMadam de Robeck, whose friends got him sent to the Bastile; though\nshe, not naturally vindictive, and at that time in a dying state, I am\ncertain had nothing to do with the affair.\n\nD'Alembert, who was very intimately connected with Morrellet, wrote me\na letter, desiring I would beg of Madam de Luxembourg to solicit his\nliberty, promising her in return encomiums in the 'Encyclopedie'; my\nanswer to this letter was as follows:\n\n\"I did not wait the receipt of your letter before I expressed to Madam\nde Luxembourg the pain the confinement of the Abbe Morrellet gave me.\nShe knows my concern, and shall be made acquainted with yours, and her\nknowing that the abbe is a man of merit will be sufficient to make her\ninterest herself in his behalf. However, although she and the marechal\nhonor me with a benevolence which is my greatest consolation, and that\nthe name of your friend be to them a recommendation in favor of the Abbe\nMorrellet, I know not how far, on this occasion, it may be proper\nfor them to employ the credit attached to the rank they hold, and the\nconsideration due to their persons. I am not even convinced that the\nvengeance in question relates to the Princess Robeck so much as you seem\nto imagine; and were this even the case, we must not suppose that the\npleasure of vengeance belongs to philosophers exclusively, and that when\nthey choose to become women, women will become philosophers.\n\n\"I will communicate to you whatever Madam de Luxembourg may say to me\nafter having shown her your letter. In the meantime, I think I know\nher well enough to assure you that, should she have the pleasure of\ncontributing to the enlargement of the Abbe Morrellet, she will\nnot accept the tribute of acknowledgment you promise her in the\nEncyclopedie, although she might think herself honored by it, because\nshe does not do good in the expectation of praise, but from the dictates\nof her heart.\"\n\nI made every effort to excite the zeal and commiseration of Madam de\nLuxembourg in favor of the poor captive, and succeeded to my wishes. She\nwent to Versailles on purpose to speak to M. de St. Florentin, and this\njourney shortened the residence at Montmorency, which the marechal was\nobliged to quit at the same time to go to Rouen, whither the king\nsent him as governor of Normandy, on account of the motions of the\nparliament, which government wished to keep within bounds. Madam de\nLuxembourg wrote me the following letter the day after her departure:\n\n                                        VERSAILLES, Wednesday.\n\n\"M. de Luxembourg set off yesterday morning at six o'clock. I do not yet\nknow that I shall follow him. I wait until he writes to me, as he is\nnot yet certain of the stay it will be necessary for him to make. I\nhave seen M. de St. Florentin, who is as favorably disposed as possible\ntowards the Abbe Morrellet; but he finds some obstacles to his wishes\nwhich however, he is in hopes of removing the first time he has to do\nbusiness with the king, which will be next week. I have also desired as\na favor that he might not be exiled, because this was intended; he was\nto be sent to Nancy. This, sir, is what I have been able to obtain; but\nI promise you I will not let M. de St. Florentin rest until the affair\nis terminated in the manner you desire. Let me now express to you how\nsorry I am on account of my being obliged to leave you so soon, of which\nI flatter myself you have not the least doubt. I love you with all my\nheart, and shall do so for my whole life.\"\n\nA few days afterwards I received the following note from D'Alembert,\nwhich gave me real joy.\n\n                                                  August 1st.\n\n\"Thanks to your cares, my dear philosopher, the abbe has left the\nBastile, and his imprisonment will have no other consequence. He is\nsetting off for the country, and, as well as myself, returns you a\nthousand thanks and compliments. 'Vale et me ama'.\"\n\nThe abbe also wrote to me a few days afterwards a letter of thanks,\nwhich did not, in my opinion, seem to breathe a certain effusion of the\nheart, and in which he seemed in some measure to extenuate the service\nI had rendered him. Some time afterwards, I found that he and D'Alembert\nhad, to a certain degree, I will not say supplanted, but succeeded me in\nthe good graces of Madam de Luxembourg, and that I had lost in them all\nthey had gained. However, I am far from suspecting the Abbe Morrellet\nof having contributed to my disgrace; I have too much esteem for him\nto harbor any such suspicion. With respect to D'Alembert, I shall at\npresent leave him out of the question, and hereafter say of him what may\nseem necessary.\n\nI had, at the same time, another affair which occasioned the last letter\nI wrote to Voltaire; a letter against which he vehemently exclaimed, as\nan abominable insult, although he never showed it to any person. I will\nhere supply the want of that which he refused to do.\n\nThe Abbe Trublet, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, but whom I had\nbut seldom seen, wrote to me on the 13th of June, 1760, informing me\nthat M. Formey, his friend and correspondent, had printed in his journal\nmy letter to Voltaire upon the disaster at Lisbon. The abbe wished to\nknow how the letter came to be printed, and in his jesuitical manner,\nasked me my opinion, without giving me his own on the necessity of\nreprinting it. As I most sovereignly hate this kind of artifice and\nstrategem, I returned such thanks as were proper, but in a manner so\nreserved as to make him feel it, although this did not prevent him from\nwheedling me in two or three other letters until he had gathered all he\nwished to know.\n\nI clearly understood that, not withstanding all Trublet could say,\nFormey had not found the letter printed, and that the first impression\nof it came from himself. I knew him to be an impudent pilferer, who,\nwithout ceremony, made himself a revenue by the works of others.\nAlthough he had not yet had the incredible effrontery to take from a\nbook already published the name of the author, to put his own in the\nplace of it, and to sell the book for his own profit.\n\n     [In this manner he afterwards appropriated to himself Emilius.]\n\nBut by what means had this manuscript fallen into his hands? That was\na question not easy to resolve, but by which I had the weakness to be\nembarrassed. Although Voltaire was excessively honored by the letter, as\nin fact, notwithstanding his rude proceedings, he would have had a right\nto complain had I had it printed without his consent, I resolved to\nwrite to him upon the subject. The second letter was as follows, to\nwhich he returned no answer, and giving greater scope to his brutality,\nhe feigned to be irritated to fury.\n\n                                   MONTMORENCY, 17th June, 1760.\n\n\"I did not think, sir, I should ever have occasion to correspond with\nyou. But learning the letter I wrote to you in 1756 had been printed\nat Berlin, I owe you an account of my conduct in that respect, and will\nfulfil this duty with truth and simplicity.\n\n\"The letter having really been addressed to you was not intended to be\nprinted. I communicated the contents of it, on certain conditions, to\nthree persons, to whom the right of friendship did not permit me\nto refuse anything of the kind, and whom the same rights still less\npermitted to abuse my confidence by betraying their promise. These\npersons are Madam de Chenonceaux, daughter-in-law to Madam Dupin,\nthe Comtesse d'Houdetot, and a German of the name of Grimm. Madam de\nChenonceaux was desirous the letter should be printed, and asked my\nconsent. I told her that depended upon yours. This was asked of you\nwhich you refused, and the matter dropped.\n\n\"However, the Abbe Trublet, with whom I have not the least connection,\nhas just written to me from a motive of the most polite attention that\nhaving received the papers of the journal of M. Formey, he found in them\nthis same letter with an advertisement, dated on the 23d of October,\n1759, in which the editor states that he had a few weeks before found\nit in the shops of the booksellers of Berlin, and, as it is one of those\nloose sheets which shortly disappear, he thought proper to give it a\nplace in his journal.\n\n\"This, sir, is all I know of the matter. It is certain the letter had\nnot until lately been heard of at Paris. It is also as certain that\nthe copy, either in manuscript or print, fallen into the hands of M. de\nFormey, could never have reached them except by your means (which is\nnot probable) or of those of one of the three persons I have mentioned.\nFinally, it is well known the two ladies are incapable of such a\nperfidy. I cannot, in my retirement learn more relative to the affair.\nYou have a correspondence by means of which you may, if you think it\nworth the trouble, go back to the source and verify the fact.\n\n\"In the same letter the Abbe Trublet informs me that he keeps the\npaper in reserve, and will not lend it without my consent, which most\nassuredly I will not give. But it is possible this copy may not be the\nonly one in Paris. I wish, sir, the letter may not be printed there,\nand I will do all in my power to prevent this from happening; but if\nI cannot succeed, and that, timely perceiving it, I can have the\npreference, I will not then hesitate to have it immediately printed.\nThis to me appears just and natural.\n\n\"With respect to your answer to the same letter, it has not been\ncommunicated to anyone, and you may be assured it shall not be printed\nwithout your consent, which I certainly shall not be indiscreet enough\nto ask of you, well knowing that what one man writes to another is not\nwritten to the public. But should you choose to write one you wish to\nhave published, and address it to me, I promise you faithfully to add to\nit my letter and not to make to it a single word of reply.\n\n\"I love you not, sir; you have done me, your disciple and enthusiastic\nadmirer; injuries which might have caused me the most exquisite pain.\nYou have ruined Geneva, in return for the asylum it has afforded you;\nyou have alienated from me my fellow-citizens, in return for eulogiums I\nmade of you amongst them; it is you who render to me the residence of\nmy own country insupportable; it is you who will oblige me to die in a\nforeign land, deprived of all the consolations usually administered to\na dying person; and cause me, instead of receiving funeral rites, to\nbe thrown to the dogs, whilst all the honors a man can expect will\naccompany you in my country. Finally I hate you because you have been\ndesirous I should; but I hate you as a man more worthy of loving you had\nyou chosen it. Of all the sentiments with which my heart was penetrated\nfor you, admiration, which cannot be refused your fine genius, and a\npartiality to your writings, are those you have not effaced. If I can\nhonor nothing in you except your talents, the fault is not mine. I shall\nnever be wanting in the respect due to them, nor in that which this\nrespect requires.\"\n\nIn the midst of these little literary cavillings, which still fortified\nmy resolution, I received the greatest honor letters ever acquired me,\nand of which I was the most sensible, in the two visits the Prince of\nConti deigned to make to me, one at the Little Castle and the other at\nMont Louis. He chose the time for both of these when M. de Luxembourg\nwas not at Montmorency, in order to render it more manifest that he came\nthere solely on my account. I have never had a doubt of my owing the\nfirst condescensions of this prince to Madam de Luxembourg and Madam de\nBoufflers; but I am of opinion I owe to his own sentiments and to myself\nthose with which he has since that time continually honored me.\n\n     [Remark the perseverance of this blind and stupid confidence in the\n     midst of all the treatment which should soonest have undeceived me.\n     It continued until my return to Paris in 1770.]\n\nMy apartments at Mont Louis being small, and the situation of the\nalcove charming, I conducted the prince to it, where, to complete the\ncondescension he was pleased to show me, he chose I should have the\nhonor of playing with him a game of chess. I knew he beat the Chevalier\nde Lorenzy, who played better than I did. However, notwithstanding the\nsigns and grimace of the chevalier and the spectators, which I feigned\nnot to see, I won the two games we played: When they were ended, I said\nto him in a respectful but very grave manner: \"My lord, I honor your\nserene highness too much not to beat you always at chess.\" This great\nprince, who had real wit, sense, and knowledge, and so was worthy not to\nbe treated with mean adulation, felt in fact, at least I think so, that\nI was the only person present who treated him like a man, and I have\nevery reason to believe he was not displeased with me for it.\n\nHad this even been the case, I should not have reproached myself with\nhaving been unwilling to deceive him in anything, and I certainly cannot\ndo it with having in my heart made an ill return for his goodness,\nbut solely with having sometimes done it with an ill grace, whilst he\nhimself accompanied with infinite gracefulness the manner in which he\nshowed me the marks of it. A few days afterwards he ordered a hamper of\ngame to be sent me, which I received as I ought. This in a little time\nwas succeeded by another, and one of his gamekeepers wrote me, by order\nof his highness, that the game it contained had been shot by the\nprince himself. I received this second hamper, but I wrote to Madam de\nBoufflers that I would not receive a third. This letter was generally\nblamed, and deservedly so. Refusing to accept presents of game from a\nprince of the blood, who moreover sends it in so polite a manner,\nis less the delicacy of a haughty man, who wishes to preserve his\nindependence, than the rusticity of a clown, who does not know himself.\nI have never read this letter in my collection without blushing and\nreproaching myself for having written it. But I have not undertaken my\nConfession with an intention of concealing my faults, and that of which\nI have just spoken is too shocking in my own eyes to suffer me to pass\nit over in silence.\n\nIf I were not guilty of the offence of becoming his rival I was very\nnear doing it; for Madam de Boufflers was still his mistress, and I knew\nnothing of the matter. She came rather frequently to see me with the\nChevalier de Lorenzy. She was yet young and beautiful, affected to be\nwhimsical, and my mind was always romantic, which was much of the same\nnature. I was near being laid hold of; I believe she perceived it; the\nchevalier saw it also, at least he spoke to me upon the subject, and in\na manner not discouraging. But I was this time reasonable, and at the\nage of fifty it was time I should be so. Full of the doctrine I had just\npreached to graybeards in my letter to D'Alembert, I should have been\nashamed of not profiting by it myself; besides, coming to the knowledge\nof that of which I had been ignorant, I must have been mad to have\ncarried my pretensions so far as to expose myself to such an illustrious\nrivalry. Finally, ill cured perhaps of my passion for Madam de Houdetot,\nI felt nothing could replace it in my heart, and I bade adieu to love\nfor the rest of my life. I have this moment just withstood the dangerous\nallurements of a young woman who had her views; and if she feigned to\nforget my twelve lustres I remember them. After having thus withdrawn\nmyself from danger, I am no longer afraid of a fall, and I answer for\nmyself for the rest of my days.\n\nMadam de Boufflers, perceiving the emotion she caused in me, might also\nobserve I had triumphed over it. I am neither mad nor vain enough to\nbelieve I was at my age capable of inspiring her with the same feelings;\nbut, from certain words which she let drop to Theresa, I thought I had\ninspired her with a curiosity; if this be the case, and that she has not\nforgiven me the disappointment she met with, it must be confessed I was\nborn to be the victim of my weaknesses, since triumphant love was so\nprejudicial to me, and love triumphed over not less so.\n\nHere finishes the collection of letters which has served me as a guide\nin the last two books. My steps will in future be directed by memory\nonly; but this is of such a nature, relative to the period to which I am\nnow come, and the strong impression of objects has remained so perfectly\nupon my mind, that lost in the immense sea of my misfortunes, I cannot\nforget the detail of my first shipwreck, although the consequences\npresent to me but a confused remembrance. I therefore shall be able\nto proceed in the succeeding book with sufficient confidence. If I go\nfurther it will be groping in the dark.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI.\n\n\n|Although Eloisa, which for a long time had been in the press, did not\nyet, at the end of the year, 1760, appear, the work already began to\nmake a great noise. Madam de Luxembourg had spoken of it at court, and\nMadam de Houdetot at Paris. The latter had obtained from me permission\nfor Saint Lambert to read the manuscript to the King of Poland, who had\nbeen delighted with it. Duclos, to whom I had also given the perusal of\nthe work, had spoken of it at the academy. All Paris was impatient to\nsee the novel; the booksellers of the Rue Saint Jacques, and that of the\nPalais Royal, were beset with people who came to inquire when it was\nto be published. It was at length brought out, and the success it had,\nanswered, contrary to custom, to the impatience with which it had been\nexpected. The dauphiness, who was one of the first who read it, spoke of\nit to M. de Luxembourg as a ravishing performance. The opinions of men\nof letters differed from each other, but in those of any other class\napprobation was general, especially with the women, who became so\nintoxicated with the book and the author, that there was not one in high\nlife with whom I might not have succeeded had I undertaken to do it. Of\nthis I have such proofs as I will not commit to paper, and which without\nthe aid of experience, authorized my opinion. It is singular that the\nbook should have succeeded better in France than in the rest of Europe,\nalthough the French, both men and women, are severely treated in it.\nContrary to my expectation it was least successful in Switzerland, and\nmost so in Paris. Do friendship, love and virtue reign in this capital\nmore than elsewhere? Certainly not; but there reigns in it an exquisite\nsensibility which transports the heart to their image, and makes us\ncherish in others the pure, tender and virtuous sentiments we no longer\npossess. Corruption is everywhere the same; virtue and morality no\nlonger exist in Europe; but if the least love of them still remains, it\nis in Paris that this will be found.--[I wrote this in 1769.]\n\nIn the midst of so many prejudices and feigned passions, the real\nsentiments of nature are not to be distinguished from others, unless we\nwell know to analyze the human heart. A very nice discrimination, not to\nbe acquired except by the education of the world, is necessary to feel\nthe finesses of the heart, if I dare use the expression, with which this\nwork abounds. I do not hesitate to place the fourth part of it upon an\nequality with the Princess of Cleves; nor to assert that had these two\nworks been read nowhere but in the provinces, their merit would never\nhave been discovered. It must not, therefore, be considered as a matter\nof astonishment, that the greatest success of my work was at court. It\nabounds with lively but veiled touches of the pencil, which could not\nbut give pleasure there, because the persons who frequent it are more\naccustomed than others to discover them. A distinction must, however, be\nmade. The work is by no means proper for the species of men of wit who\nhave nothing but cunning, who possess no other kind of discernment than\nthat which penetrates evil, and see nothing where good only is to be\nfound. If, for instance, Eloisa had been published in a certain country,\nI am convinced it would not have been read through by a single person,\nand the work would have been stifled in its birth.\n\nI have collected most of the letters written to me on the subject of\nthis publication, and deposited them, tied up together, in the hands of\nMadam de Nadillac. Should this collection ever be given to the world,\nvery singular things will be seen, and an opposition of opinion, which\nshows what it is to have to do with the public. The thing least kept in\nview, and which will ever distinguish it from every other work, is the\nsimplicity of the subject and the continuation of the interest, which,\nconfined to three persons, is kept up throughout six volumes, without\nepisode, romantic adventure, or anything malicious either in the persons\nor actions. Diderot complimented Richardson on the prodigious variety of\nhis portraits and the multiplicity of his persons. In fact, Richardson\nhas the merit of having well characterized them all; but with respect\nto their number, he has that in common with the most insipid writers\nof novels who attempt to make up for the sterility of their ideas by\nmultiplying persons and adventures. It is easy to awaken the attention\nby incessantly presenting unheard of adventures and new faces, which\npass before the imagination as the figures in a magic lanthorn do before\nthe eye; but to keep up that attention to the same objects, and\nwithout the aid of the wonderful, is certainly more difficult; and if,\neverything else being equal, the simplicity of the subject adds to the\nbeauty of the work, the novels of Richardson, superior in so many other\nrespects, cannot in this be compared to mine. I know it is already\nforgotten, and the cause of its being so; but it will be taken up again.\nAll my fear was that, by an extreme simplicity, the narrative would be\nfatiguing, and that it was not sufficiently interesting to engage the\nattention throughout the whole. I was relieved from this apprehension by\na circumstance which alone was more flattering to my pride than all the\ncompliments made me upon the work.\n\nIt appeared at the beginning of the carnival; a hawker carried it to\nthe Princess of Talmont--[It was not the princess, but some other lady,\nwhose name I do not know.]--on the evening of a ball night at the opera.\nAfter supper the Princess dressed herself for the ball, and until the\nhour of going there, took up the new novel. At midnight she ordered the\nhorses to be put into the carriage, and continued to read. The servant\nreturned to tell her the horses were put to; she made no answer. Her\npeople perceiving she forgot herself, came to tell her it was two\no'clock. \"There is yet no hurry,\" replied the princess, still reading\non. Some time afterwards, her watch having stopped, she rang to know the\nhour. She was told it was four o'clock. \"That being the case,\" she said,\n\"it is too late to go to the ball; let the horses be taken off.\" She\nundressed herself and passed the rest of the night in reading.\n\nEver since I came to the knowledge of this circumstance, I have had a\nconstant desire to see the lady, not only to know from herself whether\nor not what I have related be exactly true, but because I have always\nthought it impossible to be interested in so lively a manner in the\nhappiness of Julia, without having that sixth and moral sense with which\nso few hearts are endowed, and without which no person whatever can\nunderstand the sentiments of mine.\n\nWhat rendered the women so favorable to me was, their being persuaded\nthat I had written my own history, and was myself the hero of the\nromance. This opinion was so firmly established, that Madam de Polignac\nwrote to Madam de Verdelin, begging she would prevail upon me to show\nher the portrait of Julia. Everybody thought it was impossible so\nstrongly to express sentiments without having felt them, or thus to\ndescribe the transports of love, unless immediately from the feelings\nof the heart. This was true, and I certainly wrote the novel during the\ntime my imagination was inflamed to ecstasy; but they who thought real\nobjects necessary to this effect were deceived, and far from conceiving\nto what a degree I can at will produce it for imaginary beings. Without\nMadam d'Houdetot, and the recollection of a few circumstances in my\nyouth, the amours I have felt and described would have been with fairy\nnymphs. I was unwilling either to confirm or destroy an error which was\nadvantageous to me. The reader may see in the preface a dialogue, which\nI had printed separately, in what manner I left the public in suspense.\nRigorous people say, I ought to have explicity declared the truth. For\nmy part I see no reason for this, nor anything that could oblige me to\nit, and am of opinion there would have been more folly than candor in\nthe declaration without necessity.\n\nMuch about the same time the 'Paix Perpetuelle' made its appearance,\nof this I had the year before given the manuscript to a certain M. de\nBastide, the author of a journal called Le Monde, into which he would at\nall events cram all my manuscripts. He was known to M. Duclos, and came\nin his name to beg I would help him to fill the Monde. He had heard\nspeak of Eloisa, and would have me put this into his journal; he was\nalso desirous of making the same use of Emilius; he would have asked me\nfor the Social Contract for the same purpose, had he suspected it to\nbe written. At length, fatigued with his importunities, I resolved\nupon letting him have the Paix Perpetuelle, which I gave him for twelve\nlouis. Our agreement was, that he should print it in his journal; but as\nsoon as he became the proprietor of the manuscript, he thought proper to\nprint it separately, with a few retrenchments, which the censor required\nhim to make. What would have happened had I joined to the work my\nopinion of it, which fortunately I did not communicate to M. de\nBastide, nor was it comprehended in our agreement? This remains still in\nmanuscript amongst my papers. If ever it be made public, the world\nwill see how much the pleasantries and self-sufficient manner of M. de\nVoltaire on the subject must have made me, who was so well acquainted\nwith the short-sightedness of this poor man in political matters, of\nwhich he took it into his head to speak, shake my sides with laughter.\n\nIn the midst of my success with the women and the public, I felt I lost\nground at the Hotel de Luxembourg, not with the marechal, whose goodness\nto me seemed daily to increase, but with his lady. Since I had had\nnothing more to read to her, the door of her apartment was not so\nfrequently open to me, and during her stay at Montmorency, although I\nregularly presented myself, I seldom saw her except at table. My place\neven there was not distinctly marked out as usual. As she no longer\noffered me that by her side, and spoke to me but seldom, not having on\nmy part much to say to her, I was well satisfied with another, where\nI was more at my ease, especially in the evening; for I mechanically\ncontracted the habit of placing myself nearer and nearer to the\nmarechal.\n\nApropos of the evening: I recollect having said I did not sup at the\ncastle, and this was true, at the beginning of my acquaintance there;\nbut as M. de Luxembourg did not dine, nor even sit down to table, it\nhappened that I was for several months, and already very familiar in the\nfamily, without ever having eaten with him. This he had the goodness to\nremark, upon which I determined to sup there from time to time, when\nthe company was not numerous; I did so, and found the suppers very\nagreeable, as the dinners were taken almost standing; whereas the former\nwere long, everybody remaining seated with pleasure after a long walk;\nand very good and agreeable, because M. de Luxembourg loved good eating,\nand the honors of them were done in a charming manner by madam de\nmarechale. Without this explanation it would be difficult to understand\nthe end of a letter from M. de Luxembourg, in which he says he\nrecollects our walks with the greatest pleasure; especially, adds he,\nwhen in the evening we entered the court and did not find there the\ntraces of carriages. The rake being every morning drawn over the gravel\nto efface the marks left by the coach wheels, I judged by the number of\nruts of that of the persons who had arrived in the afternoon.\n\nThis year, 1761, completed the heavy losses this good man had suffered\nsince I had had the honor of being known to him. As if it had been\nordained that the evils prepared for me by destiny should begin by the\nman to whom I was most attached, and who was the most worthy of esteem.\nThe first year he lost his sister, the Duchess of Villeroy; the second,\nhis daughter, the Princess of Robeck; the third, he lost in the Duke of\nMontmorency his only son; and in the Comte de Luxembourg, his grandson,\nthe last two supporters of the branch of which he was, and of his name.\nHe supported all these losses with apparent courage, but his heart\nincessantly bled in secret during the rest of his life, and his health\nwas ever after upon the decline. The unexpected and tragical death of\nhis son must have afflicted him the more, as it happened immediately\nafter the king had granted him for his child, and given him the promise\nfor his grandson, the reversion of the commission he himself then held\nof the captain of the Gardes de Corps. He had the mortification to see\nthe last, a most promising young man, perish by degrees from the blind\nconfidence of the mother in the physician, who giving the unhappy youth\nmedicines for food, suffered him to die of inanition. Alas! had my\nadvice been taken, the grandfather and the grandson would both still\nhave been alive. What did not I say and write to the marechal, what\nremonstrances did I make to Madam de Montmorency, upon the more than\nsevere regimen, which, upon the faith of physicians, she made her son\nobserve! Madam de Luxembourg, who thought as I did, would not usurp\nthe authority of the mother; M. de Luxembourg, a man of mild and easy\ncharacter, did not like to contradict her. Madam de Montmorency had\nin Borden a confidence to which her son at length became a victim. How\ndelighted was the poor creature when he could obtain permission to come\nto Mont Louis with Madam de Boufflers, to ask Theresa for some victuals\nfor his famished stomach! How did I secretly deplore the miseries of\ngreatness in seeing this only heir to a immense fortune, a great name,\nand so many dignified titles, devour with the greediness of a beggar a\nwretched morsel of bread! At length, notwithstanding all I could say and\ndo, the physician triumphed, and the child died of hunger.\n\nThe same confidence in quacks, which destroyed the grandson,\nhastened the dissolution of the grandfather, and to this he added the\npusillanimity of wishing to dissimulate the infirmities of age. M. de\nLuxembourg had at intervals a pain in the great toe; he was seized with\nit at Montmorency, which deprived him of sleep, and brought on slight\nfever. I had courage enough to pronounce the word gout. Madam de\nLuxembourg gave me a reprimand. The surgeon, valet de chambre of the\nmarechal, maintained it was not the gout, and dressed the suffering part\nwith beaume tranquille. Unfortunately the pain subsided, and when it\nreturned the same remedy was had recourse to. The constitution of the\nmarechal was weakened, and his disorder increased, as did his remedies\nin the same proportion. Madam de Luxembourg, who at length perceived\nthe primary disorder to be the gout, objected to the dangerous manner\nof treating it. Things were afterwards concealed from her, and M. de\nLuxembourg in a few years lost his life in consequence of his obstinate\nadherence to what he imagined to be a method of cure. But let me not\nanticipate misfortune: how many others have I to relate before I come to\nthis!\n\nIt is singular with what fatality everything I could say and do seemed\nof a nature to displease Madam de Luxembourg, even when I had it most\nat heart to preserve her friendship. The repeated afflictions which\nfell upon M. de Luxembourg still attached me to him the more, and\nconsequently to Madam de Luxembourg; for they always seemed to me to be\nso sincerely united, that the sentiments in favor of the one necessarily\nextended to the other. The marechal grew old. His assiduity at court,\nthe cares this brought on, continually hunting, fatigue, and especially\nthat of the service during the quarter he was in waiting, required the\nvigor of a young man, and I did not perceive anything that could\nsupport his in that course of life; since, besides after his death, his\ndignities were to be dispersed and his name extinct, it was by no means\nnecessary for him to continue a laborious life of which the principal\nobject had been to dispose the prince favorably to his children. One day\nwhen we three were together, and he complained of the fatigues of the\ncourt, as a man who had been discouraged by his losses, I took the\nliberty to speak of retirement, and to give him the advice Cyneas gave\nto Pyrrhus. He sighed, and returned no positive answer. But the moment\nMadam de Luxembourg found me alone she reprimanded me severely for what\nI had said, at which she seemed to be alarmed. She made a remark of\nwhich I so strongly felt the justness that I determined never again to\ntouch upon the subject: this was, that the long habit of living at court\nmade that life necessary, that it was become a matter of amusement for\nM. de Luxembourg, and that the retirement I proposed to him would\nbe less a relaxation from care than an exile, in which inactivity,\nweariness and melancholy would soon put an end to his existence.\nAlthough she must have perceived I was convinced, and ought to have\nrelied upon the promise I made her, and which I faithfully kept, she\nstill seemed to doubt of it; and I recollect that the conversations I\nafterwards had with the marechal were less frequent and almost always\ninterrupted.\n\nWhilst my stupidity and awkwardness injured me in her opinion, persons\nwhom she frequently saw and most loved, were far from being disposed to\naid me in gaining what I had lost. The Abbe de Boufflers especially, a\nyoung man as lofty as it was possible for a man to be, never seemed\nwell disposed towards me; and besides his being the only person of the\nsociety of Madam de Luxembourg who never showed me the least attention,\nI thought I perceived I lost something with her every time he came to\nthe castle. It is true that without his wishing this to be the case,\nhis presence alone was sufficient to produce the effect; so much did his\ngraceful and elegant manner render still more dull my stupid propositi.\nDuring the first two years he seldom came to Montmorency, and by the\nindulgence of Madam de Luxembourg I had tolerably supported myself, but\nas soon as his visits began to be regular I was irretrievably lost. I\nwished to take refuge under his wing, and gain his friendship; but the\nsame awkwardness which made it necessary I should please him prevented\nme from succeeding in the attempt I made to do it, and what I did with\nthat intention entirely lost me with Madam de Luxembourg, without being\nof the least service to me with the abbe. With his understanding he\nmight have succeeded in anything, but the impossibility of applying\nhimself, and his turn for dissipation, prevented his acquiring a perfect\nknowledge of any subject. His talents are however various, and this is\nsufficient for the circles in which he wishes to distinguish himself. He\nwrites light poetry and fashionable letters, strums on the cithern, and\npretends to draw with crayon. He took it into his head to attempt the\nportrait of Madam de Luxembourg; the sketch he produced was horrid.\nShe said it did not in the least resemble her and this was true. The\ntraitorous abbe consulted me, and I like a fool and a liar, said there\nwas a likeness. I wished to flatter the abbe, but I did not please the\nlady who noted down what I had said, and the abbe, having obtained what\nhe wanted, laughed at me in his turn. I perceived by the ill success\nof this my late beginning the necessity of making another attempt to\nflatter 'invita Minerva'.\n\nMy talent was that of telling men useful but severe truths with energy\nand courage; to this it was necessary to confine myself. Not only I was\nnot born to flatter, but I knew not how to commend. The awkwardness of\nthe manner in which I have sometimes bestowed eulogium has done me\nmore harm than the severity of my censure. Of this I have to adduce one\nterrible instance, the consequences of which have not only fixed my\nfate for the rest of my life, but will perhaps decide on my reputation\nthroughout all posterity.\n\nDuring the residence of M. de Luxembourg at Montmorency, M. de Choiseul\nsometimes came to supper at the castle. He arrived there one day after I\nhad left it. My name was mentioned, and M. de Luxembourg related to\nhim what had happened at Venice between me and M. de Montaigu. M. de\nChoiseul said it was a pity I had quitted that track, and that if I\nchose to enter it again he would most willingly give me employment. M.\nde Luxembourg told me what had passed. Of this I was the more sensible\nas I was not accustomed to be spoiled by ministers, and had I been in\na better state of health it is not certain that I should not have been\nguilty of a new folly. Ambition never had power over my mind except\nduring the short intervals in which every other passion left me at\nliberty; but one of these intervals would have been sufficient to\ndetermine me. This good intention of M. de Choiseul gained him my\nattachment and increased the esteem which, in consequence of some\noperations in his administration, I had conceived for his talents;\nand the family compact in particular had appeared to me to evince a\nstatesman of the first order. He moreover gained ground in my estimation\nby the little respect I entertained for his predecessors, not even\nexcepting Madam de Pompadour, whom I considered as a species of prime\nminister, and when it was reported that one of these two would expel\nthe other, I thought I offered up prayers for the honor of France when I\nwished that M. de Choiseul might triumph. I had always felt an antipathy\nto Madam de Pompadour, even before her preferment; I had seen her with\nMadam de la Popliniere when her name was still Madam d'Etioles. I was\nafterwards dissatisfied with her silence on the subject of Diderot, and\nwith her proceedings relative to myself, as well on the subject of the\n'Muses Galantes', as on that of the 'Devin du Village', which had not\nin any manner produced me advantages proportioned to its success; and\non all occasions I had found her but little disposed to serve me. This\nhowever did not prevent the Chevalier de Lorenzy from proposing to me to\nwrite something in praise of that lady, insinuating that I might acquire\nsome advantage by it. The proposition excited my indignation, the more\nas I perceived it did not come from himself, knowing that, passive as he\nwas, he thought and acted according to the impulsion he received. I\nam so little accustomed to constraint that it was impossible for me to\nconceal from him my disdain, nor from anybody the moderate opinion I had\nof the favorite; this I am sure she knew, and thus my own interest\nwas added to my natural inclination in the wishes I formed for M. de\nChoiseul. Having a great esteem for his talents, which was all I knew\nof him, full of gratitude for his kind intentions, and moreover\nunacquainted in my retirement with his taste and manner of living, I\nalready considered him as the avenger of the public and myself; and\nbeing at that time writing the conclusion of my Social Contract,\nI stated in it, in a single passage, what I thought of preceding\nministers, and of him by whom they began to be eclipsed. On this\noccasion I acted contrary to my most constant maxim; and besides, I did\nnot recollect that, in bestowing praise and strongly censuring in\nthe same article, without naming the persons, the language must be so\nappropriated to those to whom it is applicable, that the most ticklish\npride cannot find in it the least thing equivocal. I was in this respect\nin such an imprudent security, that I never once thought it was possible\nany one should make a false application. It will soon appear whether or\nnot I was right.\n\nOne of my misfortunes was always to be connected with some female\nauthor. This I thought I might avoid amongst the great. I was deceived;\nit still pursued me. Madam de Luxembourg was not, however; at least that\nI know of, attacked with the mania of writing; but Madam de Boufflers\nwas. She wrote a tragedy in prose, which, in the first place, was read,\nhanded about, and highly spoken of in the society of the Prince Conti,\nand upon which, not satisfied with the encomiums she received, she would\nabsolutely consult me for the purpose of having mine. This she obtained,\nbut with that moderation which the work deserved. She besides had with\nit the information I thought it my duty to give her, that her piece,\nentitled 'L'Esclave Genereux', greatly resembled the English tragedy\nof 'Oroonoko', but little known in France, although translated into\nthe French language. Madam de Bouffiers thanked me for the remark, but,\nhowever, assured me there was not the least resemblance between her\npiece and the other. I never spoke of the plagiarisms except to herself,\nand I did it to discharge a duty she had imposed on me; but this has not\nsince prevented me from frequently recollecting the consequences of the\nsincerity of Gil Blas to the preaching archbishop.\n\nBesides the Abbe de Bouffiers, by whom I was not beloved, and Madam de\nBouffiers, in whose opinion I was guilty of that which neither women\nnor authors ever pardon, the other friends of Madam de Luxembourg never\nseemed much disposed to become mine, particularly the President Henault,\nwho, enrolled amongst authors, was not exempt from their weaknesses;\nalso Madam du Deffand, and Mademoiselle de Lespinasse, both intimate\nwith Voltaire and the friends of D'Alembert, with whom the latter\nat length lived, however upon an honorable footing, for it cannot be\nunderstood I mean otherwise. I first began to interest myself for Madam\ndu Deffand, whom the loss of her eyes made an object of commiseration in\nmine; but her manner of living so contrary to my own, that her hour of\ngoing to bed was almost mine for rising; her unbounded passion for low\nwit, the importance she gave to every kind of printed trash, either\ncomplimentary or abusive, the despotism and transports of her oracles,\nher excessive admiration or dislike of everything, which did not permit\nher to speak upon any subject without convulsions, her inconceivable\nprejudices, invincible obstinacy, and the enthusiasm of folly to which\nthis carried her in her passionate judgments; all disgusted me and\ndiminished the attention I wished to pay her. I neglected her and she\nperceived it; this was enough to set her in a rage, and, although I was\nsufficiently aware how much a woman of her character was to be feared,\nI preferred exposing myself to the scourge of her hatred rather than to\nthat of her friendship.\n\nMy having so few friends in the society of Madam de Luxembourg would not\nhave been in the least dangerous had I had no enemies in the family.\nOf these I had but one, who, in my then situation, was as powerful as\na hundred. It certainly was not M. de Villeroy, her brother; for he not\nonly came to see me, but had several times invited me to Villeroy; and\nas I had answered to the invitation with all possible politeness and\nrespect, he had taken my vague manner of doing it as a consent, and\narranged with Madam de Luxembourg a journey of a fortnight, in which it\nwas proposed to me to make one of the party. As the cares my health then\nrequired did not permit me to go from home without risk, I prayed Madam\nde Luxembourg to have the goodness to make my apologies. Her answer\nproves this was done with all possible ease, and M. de Villeroy still\ncontinued to show me his usual marks of goodness. His nephew and heir,\nthe young Marquis of Villeroy, had not for me the same benevolence, nor\nhad I for him the respect I had for his uncle. His harebrained manner\nrendered him insupportable to me, and my coldness drew upon me his\naversion. He insultingly attacked me one evening at table, and I had the\nworst of it because I am a fool, without presence of mind; and because\nanger, instead of rendering my wit more poignant, deprives me of the\nlittle I have. I had a dog which had been given me when he was quite\nyoung, soon after my arrival at the Hermitage, and which I had called\nDuke. This dog, not handsome, but rare of his kind, of which I had made\nmy companion and friend, a title which he certainly merited much more\nthan most of the persons by whom it was taken, became in great request\nat the castle of Montmorency for his good nature and fondness, and the\nattachment we had for each other; but from a foolish pusillanimity I had\nchanged his name to Turk, as if there were not many dogs called Marquis,\nwithout giving the least offence to any marquis whatsoever. The Marquis\nof Villeroy, who knew of the change of name, attacked me in such a\nmanner that I was obliged openly at table to relate what I had done.\nWhatever there might be offensive in the name of duke, it was not in my\nhaving given but in my having taken it away. The worst of it all was,\nthere were many dukes present, amongst others M. de Luxembourg and his\nson; and the Marquis de Villeroy, who was one day to have, and now has\nthe title, enjoyed in the most cruel manner the embarrassment into\nwhich he had thrown me. I was told the next day his aunt had severely\nreprimanded him, and it may be judged whether or not, supposing her to\nhave been serious, this put me upon better terms with him.\n\nTo enable me to support his enmity I had no person, neither at the Hotel\nde Luxembourg nor at the Temple, except the Chevalier de Lorenzy, who\nprofessed himself my friend; but he was more that of D'Alembert, under\nwhose protection he passed with women for a great geometrician. He\nwas moreover the cicisbeo, or rather the complaisant chevalier of\nthe Countess of Boufflers, a great friend also to D'Alembert, and the\nChevalier de Lorenzy was the most passive instrument in her hands. Thus,\nfar from having in that circle any counter-balance to my inaptitude,\nto keep me in the good graces of Madam de Luxembourg, everybody who\napproached her seemed to concur in injuring me in her good opinion. Yet,\nbesides Emilius, with which she charged herself, she gave me at the\nsame time another mark of her benevolence, which made me imagine that,\nalthough wearied with my conversation, she would still preserve for me\nthe friendship she had so many times promised me for life.\n\nAs soon as I thought I could depend upon this, I began to ease my heart,\nby confessing to her all my faults, having made it an inviolable maxim\nto show myself to my friends such as I really was, neither better nor\nworse. I had declared to her my connection with Theresa, and everything\nthat had resulted from it, without concealing the manner in which I had\ndisposed of my children. She had received my confessions favorably, and\neven too much so, since she spared me the censures I so much merited;\nand what made the greatest impression upon me was her goodness to\nTheresa, making her presents, sending for her, and begging her to come\nand see her, receiving her with caresses, and often embracing her in\npublic. This poor girl was in transports of joy and gratitude, of which\nI certainly partook; the friendship Madam de Luxembourg showed me in her\ncondescensions to Theresa affected me much more than if they had been\nmade immediately to myself.\n\nThings remained in this state for a considerable time; but at length\nMadam de Luxembourg carried her goodness so far as to have a desire to\ntake one of my children from the hospital. She knew I had put a\ncipher into the swaddling clothes of the eldest; she asked me for the\ncounterpart of the cipher, and I gave it to her. In this research she\nemployed La Roche, her valet de chambre and confidential servant, who\nmade vain inquiries, although after only about twelve or fourteen years,\nhad the registers of the foundling hospital been in order, or the search\nproperly made, the original cipher ought to have been found. However\nthis may be, I was less sorry for his want of success than I should have\nbeen had I from time to time continued to see the child from its birth\nuntil that moment. If by the aid of the indications given, another child\nhad been presented as my own, the doubt of its being so in fact, and\nthe fear of having one thus substituted for it, would have contracted\nmy affections, and I should not have tasted of the charm of the real\nsentiment of nature. This during infancy stands in need of being\nsupported by habit. The long absence of a child whom the father has\nseen but for an instant, weakens, and at length annihilates paternal\nsentiment, and parents will never love a child sent to nurse, like that\nwhich is brought up under their eyes. This reflection may extenuate my\nfaults in their effects, but it must aggravate them in their source.\n\nIt may not perhaps be useless to remark that by the means of Theresa,\nthe same La Roche became acquainted with Madam le Vasseur, whom Grimm\nstill kept at Deuil, near La Chevrette, and not far from Montmorency.\n\nAfter my departure it was by means of La Roche that I continued to send\nthis woman the money I had constantly sent her at stated times, and I\nam of opinion he often carried her presents from Madam de Luxembourg;\ntherefore she certainly was not to be pitied, although she constantly\ncomplained. With respect to Grimm, as I am not fond of speaking of\npersons whom I ought to hate, I never mentioned his name to Madam de\nLuxembourg, except when I could not avoid it; but she frequently made\nhim the subject of conversation, without telling me what she thought\nof the man, or letting me discover whether or not he was of her\nacquaintance. Reserve with people I love and who are open with me being\ncontrary to my nature, especially in things relating to themselves, I\nhave since that time frequently thought of that of Madam de Luxembourg;\nbut never, except when other events rendered the recollection natural.\n\nHaving waited a long time without hearing speak of Emilius, after I had\ngiven it to Madam de Luxembourg, I at last heard the agreement was made\nat Paris, with the bookseller Duchesne, and by him with Neaulme, of\nAmsterdam. Madam de Luxembourg sent me the original and the duplicate\nof my agreement with Duchesne, that I might sign them. I discovered\nthe writing to be by the same hand as that of the letters of M. de\nMalesherbes, which he himself did not write. The certainty that my\nagreement was made by the consent, and under the eye of that magistrate,\nmade me sign without hesitation. Duchesne gave me for the manuscript six\nthousand livres (two hundred and fifty pounds), half in specie, and one\nor two hundred copies. After having signed the two parts, I sent them\nboth to Madam de Luxembourg, according to her desire; she gave one to\nDuchesne, and instead of returning the other kept it herself, so that I\nnever saw it afterwards.\n\nMy acquaintance with M. and Madam de Luxembourg, though it diverted me a\nlittle from my plan of retirement, did not make me entirely renounce it.\nEven at the time I was most in favor with Madam de Luxembourg, I always\nfelt that nothing but my sincere attachment to the marechal and herself\ncould render to me supportable the people with whom they were connected,\nand all the difficulty I had was in conciliating this attachment with a\nmanner of life more agreeable to my inclination, and less contrary to\nmy health, which constraint and late suppers continually deranged,\nnotwithstanding all the care taken to prevent it; for in this, as in\neverything else, attention was carried as far as possible; thus, for\ninstance, every evening after supper the marechal, who went early to\nbed, never failed, notwithstanding everything that could be said to the\ncontrary, to make me withdraw at the same time. It was not until some\nlittle time before my catastrophe that, for what reason I know not,\nhe ceased to pay me that attention. Before I perceived the coolness of\nMadam de Luxembourg, I was desirous, that I might not expose myself to\nit, to execute my old project; but not having the means to that effect,\nI was obliged to wait for the conclusion of the agreement for 'Emilius',\nand in the time I finished the 'Social Contract', and sent it to Rey,\nfixing the price of the manuscript at a thousand livres (forty-one\npounds), which he paid me.\n\nI ought not perhaps to omit a trifling circumstance relative to this\nmanuscript. I gave it, well sealed up, to Du Voisin, a minister in the\npays de Vaud and chaplain at the Hotel de Hollande, who sometimes came\nto see me, and took upon himself to send the packet to Rey, with whom he\nwas connected. The manuscript, written in a small letter, was but very\ntrifling, and did not fill his pocket. Yet, in passing the barriere, the\npacket fell, I know not by what means, into the hands of the Commis, who\nopened and examined it, and afterwards returned it to him, when he had\nreclaimed it in the name of the ambassador. This gave him an opportunity\nof reading it himself, which he ingeniously wrote me he had done,\nspeaking highly of the work, without suffering a word of criticism or\ncensure to escape him; undoubtedly reserving to himself to become the\navenger of Christianity as soon as the work should appear. He resealed\nthe packet and sent it to Rey. Such is the substance of his narrative in\nthe letter in which he gave an account of the affair, and is all I ever\nknew of the matter.\n\nBesides these two books and my dictionary of music, at which I still did\nsomething as opportunity offered, I had other works of less importance\nready to make their appearance, and which I proposed to publish either\nseparately or in my general collection, should I ever undertake it. The\nprincipal of these works, most of which are still in manuscript in the\nhands of De Peyrou, was an essay on the origin of Languages, which I\nhad read to M. de Malesherbes and the Chevalier de Lorenzy, who spoke\nfavorably of it. I expected all the productions together would produce\nme a net capital of from eight to ten thousand livres (three to four\nhundred pounds), which I intended to sink in annuities for my life and\nthat of Theresa; after which, our design, as I have already mentioned,\nwas to go and live together in the midst of some province, without\nfurther troubling the public about me, or myself with any other project\nthan that of peacefully ending my days and still continuing to do in\nmy neighborhood all the good in my power, and to write at leisure the\nmemoirs which I intended.\n\nSuch was my intention, and the execution of it was facilitated by an act\nof generosity in Rey, upon which I cannot be silent. This bookseller,\nof whom so many unfavorable things were told me in Paris, is,\nnotwithstanding, the only one with whom I have always had reason to be\nsatisfied. It is true, we frequently disagreed as to the execution of\nmy works. He was heedless and I was choleric; but in matters of interest\nwhich related to them, although I never made with him an agreement in\nform, I always found in him great exactness and probity. He is also\nthe only person of his profession who frankly confessed to me he gained\nlargely by my means; and he frequently, when he offered me a part of his\nfortune, told me I was the author of it all. Not finding the means of\nexercising his gratitude immediately upon myself, he wished at least\nto give me proofs of it in the person of my governante, upon whom he\nsettled an annuity of three hundred livres (twelve pounds), expressing\nin the deed that it was an acknowledgment for the advantages I had\nprocured him. This he did between himself and me, without ostentation,\npretension, or noise, and had not I spoken of it to anybody, not a\nsingle person would ever have known anything of the matter. I was so\npleased with this action that I became attached to Rey, and conceived\nfor him a real friendship. Sometime afterwards he desired I would become\ngodfather to one of his children; I consented, and a part of my regret\nin the situation to which I am reduced, is my being deprived of the\nmeans of rendering in future my attachment of my goddaughter useful\nto her and her parents. Why am I, who am so sensible of the modest\ngenerosity of this bookseller, so little so of the noisy eagerness of\nmany persons of the highest rank, who pompously fill the world with\naccounts of the services they say they wished to render me, but the\ngood effects of which I never felt? Is it their fault or mine? Are\nthey nothing more than vain; is my insensibility purely ingratitude?\nIntelligent reader, weigh and determine; for my part I say no more.\n\nThis pension was a great resource to Theresa and considerable\nalleviation to me, although I was far from receiving from it a direct\nadvantage, any more than from the presents that were made her.\n\nShe herself has always disposed of everything. When I kept her money I\ngave her a faithful account of it, without ever applying any part of\nthe deposit to our common expenses, not even when she was richer than\nmyself. \"What is mine is ours,\" said I to her; \"and what is thine is\nthine.\" I never departed from this maxim. They who have had the baseness\nto accuse me of receiving by her hands that which I refused to take with\nmine, undoubtedly judged of my heart by their own, and knew but little\nof me. I would willingly eat with her the bread she should have earned,\nbut not that she should have had given her. For a proof of this I appeal\nto herself, both now and hereafter, when, according to the course of\nnature, she shall have survived me. Unfortunately, she understands\nbut little of economy in any respect, and is, besides, careless and\nextravagant, not from vanity nor gluttony, but solely from negligence.\nNo creature is perfect here below, and since the excellent qualities\nmust be accompanied with some defects; I prefer these to vices; although\nher defects are more prejudicial to us both. The efforts I have made, as\nformerly I did for mamma, to accumulate something in advance which might\nsome day be to her a never-failing resource, are not to be conceived;\nbut my cares were always ineffectual.\n\nNeither of these women ever called themselves to an account, and,\nnotwithstanding all my efforts, everything I acquired was dissipated\nas fast as it came. Notwithstanding the great simplicity of Theresa's\ndress, the pension from Rey has never been sufficient to buy her\nclothes, and I have every year been under the necessity of adding\nsomething to it for that purpose. We are neither of us born to be rich,\nand this I certainly do not reckon amongst our misfortunes.\n\nThe 'Social Contract' was soon printed. This was not the case with\n'Emilius', for the publication of which I waited to go into the\nretirement I meditated. Duchesne, from time to time, sent me specimens\nof impression to choose from; when I had made my choice, instead of\nbeginning he sent me others. When, at length, we were fully determined\non the size and letter, and several sheets were already printed off, on\nsome trifling alteration I made in a proof, he began the whole again;\nand at the end of six months we were in less forwardness than on the\nfirst day. During all these experiments I clearly perceived the work was\nprinting in France as well as in Holland, and that two editions of it\nwere preparing at the same time. What could I do? The manuscript was no\nlonger mine. Far from having anything to do with the edition in France,\nI was always against it; but since, at length, this was preparing in\nspite of all opposition, and was to serve as a model to the other, it\nwas necessary I should cast my eyes over it and examine the proofs, that\nmy work might not be mutilated. It was, besides, printed so much by the\nconsent of the magistrate, that it was he who, in some measure, directed\nthe undertaking; he likewise wrote to me frequently, and once came to\nsee me and converse on the subject upon an occasion of which I am going\nto speak.\n\nWhilst Duchesne crept like a snail, Neaulme, whom he withheld, scarcely\nmoved at all. The sheets were not regularly sent him as they were\nprinted. He thought there was some trick in the manoeuvre of Duchesne,\nthat is, of Guy who acted for him; and perceiving the terms of the\nagreement to be departed from, he wrote me letter after letter full of\ncomplaints, and it was less possible for me to remove the subject of\nthem than that of those I myself had to make. His friend Guerin, who at\nthat time came frequently to see my house, never ceased speaking to me\nabout the work, but always with the greatest reserve. He knew and he did\nnot know that it was printing in France, and that the magistrate had a\nhand in it. In expressing his concern for my embarrassment, he seemed to\naccuse me of imprudence without ever saying in what this consisted; he\nincessantly equivocated, and seemed to speak for no other purpose than\nto hear what I had to say. I thought myself so secure that I laughed\nat his mystery and circumspection as at a habit he had contracted with\nministers and magistrates whose offices he much frequented. Certain of\nhaving conformed to every rule with the work, and strongly persuaded\nthat I had not only the consent and protection of the magistrate, but\nthat the book merited and had obtained the favor of the minister, I\ncongratulated myself upon my courage in doing good, and laughed at my\npusillanimous friends who seemed uneasy on my account. Duclos was one of\nthese, and I confess my confidence in his understanding and uprightness\nmight have alarmed me, had I had less in the utility of the work and in\nthe probity of those by whom it was patronized. He came from the house\nof M. Baille to see me whilst 'Emilius' was in the press; he spoke to\nme concerning it; I read to him the 'Profession of Faith of the Savoyard\nVicar', to which he listened attentively and, as it seemed to me with\npleasure. When I had finished he said: \"What! citizen, this is a part\nof a work now printing in Paris?\"--\"Yes,\" answered I, and it ought to be\nprinted at the Louvre by order of the king.\"--I confess it,\" replied\nhe; \"but pray do not mention to anybody your having read to me this\nfragment.\"\n\nThis striking manner of expressing himself surprised without alarming\nme. I knew Duclos was intimate with M. de Malesherbes, and I could not\nconceive how it was possible he should think so differently from him\nupon the same subject.\n\nI had lived at Montmorency for the last four years without ever having\nhad there one day of good health. Although the air is excellent,\nthe water is bad, and this may possibly be one of the causes which\ncontributed to increase my habitual complaints. Towards the end of\nthe autumn of 1767, I fell quite ill, and passed the whole winter in\nsuffering almost without intermission. The physical ill, augmented by\na thousand inquietudes, rendered these terrible. For some time past my\nmind had been disturbed by melancholy forebodings without my knowing\nto what these directly tended. I received anonymous letters of an\nextraordinary nature, and others, that were signed, much of the same\nimport. I received one from a counsellor of the parliament of Paris,\nwho, dissatisfied with the present constitution of things, and\nforeseeing nothing but disagreeable events, consulted me upon the choice\nof an asylum at Geneva or in Switzerland, to retire to with his family.\nAnother was brought me from M. de -----, 'president a mortier' of the\nparliament of -----, who proposed to me to draw up for this Parliament,\nwhich was then at variance with the court, memoirs and remonstrances,\nand offering to furnish me with all the documents and materials\nnecessary for that purpose.\n\nWhen I suffer I am subject to ill humor. This was the case when I\nreceived these letters, and my answers to them, in which I flatly\nrefused everything that was asked of me, bore strong marks of the effect\nthey had had upon my mind. I do not however reproach myself with this\nrefusal, as the letters might be so many snares laid by my enemies, and\nwhat was required of me was contrary to the principles from which I\nwas less willing than ever to swerve. But having it within my power to\nrefuse with politeness I did it with rudeness, and in this consists my\nerror.\n\n     [I knew, for instance, the President de ----- to be connected with\n     the Encyclopedists and the Holbachiens.]\n\nThe two letters of which I have just spoken will be found amongst my\npapers. The letter from the chancellor did not absolutely surprise me,\nbecause I agreed with him in opinion, and with many others, that the\ndeclining constitution of France threatened an approaching destruction.\nThe disasters of an unsuccessful war, all of which proceeded from a\nfault in the government; the incredible confusion in the finances; the\nperpetual drawings upon the treasury by the administration, which\nwas then divided between two or three ministers, amongst whom reigned\nnothing but discord, and who, to counteract the operations of each\nother, let the kingdom go to ruin; the discontent of the people, and of\nevery other rank of subjects; the obstinacy of a woman who, constantly\nsacrificing her judgment, if she indeed possessed any, to her\ninclinations, kept from public employment persons capable of discharging\nthe duties of them, to place in them such as pleased her best;\neverything occurred in justifying the foresight of the counsellor, that\nof the public, and my own. This, made me several times consider whether\nor not I myself should seek an asylum out of the kingdom before it\nwas torn by the dissensions by which it seemed to be threatened; but\nrelieved from my fears by my insignificance, and the peacefulness of\nmy disposition, I thought that in the state of solitude in which I was\ndetermined to live, no public commotion could reach me. I was sorry\nonly that, in this state of things, M. de Luxembourg should accept\ncommissions which tended to injure him in the opinion of the persons of\nthe place of which he was governor. I could have wished he had prepared\nhimself a retreat there, in case the great machine had fallen in pieces,\nwhich seemed much to be apprehended; and still appears to me beyond\na doubt, that if the reins of government had not fallen into a single\nhand, the French monarchy would now be at the last gasp.\n\nWhilst my situation became worse the printing of 'Emilius' went on more\nslowly, and was at length suspended without my being able to learn the\nreason why; Guy did not deign to answer my letter of inquiry, and I\ncould obtain no information from any person of what was going forward,\nM. de Malesherbes being then in the country. A misfortune never makes\nme uneasy provided I know in what it consists; but it is my nature to\nbe afraid of darkness, I tremble at the appearance of it; mystery always\ngives me inquietude, it is too opposite to my natural disposition, in\nwhich there is an openness bordering on imprudence. The sight of the\nmost hideous monster would, I am of opinion, alarm me but little; but if\nby night I were to see a figure in a white sheet I should be afraid of\nit. My imagination, wrought upon by this long silence, was now employed\nin creating phantoms. I tormented myself the more in endeavoring to\ndiscover the impediment to the printing of my last and best production,\nas I had the publication of it much at heart; and as I always carried\neverything to an extreme, I imagined that I perceived in the suspension\nthe suppression of the work. Yet, being unable to discover either the\ncause or manner of it, I remained in the most cruel state of suspense.\nI wrote letter after letter to Guy, to M. de Malesherbes and to Madam de\nLuxembourg, and not receiving answers, at least when I expected them,\nmy head became so affected that I was not far from a delirium. I\nunfortunately heard that Father Griffet, a Jesuit, had spoken of\n'Emilius' and repeated from it some passages. My imagination instantly\nunveiled to me the mystery of iniquity; I saw the whole progress of it\nas clearly as if it had been revealed to me. I figured to myself that\nthe Jesuits, furious on account of the contemptuous manner in which I\nhad spoken of colleges, were in possession of my work; that it was they\nwho had delayed the publication; that, informed by their friend Guerin\nof my situation, and foreseeing my approaching dissolution, of which I\nmyself had no manner of doubt, they wished to delay the appearance\nof the work until after that event, with an intention to curtail\nand mutilate it, and in favor of their own views, to attribute to me\nsentiments not my own. The number of facts and circumstances which\noccurred to my mind, in confirmation of this silly proposition, and gave\nit an appearance of truth supported by evidence and demonstration,\nis astonishing. I knew Guerin to be entirely in the interest of the\nJesuits. I attributed to them all the friendly advances he had made me;\nI was persuaded he had, by their entreaties, pressed me to engage with\nNeaulme, who had given them the first sheets of my work; that they\nhad afterwards found means to stop the printing of it by Duchesne, and\nperhaps to get possession of the manuscript to make such alterations in\nit as they should think proper, that after my death they might\npublish it disguised in their own manner. I had always perceived,\nnotwithstanding the wheedling of Father Berthier, that the Jesuits did\nnot like me, not only as an Encyclopedist, but because all my principles\nwere more in opposition to their maxims and influence than the\nincredulity of my colleagues, since atheistical and devout fanaticism,\napproaching each other by their common enmity to toleration, may become\nunited; a proof of which is seen in China, and in the cabal against\nmyself; whereas religion, both reasonable and moral, taking away all\npower over the conscience, deprives those who assume that power of every\nresource. I knew the chancellor was a great friend to the Jesuits, and\nI had my fears less the son, intimidated by the father, should find\nhimself under the necessity of abandoning the work he had protected. I\nbesides imagined that I perceived this to be the case in the chicanery\nemployed against me relative to the first two volumes, in which\nalterations were required for reasons of which I could not feel the\nforce; whilst the other two volumes were known to contain things of such\na nature as, had the censor objected to them in the manner he did to\nthe passages he thought exceptionable in the others, would have required\ntheir being entirely written over again. I also understood, and M. de\nMalesherbes himself told me of it, that the Abbe de Grave, whom he had\ncharged with the inspection of this edition, was another partisan of the\nJesuits. I saw nothing but Jesuits, without considering that, upon the\npoint of being suppressed, and wholly taken up in making their defence,\nthey had something which interested them much more than the cavillings\nrelative to a work in which they were not in question. I am wrong,\nhowever, in saying this did not occur to me; for I really thought of it,\nand M. de Malesherbes took care to make the observation to me the\nmoment he heard of my extravagant suspicions. But by another of those\nabsurdities of a man, who, from the bosom of obscurity, will absolutely\njudge of the secret of great affairs, with which he is totally\nunacquainted. I never could bring myself to believe the Jesuits were\nin danger, and I considered the rumor of their suppression as an\nartful manoeuvre of their own to deceive their adversaries. Their past\nsuccesses, which had been uninterrupted, gave me so terrible an idea\nof the power, that I already was grieved at the overthrow of the\nparliament. I knew M. de Choiseul had prosecuted his studies under the\nJesuits, that Madam de Pompadour was not upon bad terms with them, and\nthat their league with favorites and ministers had constantly appeared\nadvantageous to their order against their common enemies. The court\nseemed to remain neutral, and persuaded as I was that should the society\nreceive a severe check it would not come from the parliament, I saw in\nthe inaction of government the ground of their confidence and the omen\nof their triumph. In fine, perceiving in the rumors of the day nothing\nmore than art and dissimulation on their part, and thinking they, in\ntheir state of security, had time to watch over all their interests,\nI had had not the least doubt of their shortly crushing Jansenism, the\nparliament and the Encyclopedists, with every other association which\nshould not submit to their yoke; and that if they ever suffered my work\nto appear, this would not happen until it should be so transformed as\nto favor their pretensions, and thus make use of my name the better to\ndeceive my readers.\n\nI felt my health and strength decline; and such was the horror with\nwhich my mind was filled, at the idea of dishonor to my memory in the\nwork most worthy of myself, that I am surprised so many extravagant\nideas did not occasion a speedy end to my existence. I never was so much\nafraid of death as at this time, and had I died with the apprehensions\nI then had upon my mind, I should have died in despair. At present,\nalthough I perceive no obstacle to the execution of the blackest and\nmost dreadful conspiracy ever formed against the memory of a man,\nI shall die much more in peace, certain of leaving in my writings a\ntestimony in my favor, and one which, sooner or later, will triumph over\nthe calumnies of mankind.\n\nM. de Malesherbes, who discovered the agitation of my mind, and to whom\nI acknowledged it, used such endeavors to restore me to tranquility as\nproved his excessive goodness of heart. Madam de Luxembourg aided him in\nhis good work, and several times went to Duchesne to know in what state\nthe edition was. At length the impression was again begun, and the\nprogress of it became more rapid than ever, without my knowing for what\nreason it had been suspended. M. de Malesherbes took the trouble to\ncome to Montmorency to calm my mind; in this he succeeded, and the full\nconfidence I had in his uprightness having overcome the derangement\nof my poor head, gave efficacy to the endeavors he made to restore it.\nAfter what he had seen of my anguish and delirium, it was natural\nhe should think I was to be pitied; and he really commiserated my\nsituation. The expressions, incessantly repeated, of the philosophical\ncabal by which he was surrounded, occurred to his memory. When I went to\nlive at the Hermitage, they, as I have already remarked, said I should\nnot remain there long. When they saw I persevered, they charged me with\nobstinacy and pride, proceeding from a want of courage to retract, and\ninsisted that my life was there a burden to me; in short, that I was\nvery wretched. M. de Malesherbes believed this really to be the case,\nand wrote to me upon the subject. This error in a man for whom I had\nso much esteem gave me some pain, and I wrote to him four letters\nsuccessively, in which I stated the real motives of my conduct, and made\nhim fully acquainted with my taste, inclination and character, and\nwith the most interior sentiments of my heart. These letters, written\nhastily, almost without taking pen from paper, and which I neither\ncopied, corrected, nor even read, are perhaps the only things I ever\nwrote with facility, which, in the midst of my sufferings, was, I think,\nastonishing. I sighed, as I felt myself declining, at the thought of\nleaving in the midst of honest men an opinion of me so far from truth;\nand by the sketch hastily given in my four letters, I endeavored, in\nsome measure, to substitute them to the memoirs I had proposed to write.\nThey are expressive of my grief to M. de Malesherbes, who showed them\nin Paris, and are, besides, a kind of summary of what I here give in\ndetail, and, on this account, merit preservation. The copy I begged of\nthem some years afterwards will be found amongst my papers.\n\nThe only thing which continued to give me pain, in the idea of my\napproaching dissolution, was my not having a man of letters for a\nfriend, to whom I could confide my papers, that after my death he might\ntake a proper choice of such as were worthy of publication.\n\nAfter my journey to Geneva, I conceived a friendship for Moultou; this\nyoung man pleased me, and I could have wished him to receive my last\nbreath. I expressed to him this desire, and am of opinion he would\nreadily have complied with it, had not his affairs prevented him from so\ndoing. Deprived of this consolation, I still wished to give him a mark\nof my confidence by sending him the 'Profession of Faith of the Savoyard\nVicar' before it was published. He was pleased with the work, but did\nnot in his answer seem so fully to expect from it the effect of which I\nhad but little doubt. He wished to receive from me some fragment which\nI had not given to anybody else. I sent him the funeral oration of the\nlate Duke of Orleans; this I had written for the Abbe Darty, who had not\npronounced it, because, contrary to his expectation, another person was\nappointed to perform that ceremony.\n\nThe printing of Emilius, after having been again taken in hand, was\ncontinued and completed without much difficulty; and I remarked this\nsingularity, that after the curtailings so much insisted upon in the\nfirst two volumes, the last two were passed over without an objection,\nand their contents did not delay the publication for a moment. I had,\nhowever, some uneasiness which I must not pass over in silence. After\nhaving been afraid of the Jesuits, I begun to fear the Jansenists and\nphilosophers. An enemy to party, faction and cabal, I never heard the\nleast good of parties concerned in them. The gossips had quitted their\nold abode and taken up their residence by the side of me, so that\nin their chamber, everything said in mine, and upon the terrace, was\ndistinctly heard; and from their garden it would have been easy to scale\nthe low wall by which it was separated from my alcove. This was become\nmy study; my table was covered with proofsheets of Emilius and the\nSocial Contract and stitching these sheets as they were sent to me, I\nhad all my volumes a long time before they were published. My negligence\nand the confidence I had in M. Mathas, in whose garden I was shut up,\nfrequently made me forget to lock the door at night, and in the morning\nI several times found it wide open; this, however, would not have given\nme the least inquietude had I not thought my papers seemed to have been\nderanged. After having several times made the same remark, I became more\ncareful, and locked the door. The lock was a bad one, and the key turned\nin it no more than half round. As I became more attentive, I found my\npapers in a much greater confusion than they were when I left everything\nopen. At length I missed one of my volumes without knowing what was\nbecome of it until the morning of the third day, when I again found it\nupon the table. I never suspected either M. Mathas or his nephew M. du\nMoulin, knowing myself to be beloved by both, and my confidence in them\nwas unbounded. That I had in the gossips began to diminish. Although\nthey were Jansenists, I knew them to have some connection with D'\nAlembert, and moreover they all three lodged in the same house. This\ngave me some uneasiness, and put me more upon my guard. I removed my\npapers from the alcove to my chamber, and dropped my acquaintance with\nthese people, having learned they had shown in several houses the first\nvolume of 'Emilius', which I had been imprudent enough to lend them.\nAlthough they continued until my departure to be my neighbors I never,\nafter my first suspicions, had the least communication with them. The\n'Social Contract' appeared a month or two before 'Emilius'. Rey, whom\nI had desired never secretly to introduce into France any of my books,\napplied to the magistrate for leave to send this book by Rouen, to which\nplace he sent his package by sea. He received no answer, and his bales,\nafter remaining at Rouen several months, were returned to him, but not\nuntil an attempt had been made to confiscate them; this, probably, would\nhave been done had not he made a great clamor. Several persons, whose\ncuriosity the work had excited, sent to Amsterdam for copies, which were\ncirculated without being much noticed. Maulion, who had heard of this,\nand had, I believe, seen the work, spoke to me on the subject with\nan air of mystery which surprised me, and would likewise have made\nme uneasy if, certain of having conformed to every rule, I had not by\nvirtue of my grand maxim, kept my mind calm. I moreover had no doubt but\nM. de Choiseul, already well disposed towards me, and sensible of the\neulogium of his administration, which my esteem for him had induced me\nto make in the work, would support me against the malevolence of Madam\nde Pompadour.\n\nI certainly had then as much reason as ever to hope for the goodness of\nM. de Luxembourg, and even for his assistance in case of need; for he\nnever at any time had given me more frequent and more pointed marks of\nhis friendship. At the journey of Easter, my melancholy state no longer\npermitting me to go to the castle, he never suffered a day to pass\nwithout coming to see me, and at length, perceiving my sufferings to\nbe incessant, he prevailed upon me to determine to see Friar Come. He\nimmediately sent for him, came with him, and had the courage, uncommon\nto a man of his rank, to remain with me during the operation which was\ncruel and tedious. Upon the first examination, Come thought he found a\ngreat stone, and told me so; at the second, he could not find it again.\nAfter having made a third attempt with so much care and circumspection\nthat I thought the time long, he declared there was no stone, but that\nthe prostate gland was schirrous and considerably thickened. He besides\nadded, that I had a great deal to suffer, and should live a long time.\nShould the second prediction be as fully accomplished as the first, my\nsufferings are far from being at an end.\n\nIt was thus I learned after having been so many years treated for\ndisorders which I never had, that my incurable disease, without being\nmortal, would last as long as myself. My imagination, repressed by this\ninformation, no longer presented to me in prospective a cruel death in\nthe agonies of the stone.\n\nDelivered from imaginary evils, more cruel to me than those which were\nreal, I more patiently suffered the latter. It is certain I have since\nsuffered less from my disorder than I had done before, and every time\nI recollect that I owe this alleviation to M. de Luxembourg, his memory\nbecomes more dear to me.\n\nRestored, as I may say, to life, and more than ever occupied with the\nplan according to which I was determined to pass the rest of my days,\nall the obstacle to the immediate execution of my design was the\npublication of 'Emilius'. I thought of Touraine where I had already been\nand which pleased me much, as well on account of the mildness of the\nclimate, as on that of the character of the inhabitants.\n\n                   'La terra molle lieta a dilettosa\n                    Simile a se l'habitator produce.'\n\nI had already spoken of my project to M. de Luxembourg, who endeavored\nto dissuade me from it; I mentioned it to him a second time as a thing\nresolved upon. He then offered me the castle of Merlon, fifteen leagues\nfrom Paris, as an asylum which might be agreeable to me, and where he\nand Madam de Luxembourg would have a real pleasure in seeing me settled.\nThe proposition made a pleasing impression on my mind. But the first\nthing necessary was to see the place, and we agreed upon a day when the\nmarechal was to send his valet de chambre with a carriage to take me\nto it. On the day appointed, I was much indisposed; the journey was\npostponed, and different circumstances prevented me from ever making it.\nI have since learned the estate of Merlou did not belong to the marechal\nbut to his lady, on which account I was the less sorry I had not gone to\nlive there.\n\n'Emilius' was at length given to the public, without my having heard\nfurther of retrenchments or difficulties. Previous to the publication,\nthe marechal asked me for all the letters M. de Malesherbes had written\nto me on the subject of the work. My great confidence in both, and the\nperfect security in which I felt myself, prevented me from reflecting\nupon this extraordinary and even alarming request. I returned all the\nletters excepting one or two which, from inattention, were left between\nthe leaves of a book. A little time before this, M. de Malesherbes told\nme he should withdraw the letters I had written to Duchesne during my\nalarm relative to the Jesuits, and, it must be confessed, these letters\ndid no great honor to my reason. But in my answer I assured him I would\nnot in anything pass for being better than I was, and that he might\nleave the letters where they were. I know not what he resolved upon.\n\nThe publication of this work was not succeeded by the applause which\nhad followed that of all my other writings. No work was ever more highly\nspoken of in private, nor had any literary production ever had less\npublic approbation. What was said and written to me upon the subject by\npersons most capable of judging, confirmed me in my opinion that it was\nthe best, as well as the most important of all the works I had produced.\nBut everything favorable was said with an air of the most extraordinary\nmystery, as if there had been a necessity of keeping it a secret. Madam\nde Boufflers, who wrote to me that the author of the work merited a\nstatue, and the homage of mankind, at the end of her letter desired it\nmight be returned to her. D'Alembert, who in his note said the work gave\nme a decided superiority, and ought to place me at the head of men of\nletters, did not sign what he wrote, although he had signed every note I\nhad before received from him. Duclos, a sure friend, a man of veracity,\nbut circumspect, although he had a good opinion of the work, avoided\nmentioning it in his letters to me. La Condomine fell upon the\nConfession of Faith, and wandered from the subject. Clairaut confined\nhimself to the same part; but he was not afraid of expressing to me\nthe emotion which the reading of it had caused in him, and in the most\ndirect terms wrote to me that it had warmed his old imagination: of\nall those to whom I had sent my book, he was the only person who spoke\nfreely what he thought of it.\n\nMathas, to whom I also had given a copy before the publication, lent\nit to M. de Blaire, counsellor in the parliament of Strasbourg. M.\nde Blaire had a country-house at St. Gratien, and Mathas, his old\nacquaintance, sometimes went to see him there. He made him read Emilius\nbefore it was published. When he returned it to him, M. de Blaire\nexpressed himself in the following terms, which were repeated to me the\nsame day: \"M. Mathas, this is a very fine work, but it will in a short\ntime be spoken of more than, for the author, might be wished.\" I laughed\nat the prediction, and saw in it nothing more than the importance of a\nman of the robe, who treats everything with an air of mystery. All the\nalarming observations repeated to me made no impression upon my mind,\nand, far from foreseeing the catastrophe so near at hand, certain of\nthe utility and excellence of my work, and that I had in every respect\nconformed to established rules; convinced, as I thought I was that I\nshould be supported by all the credit of M. de Luxembourg and the favor\nof the ministry, I was satisfied with myself for the resolution I had\ntaken to retire in the midst of my triumphs, and at my return to crush\nthose by whom I was envied.\n\nOne thing in the publication of the work alarmed me, less on account of\nmy safety than for the unburdening of my mind. At the Hermitage and at\nMontmorency I had seen with indignation the vexations which the jealous\ncare of the pleasures of princes causes to be exercised on wretched\npeasants, forced to suffer the havoc made by game in their fields,\nwithout daring to take any other measure to prevent this devastation\nthan that of making a noise, passing the night amongst the beans and\npeas, with drums, kettles and bells, to keep off the wild boars. As\nI had been a witness to the barbarous cruelty with which the Comte de\nCharolois treated these poor people, I had toward the end of Emilius\nexclaimed against it. This was another infraction of my maxims, which\nhas not remained unpunished. I was informed that the people of the\nPrince of Conti were but little less severe upon his estates; I trembled\nlest that prince, for whom I was penetrated with respect and gratitude,\nshould take to his own account what shocked humanity had made me say on\nthat of others, and feel himself offended. Yet, as my conscience fully\nacquitted me upon this article, I made myself easy, and by so doing\nacted wisely: at least, I have not heard that this great prince took\nnotice of the passage, which, besides, was written long before I had the\nhonor of being known to him.\n\nA few days either before or after the publication of my work, for I do\nnot exactly recollect the time, there appeared another work upon the\nsame subject, taken verbatim from my first volume, except a few stupid\nthings which were joined to the extract. The book bore the name of a\nGenevese, one Balexsert, and, according to the title-page, had gained\nthe premium in the Academy of Harlem. I easily imagined the academy and\nthe premium to be newly founded, the better to conceal the plagiarism\nfrom the eyes of the public; but I further perceived there was some\nprior intrigue which I could not unravel; either by the lending of my\nmanuscript, without which the theft could not have been committed, or\nfor the purpose of forging the story of the pretended premium, to which\nit was necessary to give some foundation. It was not until several years\nafterwards, that by a word which escaped D'Ivernois, I penetrated the\nmystery and discovered those by whom Balexsert had been brought forward.\n\nThe low murmurings which precede a storm began to be heard, and men of\npenetration clearly saw there was something gathering, relative to me\nand my book, which would shortly break over my head. For my part my\nstupidity was such, that, far from foreseeing my misfortune, I did\nnot suspect even the cause of it after I had felt its effect. It was\nartfully given out that while the Jesuits were treated with severity,\nno indulgence could be shown to books nor the authors of them in which\nreligion was attacked. I was reproached with having put my name to\nEmilius, as if I had not put it to all my other works of which nothing\nwas said. Government seemed to fear it should be obliged to take\nsome steps which circumstances rendered necessary on account of my\nimprudence. Rumors to this effect reached my ears, but gave me not much\nuneasiness: it never even came into my head, that there could be the\nleast thing in the whole affair which related to me personally, so\nperfectly irreproachable and well supported did I think myself; having\nbesides conformed to every ministerial regulation, I did not apprehend\nMadam de Luxembourg would leave me in difficulties for an error, which,\nif it existed, proceeded entirely from herself. But knowing the manner\nof proceeding in like cases, and that it was customary to punish\nbooksellers while authors were favored; I had some uneasiness on account\nof poor Duchesne, whom I saw exposed to danger, should M. de Malesherbes\nabandon him.\n\nMy tranquility still continued. Rumors increased and soon changed their\nnature. The public, and especially the parliament, seemed irritated by\nmy composure. In a few days the fermentation became terrible, and the\nobject of the menaces being changed, these were immediately addressed to\nme. The parliamentarians were heard to declare that burning books was of\nno effect, the authors also should be burned with them; not a word was\nsaid of the booksellers. The first time these expressions, more worthy\nof an inquisitor of Goa than a senator, were related to me, I had no\ndoubt of their coming from the Holbachiques with an intention to alarm\nme and drive me from France. I laughed at their puerile manoeuvre, and\nsaid they would, had they known the real state of things, have thought\nof some other means of inspiring me with fear; but the rumor at length\nbecame such that I perceived the matter was serious. M. and Madam de\nLuxembourg had this year come to Montmorency in the month of June,\nwhich, for their second journey, was more early than common. I heard\nbut little there of my new books, notwithstanding the noise they made in\nParis; neither the marechal nor his lady said a single word to me on\nthe subject. However, one morning, when M. de Luxembourg and I were\ntogether, he asked me if, in the 'Social Contract', I had spoken ill of\nM. de Choiseul. \"I?\" said I, retreating a few steps with surprise; \"no,\nI swear to you I have not; but on the contrary, I have made on him,\nand with a pen not given to praise, the finest eulogium a minister ever\nreceived.\" I then showed him the passage. \"And in Emilius?\" replied he.\n\"Not a word,\" said I; \"there is not in it a single word which relates\nto him.\"--\"Ah!\" said he, with more vivacity than was common to him, \"you\nshould have taken the same care in the other book, or have expressed\nyourself more clearly!\" \"I thought,\" replied I, \"what I wrote could\nnot be misconstrued; my esteem for him was such as to make me extremely\ncautious not to be equivocal.\"\n\nHe was again going to speak; I perceived him ready to open his mind: he\nstopped short and held his tongue. Wretched policy of a courtier, which\nin the best of hearts, subjugates friendship itself!\n\nThis conversation although short, explained to me my situation, at\nleast in certain respects, and gave me to understand that it was against\nmyself the anger of administration was raised. The unheard of fatality,\nwhich turned to my prejudice all the good I did and wrote, afflicted\nmy heart. Yet, feeling myself shielded in this affair by Madam de\nLuxembourg and M. de Malesherbes, I did not perceive in what my\npersecutors could deprive me of their protection. However, I, from that\nmoment was convinced equity and judgment were no longer in question,\nand that no pains would be spared in examining whether or not I\nwas culpable. The storm became still more menacing. Neaulme himself\nexpressed to me, in the excess of his babbling, how much he repented\nhaving had anything to do in the business, and his certainty of the fate\nwith which the book and the author were threatened. One thing, however,\nalleviated my fears: Madam de Luxembourg was so calm, satisfied and\ncheerful, that I concluded she must necessarily be certain of the\nsufficiency of her credit, especially if she did not seem to have the\nleast apprehension on my account; moreover, she said not to me a word\neither of consolation or apology, and saw the turn the affair took with\nas much unconcern as if she had nothing to do with it or anything else\nthat related to me. What surprised me most was her silence. I thought\nshe should have said something on the subject. Madam de Boufflers seemed\nrather uneasy. She appeared agitated, strained herself a good deal,\nassured me the Prince of Conti was taking great pains to ward off the\nblow about to be directed against my person, and which she attributed\nto the nature of present circumstances, in which it was of importance\nto the parliament not to leave the Jesuits an opening whereby they might\nbring an accusation against it as being indifferent with respect to\nreligion. She did not, however, seem to depend much either upon\nthe success of her own efforts or even those of the prince. Her\nconversations, more alarming than consolatory, all tended to persuade\nme to leave the kingdom and go to England, where she offered me\nan introduction to many of her friends, amongst others one to the\ncelebrated Hume, with whom she had long been upon a footing of intimate\nfriendship. Seeing me still unshaken, she had recourse to other\narguments more capable of disturbing my tranquillity. She intimated\nthat, in case I was arrested and interrogated, I should be under the\nnecessity of naming Madam de Luxembourg, and that her friendship for me\nrequired, on my part, such precautions as were necessary to prevent her\nbeing exposed. My answer was, that should what she seemed to apprehend\ncome to pass, she need not be alarmed; that I should do nothing by\nwhich the lady she mentioned might become a sufferer. She said such a\nresolution was more easily taken than adhered to, and in this she was\nright, especially with respect to me, determined as I always have been\nneither to prejudice myself nor lie before judges, whatever danger there\nmight be in speaking the truth.\n\nPerceiving this observation had made some impression upon my mind,\nwithout however inducing me to resolve upon evasion, she spoke of the\nBastile for a few weeks, as a means of placing me beyond the reach\nof the jurisdiction of the parliament, which has nothing to do with\nprisoners of state. I had no objection to this singular favor, provided\nit were not solicited in my name. As she never spoke of it a second\ntime, I afterwards thought her proposition was made to sound me, and\nthat the party did not think proper to have recourse to an expedient\nwhich would have put an end to everything.\n\nA few days afterwards the marechal received from the Cure de Dueil, the\nfriend of Grimm and Madam d'Epinay, a letter informing him, as from\ngood authority, that the parliament was to proceed against me with the\ngreatest severity, and that, on a day which he mentioned, an order\nwas to be given to arrest me. I imagined this was fabricated by the\nHolbachiques; I knew the parliament to be very attentive to forms,\nand that on this occasion, beginning by arresting me before it was\njuridically known I avowed myself the author of the book was violating\nthem all. I observed to Madam de Boufflers that none but persons accused\nof crimes which tend to endanger the public safety were, on a simple\ninformation, ordered to be arrested lest they should escape punishment.\nBut when government wish to punish a crime like mine, which merits honor\nand recompense, the proceedings are directed against the book, and the\nauthor is as much as possible left out of the question.\n\nUpon this she made some subtle distinction, which I have forgotten,\nto prove that ordering me to be arrested instead of summoning me to be\nheard was a matter of favor. The next day I received a letter from\nGuy, who informed me that having in the morning been with the\nattorney-general, he had seen in his office a rough draft of a\nrequisition against Emilius and the author. Guy, it is to be remembered,\nwas the partner of Duchesne, who had printed the work, and without\napprehensions on his own account, charitably gave this information to\nthe author. The credit I gave to him maybe judged of.\n\nIt was, no doubt, a very probable story, that a bookseller, admitted to\nan audience by the attorney-general, should read at ease scattered rough\ndrafts in the office of that magistrate! Madam de Boufflers and others\nconfirmed what he had said. By the absurdities which were incessantly\nrung in my ears, I was almost tempted to believe that everybody I heard\nspeak had lost their senses.\n\nClearly perceiving that there was some mystery, which no one thought\nproper to explain to me, I patiently awaited the event, depending\nupon my integrity and innocence, and thinking myself happy, let the\npersecution which awaited me be what it would, to be called to the honor\nof suffering in the cause of truth. Far from being afraid and concealing\nmyself, I went every day to the castle, and in the afternoon took my\nusual walk. On the eighth of June, the evening before the order was\nconcluded on, I walked in company with two professors of the oratory,\nFather Alamanni and Father Mandard. We carried to Champeaux a little\ncollation, which we ate with a keen appetite. We had forgotten to bring\nglasses, and supplied the want of them by stalks of rye, through which\nwe sucked up the wine from the bottle, piquing ourselves upon the choice\nof large tubes to vie with each other in pumping up what we drank. I\nnever was more cheerful in my life.\n\nI have related in what manner I lost my sleep during my youth. I had\nsince that time contracted a habit of reading every night in my bed,\nuntil I found my eyes begin to grow heavy. I then extinguished my\nwax taper, and endeavored to slumber for a few moments, which were in\ngeneral very short. The book I commonly read at night was the Bible,\nwhich, in this manner I read five or six times from the beginning to the\nend. This evening, finding myself less disposed to sleep than ordinary,\nI continued my reading beyond the usual hour, and read the whole book\nwhich finishes at the Levite of Ephraim, the Book of judges, if I\nmistake not, for since that time I have never once seen it. This history\naffected me exceedingly, and, in a kind of a dream, my imagination still\nran on it, when suddenly I was roused from my stupor by a noise and\nlight. Theresa carrying a candle, lighted M. la Roche, who perceiving me\nhastily raise myself up, said: \"Do not be alarmed; I come from Madam de\nLuxembourg, who, in her letter incloses you another from the Prince of\nConti.\" In fact, in the letter of Madam de Luxembourg I found another,\nwhich an express from the prince had brought her, stating that,\nnotwithstanding all his efforts, it was determined to proceed against me\nwith the utmost rigor. \"The fermentation,\" said he, \"is extreme; nothing\ncan ward off the blow; the court requires it, and the parliament will\nabsolutely proceed; at seven o'clock in the morning an order will be\nmade to arrest him, and persons will immediately be sent to execute it.\nI have obtained a promise that he shall not be pursued if he makes his\nescape; but if he persists in exposing himself to be taken this\nwill immediately happen.\" La Roche conjured me in behalf of Madam de\nLuxembourg to rise and go and speak to her. It was two o'clock and she\nhad just retired to bed. \"She expects you,\" added he, \"and will not go\nto sleep without speaking to you.\" I dressed myself in haste and ran to\nher.\n\nShe appeared to be agitated; this was for the first time. Her distress\naffected me. In this moment of surprise and in the night, I myself was\nnot free from emotion; but on seeing her I forgot my own situation, and\nthought of nothing but the melancholy part she would have to act should\nI suffer myself to be arrested; for feeling I had sufficient courage\nstrictly to adhere to truth, although I might be certain of its being\nprejudicial or even destructive to me, I was convinced I had not\npresence of mind, address, nor perhaps firmness enough, not to expose\nher should I be closely pressed. This determined me to sacrifice my\nreputation to her tranquillity, and to do for her that which nothing\ncould have prevailed upon me to do for myself. The moment I had come to\nthis resolution, I declared it, wishing not to diminish the magnitude\nof the sacrifice by giving her the least trouble to obtain it. I am sure\nshe could not mistake my motive, although she said not a word, which\nproved to me she was sensible of it. I was so much shocked at her\nindifference that I, for a moment, thought of retracting; but the\nmarechal came in, and Madam de Boufflers arrived from Paris a few\nmoments afterwards. They did what Madam de Luxembourg ought to have\ndone. I suffered myself to be flattered; I was ashamed to retract; and\nthe only thing that remained to be determined upon was the place of my\nretreat and the time of my departure. M. de Luxembourg proposed to me to\nremain incognito a few days at the castle, that we might deliberate at\nleisure, and take such measures as should seem most proper; to this\nI would not consent, no more than to go secretly to the temple. I was\ndetermined to set off the same day rather than remain concealed in any\nplace whatever.\n\nKnowing I had secret and powerful enemies in the kingdom, I thought,\nnotwithstanding my attachment to France, I ought to quit it, the better\nto insure my future tranquillity. My first intention was to retire to\nGeneva, but a moment of reflection was sufficient to dissuade me from\ncommitting that act of folly; I knew the ministry of France, more\npowerful at Geneva than at Paris, would not leave me more at peace\nin one of these cities than in the other, were a resolution taken to\ntorment me. I was also convinced the 'Discourse upon Inequality' had\nexcited against me in the council a hatred the more dangerous as the\ncouncil dared not make it manifest. I had also learned, that when the\nNew Eloisa appeared, the same council had immediately forbidden the sale\nof that work, upon the solicitation of Doctor Tronchin; but perceiving\nthe example not to be imitated, even in Paris, the members were ashamed\nof what they had done, and withdrew the prohibition.\n\nI had no doubt that, finding in the present case a more favorable\nopportunity, they would be very careful to take advantage of it.\nNotwithstanding exterior appearances, I knew there reigned against me\nin the heart of every Genevese a secret jealousy, which, in the first\nfavorable moment, would publicly show itself. Nevertheless, the love of\nmy country called me to it, and could I have flattered myself I should\nthere have lived in peace, I should not have hesitated; but neither\nhonor nor reason permitting me to take refuge as a fugitive in a place\nof which I was a citizen, I resolved to approach it only, and to wait in\nSwitzerland until something relative to me should be determined upon\nin Geneva. This state of uncertainty did not, as it will soon appear,\ncontinue long.\n\nMadam de Boufflers highly disapproved this resolution, and renewed her\nefforts to induce me to go to England, but all she could say was of no\neffect; I had never loved England nor the English, and the eloquence\nof Madam de Boufflers, far from conquering my repugnancy, seemed to\nincrease it without my knowing why. Determined to set off the same day,\nI was from the morning inaccessible to everybody, and La Roche, whom\nI sent to fetch my papers, would not tell Theresa whether or not I was\ngone. Since I had determined to write my own memoirs, I had collected\na great number of letters and other papers, so that he was obliged to\nreturn several times. A part of these papers, already selected, were\nlaid aside, and I employed the morning in sorting the rest, that I might\ntake with me such only as were necessary and destroy what remained. M.\nde Luxembourg was kind enough to assist me in this business, which we\ncould not finish before it was necessary I should set off, and I had not\ntime to burn a single paper. The marechal offered to take upon himself\nto sort what I should leave behind me, and throw into the fire every\nsheet that he found useless, without trusting to any person whomsoever,\nand to send me those of which he should make choice. I accepted his\noffer, very glad to be delivered from that care, that I might pass the\nfew hours I had to remain with persons so dear to me, from whom I was\ngoing to separate forever. He took the key of the chamber in which I\nhad left these papers; and, at my earnest solicitation, sent for my poor\naunt, who, not knowing what had become of me, or what was to become of\nherself, and in momentary expectation of the arrival of the officers\nof justice, without knowing how to act or what to answer them, was\nmiserable to an extreme. La Roche accompanied her to the castle in\nsilence; she thought I was already far from Montmorency; on perceiving\nme, she made the place resound with her cries, and threw herself into my\narms. Oh, friendship, affinity of sentiment, habit and intimacy. In this\npleasing yet cruel moment, the remembrance of so many days of happiness,\ntenderness and peace passed together augmented the grief of a first\nseparation after an union of seventeen years during which we had\nscarcely lost sight of each other for a single day.\n\n[Illustration: 0248\n\nThe marechal, who saw this embrace, could not suppress his tears. He\nwithdrew. Theresa determined never more to leave me out of her sight. I\nmade her feel the inconvenience of accompanying me at that moment, and\nthe necessity of her remaining to take care of my effects and collect my\nmoney. When an order is made to arrest a man, it is customary to seize\nhis papers and put a seal upon his effects, or to make an inventory of\nthem and appoint a guardian to whose care they are intrusted. It was\nnecessary Theresa should remain to observe what passed, and get\neverything settled in the most advantageous manner possible. I promised\nher she should shortly come to me; the marechal confirmed my promise;\nbut I did not choose to tell her to what place I was going, that, in\ncase of being interrogated by the persons who came to take me into\ncustody, she might with truth plead ignorance upon that head. In\nembracing her the moment before we separated I felt within me a most\nextraordinary emotion, and I said to her with an agitation which, alas!\nwas but too prophetic: \"My dear girl, you must arm yourself with\ncourage. You have partaken of my prosperity; it now remains to you,\nsince you have chosen it, to partake of my misery. Expect nothing in\nfuture but insult and calamity in following me. The destiny begun for me\nby this melancholy day will pursue me until my latest hour.\"\n\nI had now nothing to think of but my departure. The officers were to\narrive at ten o'clock. It was four in the afternoon when I set off, and\nthey were not yet come. It was determined I should take post. I had no\ncarriage, The marechal made me a present of a cabriolet, and lent me\nhorses and a postillion the first stage, where, in consequence of the\nmeasures he had taken, I had no difficulty in procuring others.\n\nAs I had not dined at table, nor made my appearance in the castle, the\nladies came to bid me adieu in the entresol where I had passed the day.\nMadam de Luxembourg embraced me several times with a melancholy air; but\nI did not in these embraces feel the pressing I had done in those she\nhad lavished upon me two or three years before. Madam de Boufflers\nalso embraced me, and said to me many civil things. An embrace which\nsurprised me more than all the rest had done was one from Madam de\nMirepoix, for she also was at the castle. Madam la Marechale de Mirepoix\nis a person extremely cold, decent, and reserved, and did not, at least\nas she appeared to me, seem quite exempt from the natural haughtiness of\nthe house of Lorraine. She had never shown me much attention. Whether,\nflattered by an honor I had not expected, I endeavored to enhance the\nvalue of it; or that there really was in the embrace a little of that\ncommiseration natural to generous hearts, I found in her manner and\nlook something energetical which penetrated me. I have since that time\nfrequently thought that, acquainted with my destiny, she could not\nrefrain from a momentary concern for my fate.\n\nThe marechal did not open his mouth; he was as pale as death. He would\nabsolutely accompany me to the carriage which waited at the watering\nplace. We crossed the garden without uttering a single word. I had a\nkey of the park with which I opened the gate, and instead of putting\nit again into my pocket, I held it out to the marechal without saying a\nword. He took it with a vivacity which surprised me, and which has since\nfrequently intruded itself upon my thoughts.\n\nI have not in my whole life had a more bitter moment than that of this\nseparation. Our embrace was long and silent: we both felt that this was\nour last adieu.\n\nBetween Barre and Montmorency I met, in a hired carriage, four men in\nblack, who saluted me smilingly. According to what Theresa has since\ntold me of the officers of justice, the hour of their arrival and their\nmanner of behavior, I have no doubt, that they were the persons I met,\nespecially as the order to arrest me, instead of being made out at seven\no'clock, as I had been told it would, had not been given till noon. I\nhad to go through Paris. A person in a cabriolet is not much concealed.\nI saw several persons in the streets who saluted me with an air of\nfamiliarity but I did not know one of them. The same evening I changed\nmy route to pass Villeroy. At Lyons the couriers were conducted to the\ncommandant. This might have been embarrassing to a man unwilling either\nto lie or change his name. I went with a letter from Madam de Luxembourg\nto beg M. de Villeroy would spare me this disagreeable ceremony. M. de\nVilleroy gave me a letter of which I made no use, because I did not go\nthrough Lyons. This letter still remains sealed up amongst my papers.\nThe duke pressed me to sleep at Villeroy, but I preferred returning\nto the great road, which I did, and travelled two more stages the same\nevening.\n\nMy carriage was inconvenient and uncomfortable, and I was too\nmuch indisposed to go far in a day. My appearance besides was not\nsufficiently distinguished for me to be well served, and in France\npost-horses feel the whip in proportion to the favorable opinion the\npostillion has of his temporary master. By paying the guides generously\nthought I should make up for my shabby appearance: this was still worse.\nThey took me for a worthless fellow who was carrying orders, and, for\nthe first time in my life, travelling post. From that moment I had\nnothing but worn-out hacks, and I became the sport of the postillions.\nI ended as I should have begun by being patient, holding my tongue, and\nsuffering myself to be driven as my conductors thought proper.\n\nI had sufficient matter of reflection to prevent me from being weary on\nthe road, employing myself in the recollection of that which had just\nhappened; but this was neither my turn of mind nor the inclination of my\nheart. The facility with which I forget past evils, however recent they\nmay be, is astonishing. The remembrance of them becomes feeble, and,\nsooner or later, effaced, in the inverse proportion to the greater\ndegree of fear with which the approach of them inspires me. My cruel\nimagination, incessantly tormented by the apprehension of evils still\nat a distance, diverts my attention, and prevents me from recollecting\nthose which are past. Caution is needless after the evil has happened,\nand it is time lost to give it a thought. I, in some measure, put a\nperiod to my misfortunes before they happen: the more I have suffered\nat their approach the greater is the facility with which I forget them;\nwhilst, on the contrary, incessantly recollecting my past happiness,\nI, if I may so speak, enjoy it a second time at pleasure. It is to this\nhappy disposition I am indebted for an exemption from that ill humor\nwhich ferments in a vindictive mind, by the continual remembrance of\ninjuries received, and torments it with all the evil it wishes to do its\nenemy. Naturally choleric, I have felt all the force of anger, which in\nthe first moments has sometimes been carried to fury, but a desire of\nvengeance never took root within me. I think too little of the offence\nto give myself much trouble about the offender. I think of the injury\nI have received from him on account of that he may do me a second time,\nbut were I certain he would never do me another the first would be\ninstantly forgotten. Pardon of offences is continually preached to us.\nI knew not whether or not my heart would be capable of overcoming its\nhatred, for it never yet felt that passion, and I give myself too little\nconcern about my enemies to have the merit of pardoning them. I will not\nsay to what a degree, in order to torment me, they torment themselves.\nI am at their mercy, they have unbounded power, and make of it what use\nthey please. There is but one thing in which I set them at defiance:\nwhich is in tormenting themselves about me, to force me to give myself\nthe least trouble about them.\n\nThe day after my departure I had so perfectly forgotten what had\npassed, the parliament, Madam de Pompadour, M. de Choiseul, Grimm,\nand D'Alembert, with their conspiracies, that had not it been for the\nnecessary precautions during the journey I should have thought no more\nof them. The remembrance of one thing which supplied the place of all\nthese was what I had read the evening before my departure. I recollect,\nalso, the pastorals of Gessner, which his translator Hubert had sent me\na little time before. These two ideas occurred to me so strongly, and\nwere connected in such a manner in my mind, that I was determined to\nendeavor to unite them by treating after the manner of Gessner, the\nsubject of the Levite of Ephraim. His pastoral and simple style appeared\nto me but little fitted to so horrid a subject, and it was not to be\npresumed the situation I was then in would furnish me with such ideas as\nwould enliven it. However, I attempted the thing, solely to amuse myself\nin my cabriolet, and without the least hope of success. I had no sooner\nbegun than I was astonished at the liveliness of my ideas, and the\nfacility with which I expressed them. In three days I composed the first\nthree cantos of the little poem I finished at Motiers, and I am\ncertain of not having done anything in my life in which there is a more\ninteresting mildness of manners, a greater brilliancy of coloring, more\nsimple delineations, greater exactness of proportion, or more antique\nsimplicity in general, notwithstanding the horror of the subject which\nin itself is abominable, so that besides every other merit I had still\nthat of a difficulty conquered. If the Levite of Ephraim be not the best\nof my works, it will ever be that most esteemed. I have never read, nor\nshall I ever read it again without feeling interiorly the applause of a\nheart without acrimony, which, far from being embittered by misfortunes,\nis susceptible of consolation in the midst of them, and finds within\nitself a resource by which they are counterbalanced. Assemble the great\nphilosophers, so superior in their books to adversity which they do not\nsuffer, place them in a situation similar to mine, and, in the first\nmoments of the indignation of their injured honor, give them a like\nwork to compose, and it will be seen in what manner they will acquit\nthemselves of the task.\n\nWhen I set off from Montmorency to go into Switzerland, I had resolved\nto stop at Yverdon, at the house of my old friend Roguin, who had\nseveral years before retired to that place, and had invited me to go and\nsee him. I was told Lyons was not the direct road, for which reason I\navoided going through it. But I was obliged to pass through Besancon,\na fortified town, and consequently subject to the same inconvenience.\nI took it into my head to turn about and to go to Salins, under the\npretense of going to see M. de Marian, the nephew of M. Dupin, who\nhad an employment at the salt-works, and formerly had given me many\ninvitations to his house. The expedition succeeded: M. de Marian was\nnot in the way, and, happily, not being obliged to stop, I continued my\njourney without being spoken to by anybody.\n\nThe moment I was within the territory of Berne, I ordered the postillion\nto stop; I got out of my carriage, prostrated myself, kissed the ground,\nand exclaimed in a transport of joy: \"Heaven, the protector of virtue be\npraised, I touch a land of liberty!\" Thus blind and unsuspecting in my\nhopes, have I ever been passionately attached to that which was to make\nme unhappy. The man thought me mad. I got into the carriage, and a\nfew hours afterwards I had the pure and lively satisfaction of feeling\nmyself pressed within the arms of the respectable Rougin. Ah! let me\nbreathe for a moment with this worthy host! It is necessary I should\ngain strength and courage before I proceed further. I shall soon find\nthat in my way which will give employment to them both. It is not\nwithout reason that I have been diffuse in the recital of all the\ncircumstances I have been able to recollect. Although they may seem\nuninteresting, yet, when once the thread of the conspiracy is got\nhold of, they may throw some light upon the progress of it; and, for\ninstance, without giving the first idea of the problem I am going to\npropose, afford some aid in solving it.\n\nSuppose that, for the execution of the conspiracy of which I was the\nobject, my absence was absolutely necessary, everything tending to that\neffect could not have happened otherwise than it did; but if without\nsuffering myself to be alarmed by the nocturnal embassy of Madam de\nLuxembourg, I had continued to hold out, and, instead of remaining at\nthe castle, had returned to my bed and quietly slept until morning,\nshould I have equally had an order of arrest made out against me? This\nis a great question upon which the solution of many others depends, and\nfor the examination of it, the hour of the comminatory decree of arrest,\nand that of the real decree may be remarked to advantage. A rude but\nsensible example of the importance of the least detail in the exposition\nof facts, of which the secret causes are sought for to discover them by\ninduction.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XII.\n\n\n|With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last\neight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible\nfor me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into\nwhich I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the\nhand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and\nmisfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of\nmy heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a\nman who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the\ninconceivable art of rendering the public, unknown to itself, or without\nits perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.\nTherefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the\ntreatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not\nbe able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor\nassign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes\nare all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am\ninterested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible\nfor me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different\ncauses are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst\nmy readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine\nthe mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully\nread over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each\nfact he shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain\nsuch information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to\nintrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of\nall. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I\nlose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which\nhis steps must be directed.\n\nDuring my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my\nfriend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,\nand her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed, I\nformerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle\nand his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,\ndelighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition. I\nconceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.\nThe latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man\nalready verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of\ngreat esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set\nupon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and\nI was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great\ndisproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made\nme join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was\nat length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,\nhis relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has\nmade him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has\nnot yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the\ncertainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the\nmost pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,\nbut in advising for the best.\n\nI did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at\nGeneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,\nand on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been\ngiven at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the\nrepublic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second\ndecree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I\nrefused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were\nwell confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every\nlaw, beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest\nconfusion in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears;\neverything remained quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace,\nit was unfavorable to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips\nand pedants like a scholar threatened with a flogging for not having\nsaid his catechism.\n\nThese two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised\nagainst me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the\ngazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French\nespecially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much\npique themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the\nunfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized\nthemselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while\neach seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me. I\nwas impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The continuator\nof the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of extravagance in\nattacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means proof of his\nown. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was afraid of\nincurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work of any\nkind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain the\ncause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe the\nworld was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the 'Perpetual\nPeace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the Savoyard\nVicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the author of\n'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have been had I\npublished the treatise of 'Esprit', or any similar work? And yet, in\nthe storm raised against the author of that book, the public, far from\njoining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by eulogium.\nLet his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with, and the\ntreatment of the two authors in the different countries of Europe, be\ncompared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to a man of\nsense be found, and I will ask no more.\n\nI found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield\nto the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous\nof keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,\nencouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The\ncolonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion\nhe had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied\nwith his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything\nnecessary for my little household establishment. The banneret Roguin,\none of the persons who showed me the most assiduous attention, did not\nleave me for an instant during the whole day. I was much flattered by\nhis civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The day on which I\nwas to take possession of my new habitation was already fixed, and I\nhad written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm was raised\nagainst me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but I have\nnever been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited against\nme, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer me to\nremain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was informed of\nthe new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the members\nof the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,\nand telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under\noppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their\nstates. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had\nrather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However\nthis may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the\nblow. Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to\nme, he gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its\narrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know\nwhere to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and\nforeseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its\nneighbor.\n\nMadam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited\nbut completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village\nof Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had\nonly a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more\nopportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally\nbe sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve\nas a pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that\nmoment to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me\nhesitate. The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly\nsubject, added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me\nwith an aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct,\nseemed to tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of\nhumanity. Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my\nalcove at Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a\ndistich, the last line of which was as follows:\n\n          Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.\n\n          [He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king.]\n\n\nThis verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,\nfrom mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the\nverse by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody\nwho came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de\nLorenzy had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had\nno doubt but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to\nthe prince. I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in\n'Emilius', where under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it\nwas clearly seen whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped\ncritics, because Madam de Boufflers had several times mentioned the\nsubject to me. I was, therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink\nin the registers of the King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his\nmajesty to have the principles I had dared to attribute to him, he,\nfor that reason, could not but be displeased with my writings and their\nauthor; for everybody knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants\nhave never failed to conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely\non reading my works, without being acquainted with my person.\n\nHowever, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far\nfrom thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves\nto the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong\nminds, such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of\nreigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this\noccasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I\nthought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance\nhis love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage\nof circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man\nwho had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.\nI therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I\nimagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean\nJacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below\nthe General of the Volsci?\n\nColonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing\nme at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam\nGirardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very\nconvenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with\na good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I ate with her\nuntil Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.\n\nPerceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a\nfugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to\nme and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I\nfelt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and\nthat what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would\nin future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my\nmisfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief\nwould add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she\nwould make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of\nfeeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,\nshe would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was\ndriven by fate.\n\nI must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of\nmy poor mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and\nwhatever pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to\nme, I will not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an\nerror, if an involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one.\nI had long perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no\nlonger for me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the\nmore sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the\nsame inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma,\nand this effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for\nperfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing\nwith any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,\nhowever reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my\nheart at ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had\nneglected duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse\nat length became so strong that it almost forced from me a public\nconfession of my fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage\nis so clear, that it is astonishing any person should, after reading\nit, have had the courage to reproach me with my error. My situation\nwas however still the same, or something worse, by the animosity of\nmy enemies, who sought to find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and\nunwilling to run the risk, I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to\na similar mortification. I had besides remarked that a connection with\nwomen was prejudicial to my health; this double reason made me form\nresolutions to which I had but sometimes badly kept, but for the last\nthree or four years I had more constantly adhered to them. It was\nin this interval I had remarked Theresa's coolness; she had the same\nattachment to me from duty, but not the least from love. Our intercourse\nnaturally became less agreeable, and I imagined that, certain of the\ncontinuation of my cares wherever she might be, she would choose to stay\nat Paris rather than to wander with me. Yet she had given such signs of\ngrief at our parting, had required of me such positive promises that we\nshould meet again, and, since my departure, had expressed to the Prince\nde Conti and M. de Luxembourg so strong a desire of it, that, far from\nhaving the courage to speak to her of separation, I scarcely had enough\nto think of it myself; and after having felt in my heart how impossible\nit was for me to do without her, all I thought of afterwards was to\nrecall her to me as soon as possible. I wrote to her to this effect, and\nshe came. It was scarcely two months since I had quitted her; but it was\nour first separation after a union of so many years. We had both of\nus felt it most cruelly. What emotion in our first embrace! O how\ndelightful are the tears of tenderness and joy! How does my heart drink\nthem up! Why have I not had reason to shed them more frequently?\n\nOn my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of\nScotland and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the\nstates of his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection.\nHe answered me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had\nexpected from him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet,\nlord of the manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his\nexcellency. The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous\nScotchman powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began\nbetween him and me the strong attachment, which on my part still\nremains the same, and would be so on his, had not the traitors, who\nhave deprived me of all the consolation of life, taken advantage of my\nabsence to deceive his old age and depreciate me in his esteem.\n\nGeorge Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous\nGeneral Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had\nquitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account\nof his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he\nsoon became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked\nin the ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time\nin Spain, the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length\nattached himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King\nof Prussia, who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His\nmajesty received a great return for this reception, in the services\nrendered him by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious,\nthe sincere friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy\nman, haughty and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of\nfriendship, but to this it was so obedient, that with very different\nmaxims he saw nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him.\nThe king charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to\nParis, to Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years,\nlet him retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful\nemployment of passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the\ninhabitants happy.\n\nThe people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to\ndistinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.\nWhen they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they\nmistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his\nlaconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,\nwishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to\nflatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the\nminister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having\nbeen unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the\nusurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the\npart, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur\nhad not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the\nprejudices with which he was inspired by others, and of all the\nimputations brought against him it was the most devoid of truth. My\nfirst sentiment on seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender\ncommiseration, on account of his extreme leanness of body, years having\nalready left him little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my\neyes to his animated, open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled\nwith confidence, which absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the\nvery short compliment I made him when I first came into his presence\nby speaking of something else, as if I had already been a week in his\nhouse. He did not bid us sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the\nmanor, remained standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine\nand piercing eye of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling\nmyself entirely at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side\nupon the sofa. By the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived\nthe liberty I took gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This\nis not a Neuchatelois.\n\nSingular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the\nheart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by\nhis attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to\nsee me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there\ntwo days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each\nother that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,\nwhere he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there\nat least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and\nthen returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my\nhost. The emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the\nHermitage to Eaubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more\npleasing than that with which I approached Columbier.\n\nWhat tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while\nthinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming\nphilosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he\ncalled me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea\nof the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the\nwant we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.\nHe would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and\nfor a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I\nlodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my\nease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my\nlife to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards\nspoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father! How\nis my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous\nwretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your\nfriendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,\nwho am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.\nMy lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is\nstill a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,\nand the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to\nbe deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular\nand foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people\nhe sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect\nit; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice\nand not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes\ninto his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,\ndesirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal\napplication to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave\nhim a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On\nreceiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission\nto the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a\nlanguage which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of\nmy lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered\nhim still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had\nproofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did\nit affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions,\nyet in his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his\nmanners in general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a\nmatter of no great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier\nbeing too long for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by\nsetting off after dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The\nlandlord of the house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit\nat Berlin a favor of importance to him, begged I would request his\nexcellency to ask it in his behalf. \"Most willingly,\" said I, and took\nhim with me. I left him in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter\nto his lordship, who returned me no answer. After passing with him the\nwhole morning, I saw as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz,\nwho was fatigued to death with waiting. Thinking the governor had\nforgotten what I had said to him, I again spoke of the business before\nwe sat down to table, but still received no answer. I thought this\nmanner of making me feel I was importunate rather severe, and, pitying\nthe poor man in waiting, held my tongue. On my return the next day I\nwas much surprised at the thanks he returned me for the good dinner\nhis excellency had given him after receiving his paper. Three weeks\nafterwards his lordship sent him the rescript he had solicited,\ndispatched by the minister, and signed by the king, and this without\nhaving said a word either to myself or Sandoz concerning the business,\nabout which I thought he did not wish to give himself the least concern.\n\nI could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my\nrecollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my\nlife, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of\nheart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was\nimpossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that\nin future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving\nthem a regular arrangement.\n\nI was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of\nmy asylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom,\nas it will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king\nnot only approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must\nrelate everything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, rather\nembarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute it\nproperly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money into\nprovisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish me\nwith wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added,\nand perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me a\nlittle house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would\nfix upon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the\nlast offer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without\naccepting either, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector,\nand became so sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I\ninterested myself as much in his glory as until then I had thought his\nsuccesses unjust. At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by\nan illumination in a very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with\nwhich I decorated the house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I\nhad the vindictive haughtiness to spend almost as much money as he\nhad wished to give me. The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the\nhighest pinnacle of military and political fame, he would think of\nacquiring that of another nature, by reanimating his states, encouraging\nin them commerce and agriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with\na new people, maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming\nthe arbitrator, after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a\nsituation to sheath his sword without danger, certain that no sovereign\nwould oblige him again to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was\nafraid he would profit but little by the advantages he had gained, and\nthat he would be great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon\nthe subject, and with a familiarity of a nature to please men of his\ncharacter, conveying to him the sacred voice of truth, which but few\nkings are worthy to hear. The liberty I took was a secret between him\nand myself. I did not communicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I\nsent my letter to the king sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch\nwithout asking what it contained. His majesty returned me no answer\nand the marshal going soon after to Berlin, the king told him he had\nreceived from me a scolding. By this I understood my letter had been\nill received, and the frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the\nrusticity of a pedant. In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps\nI did not say what was necessary, nor in the manner proper to the\noccasion. All I can answer for is the sentiment which induced me to take\nup the pen.\n\nShortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possible\nassurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took the\nArmenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it. I\nhad formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, where\nthe frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made me\nmore clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience\nof an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had at\nMontmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress,\ntroubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet,\nbefore I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion of M.\nde Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination. I\ntherefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of the\nstorm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it\nuntil I should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months\nafterwards that, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could\nproperly, and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers,\nespecially after having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me\nI might wear it even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the\nwaistcoat, caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this\ndress attended divine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to\nvisit his lordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner\nmade me no other compliment than that which consisted in saying \"Salaam\naleki,\" i.e., \"Peace be with you;\" the common Turkish salutation; after\nwhich nothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my\nnew dress.\n\nHaving quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading a\nquiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I\nhave never felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction;\nmy imagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up my\nattention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seated\nopposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue,\nis the only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking and\nrambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet and\neyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of\nthe weather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment\neach other, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live\nlike a savage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the\nwomen, I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat\ndown to work at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the\nbetter support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time\nwith my female neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very\namiable and not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois,\ndaughter of the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as\nto induce me to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from\nwhich she derived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and\nthe services she received from me on occasions of importance, so that\nnow a worthy and virtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to\nme for her reason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I\nreceived from her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy\nwinter, throughout the whole of which when my sufferings were most\ncruel, she came to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she\nmade very short for us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual\nopenness of heart. She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and\nthese names, which we still give to each other, will, I hope, continue\nto be as dear to her as they are to me. That my laces might be of some\nutility, I gave them to my young female friends at their marriages, upon\ncondition of their suckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had\none upon these terms, and well deserved it by her observance of them;\nIsabella herself also received another, which, by intention, she as\nfully merited. She has not been happy enough to be able to pursue her\ninclination. When I sent the laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of\nthem a letter; the first has been shown about in the world; the second\nhas not the same celebrity: friendship proceeds with less noise.\n\nAmongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will not\nenter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had a\nhouse upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was not\nanxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon bad\nterms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet,\nas he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under the\nnecessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimes\ndined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. du\nPerou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his name\nover in silence.\n\nM. du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whose\nsuccessor, M. le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left a\nwidow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of her\nsecond husband.\n\nDu Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother,\nhad been carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him.\nHe had acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself\nupon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance,\nyellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored this\nopinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered\nhis motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond of\ndisputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad.\nI was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker,\na man of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a\nfriend. He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the least\ncompliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had already\nformed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and still\nless of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said was\njust. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neither the\nelevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but he\nhad all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. I\ndid not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment from\nesteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totally\nforgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich.\n\nFor a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go to\nNeuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury.\nWhy did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness upon\nwhich I must not be silent.\n\nAlthough protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while\nI avoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of the\npublic, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happened\nin France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would have\nbeen afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by\nnot imitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers of\nthat city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of state\nagainst me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressed\nthemselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited my\nbook, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying,\nthat had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been suffered\nto do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupid\nhypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animated\nthe people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from setting\nforth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live\nat Motiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have\nmeasured me the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear\nprice. They would have it that I was obliged to them for the protection\nthe king granted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to\ndeprive me of it. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all\nthe injury they could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power,\nthey made a merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in\nsuffering me to stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their\nvain efforts, but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had\nthe weakness to be unwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded\nfor almost two years, as if it was not doing too much honor to such\nwretches, to pay attention to their proceedings, which, good or bad,\ncould not be imputed to them, because they never act but from a foreign\nimpulse. Besides, minds without sense or knowledge, whose objects of\nesteem are influence, power and money, and far from imagining even that\nsome respect is due to talents, and that it is dishonorable to injure\nand insult them.\n\nA certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had been\ndeprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, the\nhusband of Isabella: \"I am told this Rousseau has great wit,--bring him\nto me that I may see whether he has or not.\" The disapprobation of such\na man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls.\n\nAfter the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even\nat Neuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had,\nhowever, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he had\ngiven me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer is\nindiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after\nmy solemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestant\ncountry, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as in\nthe duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion\ninto which I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the\nother hand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing\nmyself to a refusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the\ntumult excited at Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe\n(the ministers), he would, without difficulty, administer to me the\nsacrament in his church. The time of communion approaching, I wrote\nto M. de Montmollin, the minister, to prove to him my desire of\ncommunicating, and declaring myself heartily united to the Protestant\nchurch; I also told him, in order to avoid disputing upon articles of\nfaith, that I would not hearken to any particular explanation of the\npoint of doctrine. After taking these steps I made myself easy, not\ndoubting but M. de Montmollin would refuse to admit me without the\npreliminary discussion to which I refused to consent, and that in this\nmanner everything would be at an end without any fault of mine. I was\ndeceived: when I least expected anything of the kind, M. de Montmollin\ncame to declare to me not only that he admitted me to the communion\nunder the condition which I had proposed, but that he and the elders\nthought themselves much honored by my being one of their flock. I\nnever in my whole life felt greater surprise or received from it more\nconsolation. Living always alone and unconnected appeared to me a\nmelancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so many\nproscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be\nable to say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to\nthe communion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears\nof tenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him\nto whose table I was drawing near.\n\nSometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam de\nBoufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means of\nD'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, the\nfirst this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency,\nshe rebuked me severely for having written to M. de Montmollin, and\nespecially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meant\nby her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declared\nmyself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollande\nwithout incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me\ndiverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct my\nconscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of the\npurity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and\nI answered her without anger, stating to her my reasons.\n\nCalumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benign\nauthors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly.\nFor my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without giving\nmyself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was a\ncensure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could the\nSorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to a\ncertainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was not\none. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of what\nconsequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singular\ncare, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this\npublication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne,\nby way of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the\ncase. But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all\nI could bring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have\nbeen better placed in a madhouse than they were in the college.\n\nI was more affected by another publication, because it came from a man\nfor whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though\nI pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by the\narchbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty I\nowed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;\nthe case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I had\nalways detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I never\ncombat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must be\ncertain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I\nhad no doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although\nthey were at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old\nprinciple of crushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow\nmy ancient maxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work\nwhich I think I did completely.\n\nI found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wanting\nto determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means\nof subsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my\nold projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my household\narrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale\nor squandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since my\ndeparture. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished.\nTwo or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without my\nhaving the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literary\npursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned.\nPersuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that the\npublic, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, all\nmy endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolution\nshould take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a\nresource from amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect\nI took up my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far\nadvanced as to leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My\nbooks which I had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my\npapers sent me by the same conveyance, furnished me with the means\nof beginning my memoirs to which I was determined to give my whole\nattention. I began by transcribing the letters into a book, by which\nmy memory might be guided in the order of fact and time. I had already\nselected those I intended to keep for this purpose, and for ten years\nthe series was not interrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I\nfound an interruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six\nmonths, from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put\ninto my selection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d'\nEpinay, Madam de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were\nmissing. What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon\nmy papers whilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was not\nconceivable, and I had seen M. de Luxembourg take the key of the chamber\nin which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, and\nall those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had been\nunder the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be put\nin order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked\nthem over for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those\nwhich ought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I\nperceived the vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly\nbeen taken away. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could not\ncomprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and at\nthe time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could\nnot be interesting to any person. They contained nothing more than\ncavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendship\nfrom M. de Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was then\nupon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? To\nwhat use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwards\nthat I suspected the nature of the theft.\n\nThe deficiency being no longer doubtful, I looked over my rough drafts\nto see whether or not it was the only one. I found several, which on\naccount of the badness of my memory, made me suppose others in the\nmultitude of my papers. Those I remarked were that of the 'Morale\nSensitive', and the extract of the adventures of Lord Edward. The last,\nI confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg. La Roche, her valet de\nchambre, had sent me the papers, and I could think of nobody but herself\nto whom this fragment could be of consequence; but what concern could\nthe other give her, any more than the rest of the letters missing, with\nwhich, even with evil intentions, nothing to my prejudice could be done,\nunless they were falsified? As for the marechal, with whose friendship\nfor me, and invariable integrity, I was perfectly acquainted, I never\ncould suspect him for a moment. The most reasonable supposition, after\nlong tormenting my mind in endeavoring to discover the author of the\ntheft, was that which imputed it to D'Alembert, who, having thrust\nhimself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, might have found means\nto turn over these papers, and take from amongst them such manuscripts\nand letters as he might have thought proper, either for the purpose of\nendeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or to appropriate\nthose he should find useful to his own private purposes. I imagined\nthat, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might have supposed\nit to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with which he\nwould have armed himself against me in a manner easy to be imagined.\nCertain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketch and\ndetermined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me\nbut little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand had\ncommitted upon me without having complained of these pilferings.\n\n     [I had found in his 'Elemens de  Musique' (Elements of Music)\n     several things taken from what I had written for the 'Encyclopedie',\n     and which were given to him several years before the publication of\n     his elements.  I know not what he may have had to do with a book\n     entitled 'Dictionaire des Beaux Arts' (Dictionary of the Fine Arts)\n     but I found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and\n     this long before the same articles were printed in the\n     Encyclopedie.]\n\nIn a very little time I thought no more of the trick that had been\nplayed me than if nothing had happened, and began to collect the\nmaterials I had left for the purpose of undertaking my projected\nconfessions.\n\nI had long thought the company of ministers, or at least the citizens\nand burgesses of Geneva, would remonstrate against the infraction of the\nedict in the decree made against me. Everything remained quiet, at least\nto all exterior appearance; for discontent was general, and ready, on\nthe first opportunity, openly to manifest itself. My friends, or persons\ncalling themselves such, wrote letter after letter exhorting me to come\nand put myself at their head, assuring me of public separation from the\ncouncil. The fear of the disturbance and troubles which might be caused\nby my presence, prevented me from acquiescing with their desires, and,\nfaithful to the oath I had formerly made, never to take the least part\nin any civil dissension in my country, I chose rather to let the offence\nremain as it was, and banish myself forever from the country, than to\nreturn to it by means which were violent and dangerous. It is true,\nI expected the burgesses would make legal remonstrances against an\ninfraction in which their interests were deeply concerned; but no such\nsteps were taken. They who conducted the body of citizens sought less\nthe real redress of grievances than an opportunity to render themselves\nnecessary. They caballed but were silent, and suffered me to be\nbespattered by the gossips and hypocrites set on to render me odious in\nthe eyes of the populace, and pass off their misdemeanors as religious\nzeal.\n\nAfter having, during a whole year, vainly expected that some one would\nremonstrate against an illegal proceeding, and seeing myself abandoned\nby my fellow-citizens, I determined to renounce my ungrateful country\nin which I never had lived, from which I had not received either\ninheritance or services, and by which, in return for the honor I had\nendeavored to do it, I saw myself so unworthily treated by unanimous\nconsent, since they, who should have spoken, had remained silent. I\ntherefore wrote to the first syndic for that year, to M. Favre, if I\nremember right, a letter in which I solemnly gave up my freedom of the\ncity of Geneva, carefully observing in it, however, that decency and\nmoderation, from which I have never departed in the acts of haughtiness\nwhich, in my misfortunes, the cruelty of my enemies have frequently\nforced upon me,\n\nThis step opened the eyes of the citizens, who feeling they had\nneglected their own interests by abandoning my defence, took my part\nwhen it was too late. They had wrongs of their own which they joined\nto mine, and made these the subject of several well-reasoned\nrepresentations, which they strengthened and extended, as the refusal of\nthe council, supported by the ministry of France, made them more clearly\nperceive the project formed to impose on them a yoke. These altercations\nproduced several pamphlets which were undecisive, until that appeared\nentitled 'Lettres ecrites de la Campagne', a work written in favor of\nthe council, with infinite art, and by which the remonstrating party,\nreduced to silence, was crushed for a time. This production, a\nlasting monument of the rare talents of its author, came from\nthe Attorney-General Tronchin, a man of wit and an enlightened\nunderstanding, well versed in the laws and government of the republic.\n'Siluit terra'.\n\nThe remonstrators, recovered from their first overthrow, undertook\nto give an answer, and in time produced one which brought them off\ntolerably well. But they all looked to me, as the only person capable\nof combating a like adversary with hope of success. I confess I was of\ntheir opinion, and excited by my former fellow-citizens, who thought it\nwas my duty to aid them with my pen, as I had been the cause of\ntheir embarrassment, I undertook to refute the 'Lettres ecrites de la\nCampagne', and parodied the title of them by that of 'Lettres ecrites\nde la Montagne,' which I gave to mine. I wrote this answer so secretly,\nthat at a meeting I had at Thonon, with the chiefs of the malcontents\nto talk of their affairs, and where they showed me a sketch of their\nanswer, I said not a word of mine, which was quite ready, fearing\nobstacles might arise relative to the impression of it, should the\nmagistrate or my enemies hear of what I had done. This work was, however\nknown in France before the publication; but government chose rather\nto let it appear, than to suffer me to guess at the means by which my\nsecret had been discovered. Concerning this I will state what I know,\nwhich is but trifling: what I have conjectured shall remain with myself.\n\nI received, at Motiers, almost as many visits as at the Hermitage and\nMontmorency; but these, for the most part were a different kind. They\nwho had formerly come to see me were people who, having taste, talents,\nand principles, something similar to mine, alleged them as the causes\nof their visits, and introduced subjects on which I could converse. At\nMotiers the case was different, especially with the visitors who came\nfrom France. They were officers or other persons who had no taste for\nliterature, nor had many of them read my works, although, according to\ntheir own accounts, they had travelled thirty, forty, sixty, and even a\nhundred leagues to come and see me, and admire the illustrious man, the\nvery celebrated, the great man, etc. For from the time of my settling at\nMotiers, I received the most impudent flattery, from which the esteem of\nthose with whom I associated had formerly sheltered me. As but few of my\nnew visitors deigned to tell me who or what they were, and as they had\nneither read nor cast their eye over my works, nor had their researches\nand mine been directed to the same objects, I knew not what to speak to\nthem upon: I waited for what they had to say, because it was for them\nto know and tell me the purpose of their visit. It will naturally be\nimagined this did not produce conversations very interesting to me,\nalthough they, perhaps, were so to my visitors, according to the\ninformation they might wish to acquire; for as I was without suspicion,\nI answered without reserve, to every question they thought proper to\nask me, and they commonly went away as well informed as myself of the\nparticulars of my situation.\n\nI was, for example, visited in this manner by M. de Feins, equerry to\nthe queen, and captain of cavalry, who had the patience to pass several\ndays at Motiers, and to follow me on foot even to La Ferriere, leading\nhis horse by the bridle, without having with me any point of union,\nexcept our acquaintance with Mademoiselle Fel, and that we both played\nat 'bilboquet'. [A kind of cup and ball.]\n\nBefore this I had received another visit much more extraordinary. Two\nmen arrived on foot, each leading a mule loaded with his little baggage,\nlodging at the inn, taking care of their mules and asking to see me. By\nthe equipage of these muleteers they were taken for smugglers, and the\nnews that smugglers were come to see me was instantly spread. Their\nmanner of addressing me sufficiently showed they were persons of another\ndescription; but without being smugglers they might be adventurers,\nand this doubt kept me for some time on my guard. They soon removed my\napprehensions. One was M. de Montauban, who had the title of Comte de\nla Tour du Pin, gentleman to the dauphin; the other, M. Dastier de\nCarpentras, an old officer who had his cross of St. Louis in his pocket,\nbecause he could not display it. These gentlemen, both very amiable,\nwere men of sense, and their manner of travelling, so much to my own\ntaste, and but little like that of French gentlemen, in some measure\ngained them my attachment, which an intercourse with them served to\nimprove. Our acquaintance did not end with the visit; it is still kept\nup, and they have since been several times to see me, not on foot, that\nwas very well for the first time; but the more I have seen of these\ngentlemen the less similarity have I found between their taste and mine;\nI have not discovered their maxims to be such as I have ever observed,\nthat my writings are familiar to them, or that there is any real\nsympathy between them and myself. What, therefore, did they want with\nme? Why came they to see me with such an equipage? Why repeat their\nvisit? Why were they so desirous of having me for their host? I did not\nat that time propose to myself these questions; but they have sometimes\noccurred to me since.\n\nWon by their advances, my heart abandoned itself without reserve,\nespecially to M. Dastier, with whose open countenance I was more\nparticularly pleased. I even corresponded with him, and when I\ndetermined to print the 'Letters from the Mountains', I thought of\naddressing myself to him, to deceive those by whom my packet was waited\nfor upon the road to Holland. He had spoken to me a good deal, and\nperhaps purposely, upon the liberty of the press at Avignon; he offered\nme his services should I have anything to print there: I took advantage\nof the offer and sent him successively by the post my first sheets.\nAfter having kept these for some time, he sent them back to me,\n\"Because,\" said he, \"no bookseller dared to sell them;\" and I was\nobliged to have recourse to Rey taking care to send my papers, one after\nthe other, and not to part with those which succeeded until I had advice\nof the reception of those already sent. Before the work was published,\nI found it had been seen in the office of the ministers, and D'Escherny,\nof Neuchatel, spoke to me of the book, entitled 'De l'Homme de la\nMontagne', which D'Holbach had told him was by me. I assured him, and\nit was true, that I never had written a book which bore that title. When\nthe letters appeared he became furious, and accused me of falsehood;\nalthough I had told him truth. By this means I was certain my manuscript\nhad been read; as I could not doubt the fidelity of Rey, the most\nrational conjecture seemed to be, that my packets had been opened at the\npost-house.\n\nAnother acquaintance I made much about the same time, but which was\nbegun by letters, was that with M. Laliand of Nimes, who wrote to me\nfrom Paris, begging I would send him my profile; he said he was in want\nof it for my bust in marble, which Le Moine was making for him to be\nplaced in his library. If this was a pretence invented to deceive me,\nit fully succeeded. I imagined that a man who wished to have my bust in\nmarble in his library had his head full of my works, consequently of\nmy principles, and that he loved me because his mind was in unison with\nmine. It was natural this idea should seduce me. I have since seen M.\nLaliand. I found him very ready to render me many trifling services,\nand to concern himself in my little affairs, but I have my doubts of his\nhaving, in the few books he ever read, fallen upon any one of those I\nhave written. I do not know that he has a library, or that such a thing\nis of any use to him; and for the bust he has a bad figure in plaster,\nby Le Moine, from which has been engraved a hideous portrait that bears\nmy name, as if it bore to me some resemblance.\n\nThe only Frenchman who seemed to come to see me, on account of my\nsentiments, and his taste for my works, was a young officer of the\nregiment of Limousin, named Seguier de St. Brisson. He made a figure\nin Paris, where he still perhaps distinguishes himself by his pleasing\ntalents and wit. He came once to Montmorency, the winter which preceded\nmy catastrophe. I was pleased with his vivacity. He afterwards wrote to\nme at Motiers, and whether he wished to flatter me, or that his head was\nturned with Emilius, he informed me he was about to quit the service to\nlive independently, and had begun to learn the trade of a carpenter. He\nhad an elder brother, a captain in the same regiment, the favorite of\nthe mother, who, a devotee to excess, and directed by I know not\nwhat hypocrite, did not treat the youngest son well, accusing him of\nirreligion, and what was still worse, of the unpardonable crime of being\nconnected with me. These were the grievances, on account of which he\nwas determined to break with his mother, and adopt the manner of life\nof which I have just spoken, all to play the part of the young Emilius.\nAlarmed at his petulance, I immediately wrote to him, endeavoring to\nmake him change his resolution, and my exhortations were as strong as I\ncould make them. They had their effect. He returned to his duty, to his\nmother, and took back the resignation he had given the colonel, who had\nbeen prudent enough to make no use of it, that the young man might\nhave time to reflect upon what he had done. St. Brisson, cured of these\nfollies, was guilty of another less alarming, but, to me, not less\ndisagreeable than the rest: he became an author. He successively\npublished two or three pamphlets which announced a man not devoid of\ntalents, but I have not to reproach myself with having encouraged him by\nmy praises to continue to write.\n\nSome time afterwards he came to see me, and we made together a\npilgrimage to the island of St. Pierre. During this journey I found him\ndifferent from what I saw of him at Montmorency. He had, in his manner,\nsomething affected, which at first did not much disgust me, although I\nhave since thought of it to his disadvantage. He once visited me at the\nhotel de St. Simon, as I passed through Paris on my way to England. I\nlearned there what he had not told me, that he lived in the great world,\nand often visited Madam de Luxembourg. Whilst I was at Trie, I never\nheard from him, nor did he so much as make inquiry after me, by means of\nhis relation Mademoiselle Seguier, my neighbor. This lady never seemed\nfavorably disposed towards me. In a word, the infatuation of M. de St.\nBrisson ended suddenly, like the connection of M. de Feins: but this man\nowed me nothing, and the former was under obligations to me, unless\nthe follies I prevented him from committing were nothing more than\naffectation; which might very possibly be the case.\n\nI had visits from Geneva also. The Delucs, father and son, successively\nchose me for their attendant in sickness. The father was taken ill on\nthe road, the son was already sick when he left Geneva; they both came\nto my house. Ministers, relations, hypocrites, and persons of every\ndescription came from Geneva and Switzerland, not like those from\nFrance, to laugh at and admire me, but to rebuke and catechise me. The\nonly person amongst them who gave me pleasure, was Moultou, who passed\nwith me three or four days, and whom I wished to remain much longer;\nthe most persevering of all, the most obstinate, and who conquered me\nby importunity, was a M. d'Ivernois, a merchant at Geneva, a French\nrefugee, and related to the attorney-general of Neuchatel. This man came\nfrom Geneva to Motiers twice a year, on purpose to see me, remained with\nme several days together from morning to night, accompanied me in my\nwalks, brought me a thousand little presents, insinuated himself in\nspite of me into my confidence, and intermeddled in all my affairs,\nnotwithstanding there was not between him and myself the least\nsimilarity of ideas, inclination, sentiment, or knowledge. I do not\nbelieve he ever read a book of any kind throughout, or that he knows\nupon what subject mine are written. When I began to herbalize, he\nfollowed me in my botanical rambles, without taste for that amusement,\nor having anything to say to me or I to him. He had the patience to pass\nwith me three days in a public house at Goumoins, whence, by wearying\nhim and making him feel how much he wearied me, I was in hopes\nof driving him away. I could not, however, shake his incredible\nperseverance, nor by any means discover the motive of it.\n\nAmongst these connections, made and continued by force, I must not omit\nthe only one that was agreeable to me, and in which my heart was really\ninterested: this was that I had with a young Hungarian who came to live\nat Neuchatel, and from that place to Motiers, a few months after I had\ntaken up my residence there. He was called by the people of the country\nthe Baron de Sauttern, by which name he had been recommended from\nZurich. He was tall, well made, had an agreeable countenance, and mild\nand social qualities. He told everybody, and gave me also to understand\nthat he came to Neuchatel for no other purpose, than that of forming his\nyouth to virtue, by his intercourse with me. His physiognomy, manner,\nand behavior, seemed well suited to his conversation, and I should have\nthought I failed in one of the greatest duties had I turned my back upon\na young man in whom I perceived nothing but what was amiable, and who\nsought my acquaintance from so respectable a motive. My heart knows not\nhow to connect itself by halves. He soon acquired my friendship, and all\nmy confidence, and we were presently inseparable. He accompanied me in\nall my walks, and became fond of them. I took him to the marechal, who\nreceived him with the utmost kindness. As he was yet unable to explain\nhimself in French, he spoke and wrote to me in Latin, I answered\nin French, and this mingling of the two languages did not make our\nconversations either less smooth or lively. He spoke of his family, his\naffairs, his adventures, and of the court of Vienna, with the domestic\ndetails of which he seemed well acquainted. In fine, during two years\nwhich we passed in the greatest intimacy, I found in him a mildness of\ncharacter proof against everything, manners not only polite but elegant,\ngreat neatness of person, an extreme decency in his conversation, in a\nword, all the marks of a man born and educated a gentleman, and which\nrendered him in my eyes too estimable not to make him dear to me.\n\nAt the time we were upon the most intimate and friendly terms, D'\nIvernois wrote to me from Geneva, putting me upon my guard against\nthe young Hungarian who had taken up his residence in my neighborhood;\ntelling me he was a spy whom the minister of France had appointed to\nwatch my proceedings. This information was of a nature to alarm me\nthe more, as everybody advised me to guard against the machinations of\npersons who were employed to keep an eye upon my actions, and to entice\nme into France for the purpose of betraying me. To shut the mouths,\nonce for all, of these foolish advisers, I proposed to Sauttern, without\ngiving him the least intimation of the information I had received, a\njourney on foot to Pontarlier, to which he consented. As soon as we\narrived there I put the letter from D'Ivernois into his hands, and after\ngiving him an ardent embrace, I said: \"Sauttern has no need of a proof\nof my confidence in him, but it is necessary I should prove to the\npublic that I know in whom to place it.\" This embrace was accompanied\nwith a pleasure which persecutors can neither feel themselves, nor take\naway from the oppressed.\n\nI will never believe Sauttern was a spy, nor that he betrayed me: but I\nwas deceived by him. When I opened to him my heart without reserve, he\nconstantly kept his own shut, and abused me by lies. He invented I know\nnot what kind of story, to prove to me his presence was necessary in his\nown country. I exhorted him to return to it as soon as possible. He\nset off, and when I thought he was in Hungary, I learned he was at\nStrasbourgh. This was not the first time he had been there. He had\ncaused some disorder in a family in that city; and the husband knowing I\nreceived him in my house, wrote to me. I used every effort to bring the\nyoung woman back to the paths of virtue, and Sauttern to his duty.\n\nWhen I thought they were perfectly detached from each other, they\nrenewed their acquaintance, and the husband had the complaisance to\nreceive the young man at his house; from that moment I had nothing\nmore to say. I found the pretended baron had imposed upon me by a\ngreat number of lies. His name was not Sauttern, but Sauttersheim. With\nrespect to the title of baron, given him in Switzerland, I could not\nreproach him with the impropriety, because he had never taken it; but\nI have not a doubt of his being a gentleman, and the marshal, who knew\nmankind, and had been in Hungary, always considered and treated him as\nsuch.\n\nHe had no sooner left my neighborhood, than the girl at the inn where he\nate, at Motiers, declared herself with child by him. She was so dirty\na creature, and Sauttern, generally esteemed in the country for his\nconduct and purity of morals, piqued himself so much upon cleanliness,\nthat everybody was shocked at this impudent pretension. The most amiable\nwomen of the country, who had vainly displayed to him their charms,\nwere furious: I myself was almost choked with indignation. I used every\neffort to get the tongue of this impudent woman stopped, offering to pay\nall expenses, and to give security for Sauttersheim. I wrote to him in\nthe fullest persuasion, not only that this pregnancy could not relate to\nhim, but that it was feigned, and the whole a machination of his enemies\nand mine. I wished him to return and confound the strumpet, and those by\nwhom she was dictated to. The pusillanimity of his answer surprised me.\nHe wrote to the master of the parish to which the creature belonged, and\nendeavored to stifle the matter. Perceiving this, I concerned myself no\nmore about it, but I was astonished that a man who could stoop so low\nshould have been sufficiently master of himself to deceive me by his\nreserve in the closest familiarity.\n\nFrom Strasbourgh, Sauttersheim went to seek his fortune in Paris, and\nfound there nothing but misery. He wrote to me acknowledging his error.\nMy compassion was excited by the recollection of our former friendship,\nand I sent him a sum of money. The year following, as I passed through\nParis, I saw him much in the same situation; but he was the intimate\nfriend of M. de Laliand, and I could not learn by what means he had\nformed this acquaintance, or whether it was recent or of long standing.\nTwo years afterwards Sauttersheim returned to Strasbourgh, whence he\nwrote to me and where he died. This, in a few words, is the history of\nour connection, and what I know of his adventures; but while I mourn the\nfate of the unhappy young man, I still, and ever shall, believe he was\nthe son of people of distinction, and the impropriety of his conduct was\nthe effect of the situations to which he was reduced.\n\nSuch were the connections and acquaintance I acquired at Motiers. How\nmany of these would have been necessary to compensate the cruel losses I\nsuffered at the same time.\n\nThe first of these was that of M. de Luxembourg, who, after having been\nlong tormented by the physicians, at length became their victim, by\nbeing treated for the gout which they would not acknowledge him to have,\nas for a disorder they thought they could cure.\n\nAccording to what La Roche, the confidential servant of Madam de\nLuxembourg, wrote to me relative to what had happened, it is by this\ncruel and memorable example that the miseries of greatness are to be\ndeplored.\n\nThe loss of this good nobleman afflicted me the more, as he was the only\nreal friend I had in France, and the mildness of his character was such\nas to make me quite forget his rank, and attach myself to him as his\nequal. Our connection was not broken off on account of my having quitted\nthe kingdom; he continued to write to me as usual.\n\nI nevertheless thought I perceived that absence, or my misfortune, had\ncooled his affection for me. It is difficult to a courtier to preserve\nthe same attachment to a person whom he knows to be in disgrace with\ncourts. I moreover suspected the great ascendancy Madam de Luxembourg\nhad over his mind had been unfavorable to me, and that she had taken\nadvantage of our separation to injure me in his esteem. For her part,\nnotwithstanding a few affected marks of regard, which daily became less\nfrequent, she less concealed the change in her friendship. She wrote to\nme four or five times into Switzerland, after which she never wrote to\nme again, and nothing but my prejudice, confidence and blindness, could\nhave prevented my discovering in her something more than a coolness\ntowards me.\n\nGuy the bookseller, partner with Duchesne, who, after I had left\nMontmorency, frequently went to the hotel de Luxembourg, wrote to me\nthat my name was in the will of the marechal. There was nothing in this\neither incredible or extraordinary, on which account I had no doubt of\nthe truth of the information. I deliberated within myself whether or not\nI should receive the legacy. Everything well considered, I determined to\naccept it, whatever it might be, and to do that honor to the memory of\nan honest man, who, in a rank in which friendship is seldom found, had\nhad a real one for me. I had not this duty to fulfill. I heard no more\nof the legacy, whether it were true or false; and in truth I should have\nfelt some pain in offending against one of the great maxims of my system\nof morality, in profiting by anything at the death of a person whom\nI had once held dear. During the last illness of our friend Mussard,\nLeneips proposed to me to take advantage of the grateful sense he\nexpressed for our cares, to insinuate to him dispositions in our favor.\n\"Ah! my dear Leneips,\" said I, \"let us not pollute by interested ideas\nthe sad but sacred duties we discharge towards our dying friend. I hope\nmy name will never be found in the testament of any person, at least not\nin that of a friend.\" It was about this time that my lord marshal spoke\nto me of his, of what he intended to do in it for me, and that I made\nhim the answer of which I have spoken in the first part of my memoirs.\n\nMy second loss, still more afflicting and irreparable, was that of the\nbest of women and mothers, who, already weighed down with years, and\noverburthened with infirmities and misery, quitted this vale of tears\nfor the abode of the blessed, where the amiable remembrance of the good\nwe have done here below is the eternal reward of our benevolence. Go,\ngentle and beneficent shade, to those of Fenelon, Bernex, Catinat, and\nothers, who in a more humble state have, like them, opened their hearts\nto pure charity; go and taste of the fruit of your own benevolence, and\nprepare for your son the place he hopes to fill by your side. Happy in\nyour misfortunes that Heaven, in putting to them a period, has spared\nyou the cruel spectacle of his! Fearing, lest I should fill her heart\nwith sorrow by the recital of my first disasters, I had not written to\nher since my arrival in Switzerland; but I wrote to M. de Conzie, to\ninquire after her situation, and it was from him I learned she had\nceased to alleviate the sufferings of the afflicted, and that her own\nwere at an end. I myself shall not suffer long; but if I thought I\nshould not see her again in the life to come, my feeble imagination\nwould less delight in the idea of the perfect happiness I there hope to\nenjoy.\n\nMy third and last loss, for since that time I have not had a friend to\nlose, was that of the lord marshal. He did not die but tired of serving\nthe ungrateful, he left Neuchatel, and I have never seen him since. He\nstill lives, and will, I hope, survive me: he is alive, and thanks to\nhim all my attachments on earth are not destroyed. There is one man\nstill worthy of my friendship; for the real value of this consists\nmore in what we feel than in that which we inspire; but I have lost the\npleasure I enjoyed in his, and can rank him in the number of those only\nwhom I love, but with whom I am no longer connected. He went to England\nto receive the pardon of the king, and acquired the possession of\nthe property which formerly had been confiscated. We did not separate\nwithout an intention of again being united, the idea of which seemed to\ngive him as much pleasure as I received from it. He determined to reside\nat Keith Hall, near Aberdeen, and I was to join him as soon as he was\nsettled there: but this project was too flattering to my hopes to give\nme any of its success. He did not remain in Scotland. The affectionate\nsolicitations of the King of Prussia induced him to return to Berlin,\nand the reason of my not going to him there will presently appear.\n\nBefore this departure, foreseeing the storm which my enemies began\nto raise against me, he of his own accord sent me letters of\nnaturalization, which seemed to be a certain means of preventing me from\nbeing driven from the country. The community of the Convent of Val de\nTravers followed the example of the governor, and gave me letters of\nCommunion, gratis, as they were the first. Thus, in every respect,\nbecome a citizen, I was sheltered from legal expulsion, even by the\nprince; but it has never been by legitimate means, that the man who,\nof all others, has shown the greatest respect for the laws, has been\npersecuted. I do not think I ought to enumerate, amongst the number of\nmy losses at this time, that of the Abbe Malby. Having lived sometime at\nthe house of his mother, I have been acquainted with the abbe, but\nnot very intimately, and I have reason to believe the nature of his\nsentiments with respect to me changed after I acquired a greater\ncelebrity than he already had. But the first time I discovered his\ninsincerity was immediately after the publication of the 'Letters from\nthe Mountain'. A letter attributed to him, addressed to Madam Saladin,\nwas handed about in Geneva, in which he spoke of this work as the\nseditious clamors of a furious demagogue.\n\nThe esteem I had for the Abbe Malby, and my great opinion of his\nunderstanding, did not permit me to believe this extravagant letter was\nwritten by him. I acted in this business with my usual candor. I sent\nhim a copy of the letter, informing him he was said to be the author of\nit. He returned me no answer. This silence astonished me: but what was\nmy surprise when by a letter I received from Madam de Chenonceaux, I\nlearned the Abbe was really the author of that which was attributed to\nhim, and found himself greatly embarrassed by mine. For even supposing\nfor a moment that what he stated was true, how could he justify so\npublic an attack, wantonly made, without obligation or necessity,\nfor the sole purpose of overwhelming in the midst of his greatest\nmisfortunes, a man to whom he had shown himself a well-wisher, and who\nhad not done anything that could excite his enmity? In a short time\nafterwards the 'Dialogues of Phocion', in which I perceived nothing but\na compilation, without shame or restraint, from my writings, made their\nappearance.\n\nIn reading this book I perceived the author had not the least regard for\nme, and that in future I must number him among my most bitter enemies.\nI do not believe he has ever pardoned me for the Social Contract, far\nsuperior to his abilities, or the Perpetual Peace; and I am, besides, of\nopinion that the desire he expressed that I should make an extract\nfrom the Abbe de St. Pierre, proceeded from a supposition in him that I\nshould not acquit myself of it so well.\n\nThe further I advance in my narrative, the less order I feel myself\ncapable of observing. The agitation of the rest of my life has deranged\nin my ideas the succession of events. These are too numerous, confused,\nand disagreeable to be recited in due order. The only strong impression\nthey have left upon my mind is that of the horrid mystery by which the\ncause of them is concealed, and of the deplorable state to which they\nhave reduced me. My narrative will in future be irregular, and according\nto the events which, without order, may occur to my recollection.\nI remember about the time to which I refer, full of the idea of my\nconfessions, I very imprudently spoke of them to everybody, never\nimagining it could be the wish or interest, much less within the power\nof any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in the way of this\nundertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would not have rendered\nme more discreet, as from the nature of my disposition it is totally\nimpossible for me to conceal either my thoughts or feelings. The\nknowledge of this enterprise was, as far as I can judge, the cause of\nthe storm that was raised to drive me from Switzerland, and deliver me\ninto the hands of those by whom I might be prevented from executing it.\n\nI had another project in contemplation which was not looked upon with\na more favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first: this was a\ngeneral edition of my works. I thought this edition of them necessary to\nascertain what books, amongst those to which my name was affixed,\nwere really written by me, and to furnish the public with the means of\ndistinguishing them from the writings falsely attributed to me by my\nenemies, to bring me to dishonor and contempt. This was besides a simple\nand an honorable means of insuring to myself a livelihood, and the only\none that remained to me. As I had renounced the profession of an author,\nmy memoirs not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime; as I no\nlonger gained a farthing in any manner whatsoever, and constantly lived\nat a certain expense, I saw the end of my resources in that of the\nproduce of the last things I had written. This reason had induced me\nto hasten the finishing of my Dictionary of Music, which still was\nincomplete. I had received for it a hundred louis (guineas) and a life\nannuity of three hundred livres; but a hundred louis could not last\nlong in the hands of a man who annually expended upwards of sixty, and\nthree-hundred livres (twelve guineas) a year was but a trifling sum to\none upon whom parasites and beggarly visitors lighted like a swarm of\nflies.\n\nA company of merchants from Neuchatel came to undertake the general\nedition, and a printer or bookseller of the name of Reguillat, from\nLyons, thrust himself, I know not by what means, amongst them to direct\nit. The agreement was made upon reasonable terms, and sufficient to\naccomplish my object. I had in print and manuscript, matter for six\nvolumes in quarto. I moreover agreed to give my assistance in bringing\nout the edition. The merchants were, on their part, to pay me a thousand\ncrowns (one hundred and twenty-five pounds) down, and to assign me an\nannuity of sixteen hundred livres (sixty-six pounds) for life.\n\nThe agreement was concluded but not signed, when the Letters from the\nMountain appeared. The terrible explosion caused by this infernal work,\nand its abominable author, terrified the company, and the undertaking\nwas at an end. I would compare the effect of this last production\nto that of the Letter on French Music, had not that letter, while it\nbrought upon me hatred, and exposed me to danger, acquired me respect\nand esteem. But after the appearance of the last work, it was a matter\nof astonishment at Geneva and Versailles that such a monster as the\nauthor of it should be suffered to exist. The little council, excited\nby the French resident, and directed by the attorney-general, made a\ndeclaration against my work, by which, in the most severe terms, it was\ndeclared to be unworthy of being burned by the hands of the hangman,\nadding, with an address which bordered upon the burlesque, there was\nno possibility of speaking of or answering it without dishonor. I would\nhere transcribe the curious piece of composition, but unfortunately I\nhave it not by me. I ardently wish some of my readers, animated by the\nzeal of truth and equity, would read over the Letters from the Mountain:\nthey will, I dare hope, feel the stoical moderation which reigns\nthroughout the whole, after all the cruel outrages with which the author\nwas loaded. But unable to answer the abuse, because no part of it\ncould be called by that name nor to the reasons because these were\nunanswerable, my enemies pretended to appear too much enraged to reply:\nand it is true, if they took the invincible arguments it contains for\nabuse, they must have felt themselves roughly treated.\n\nThe remonstrating party, far from complaining of the odious declaration,\nacted according to the spirit of it, and instead of making a trophy of\nthe Letters from the Mountain, which they veiled to make them serve as\na shield, were pusillanimous enough not to do justice or honor to that\nwork, written to defend them, and at their own solicitation. They did\nnot either quote or mention the letters, although they tacitly drew from\nthem all their arguments, and by exactly following the advice with which\nthey conclude, made them the sole cause of their safety and triumph.\nThey had imposed on me this duty: I had fulfilled it, and unto the end\nhad served their cause and the country. I begged of them to abandon me,\nand in their quarrels to think of nobody but themselves. They took me\nat my word, and I concerned myself no more about their affairs, further\nthan constantly to exhort them to peace, not doubting, should they\ncontinue to be obstinate, of their being crushed by France; this however\ndid not happen; I know the reason why it did not, but this is not the\nplace to explain what I mean.\n\nThe effect produced at Neuchatel by the Letters from the Mountain was at\nfirst very mild. I sent a copy of them to M. de Montmollin, who received\nit favorably, and read it without making any objection. He was ill as\nwell as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in a friendly manner to\nsee me, and conversed on general subjects. A rumor was however begun;\nthe book was burned I know not where. From Geneva, Berne, and perhaps\nfrom Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed to Neuchatel, and\nespecially to Val de Travers, where, before even the ministers had taken\nany apparent steps, an attempt was secretly made to stir up the people.\nI ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by the people of that\ncountry in which I have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leaving\nabout me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing to do\nany service in my power, and which was consistent with justice, making\nmyself perhaps too familiar with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it\nwas possible for me to do it, all distinction which might excite the\nleast jealousy. This, however, did not prevent the populace, secretly\nstirred up against me, by I know not whom, from being by degrees\nirritated against me, even to fury, nor from publicly insulting me, not\nonly in the country and upon the road, but in the street. Those to whom\nI had rendered the greatest services became most irritated against me,\nand even people who still continued to receive my benefactions, not\ndaring to appear, excited others, and seemed to wish thus to be revenged\nof me for their humiliation, by the obligations they were under for the\nfavors I had conferred upon them. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention\nto what was passing, and did not yet come forward. But as the time of\ncommunion approached, he came to advise me not to present myself at the\nholy table, assuring me, however, he was not my enemy, and that he\nwould leave me undisturbed. I found this compliment whimsical enough;\nit brought to my recollection the letter from Madam de Boufflers, and\nI could not conceive to whom it could be a matter of such importance\nwhether I communicated or not. Considering this condescension on my part\nas an act of cowardice, and moreover, being unwilling to give to the\npeople a new pretext under which they might charge me with impiety,\nI refused the request of the minister, and he went away dissatisfied,\ngiving me to understand I should repent of my obstinacy.\n\nHe could not of his own authority forbid me the communion: that of the\nConsistory, by which I had been admitted to it, was necessary, and as\nlong as there was no objection from that body I might present myself\nwithout the fear of being refused. Montmollin procured from the Classe\n(the ministers) a commission to summon me to the Consistory, there to\ngive an account of the articles of my faith, and to excommunicate me\nshould I refuse to comply. This excommunication could not be pronounced\nwithout the aid of the Consistory also, and a majority of the voices.\nBut the peasants, who under the appellation of elders, composed this\nassembly, presided over and governed by their minister, might naturally\nbe expected to adopt his opinion, especially in matters of the clergy,\nwhich they still less understood than he did. I was therefore summoned,\nand I resolved to appear.\n\nWhat a happy circumstance and triumph would this have been to me could I\nhave spoken, and had I, if I may so speak, had my pen in my mouth! With\nwhat superiority, with what facility even, should I have overthrown this\npoor minister in the midst of his six peasants! The thirst after power\nhaving made the Protestant clergy forget all the principles of the\nreformation, all I had to do to recall these to their recollection and\nto reduce them to silence, was to make comments upon my first 'Letters\nfrom the Mountain', upon which they had the folly to animadvert.\n\nMy text was ready, and I had only to enlarge on it, and my adversary\nwas confounded. I should not have been weak enough to remain on the\ndefensive; it was easy to me to become an assailant without his even\nperceiving it, or being able to shelter himself from my attack. The\ncontemptible priests of the Classe, equally careless and ignorant, had\nof themselves placed me in the most favorable situation I could desire\nto crush them at pleasure. But what of this? It was necessary I should\nspeak without hesitation, and find ideas, turn of expression, and words\nat will, preserving a presence of mind, and keeping myself collected,\nwithout once suffering even a momentary confusion. For what could I\nhope, feeling as I did, my want of aptitude to express myself with ease?\nI had been reduced to the most mortifying silence at Geneva, before an\nassembly which was favorable to me, and previously resolved to approve\nof everything I should say. Here, on the contrary, I had to do with a\ncavalier who, substituting cunning to knowledge, would spread for me a\nhundred snares before I could perceive one of them, and was resolutely\ndetermined to catch me in an error let the consequence be what it would.\nThe more I examined the situation in which I stood, the greater danger\nI perceived myself exposed to, and feeling the impossibility of\nsuccessfully withdrawing from it, I thought of another expedient.\nI meditated a discourse which I intended to pronounce before the\nConsistory, to exempt myself from the necessity of answering. The thing\nwas easy. I wrote the discourse and began to learn it by memory, with\nan inconceivable ardor. Theresa laughed at hearing me mutter and\nincessantly repeat the same phrases, while endeavoring to cram them into\nmy head. I hoped, at length, to remember what I had written: I knew the\nchatelain as an officer attached to the service of the prince, would be\npresent at the Consistory, and that notwithstanding the manoeuvres and\nbottles of Montmollin, most of the elders were well disposed towards\nme. I had, moreover, in my favor, reason, truth, and justice, with the\nprotection of the king, the authority of the council of state, and the\ngood wishes of every real patriot, to whom the establishment of\nthis inquisition was threatening. In fine, everything contributed to\nencourage me.\n\nOn the eve of the day appointed, I had my discourse by rote, and recited\nit without missing a word. I had it in my head all night: in the morning\nI had forgotten it. I hesitated at every word, thought myself before the\nassembly, became confused, stammered, and lost my presence of mind. In\nfine, when the time to make my appearance was almost at hand, my courage\ntotally failed me. I remained at home and wrote to the Consistory,\nhastily stating my reasons, and pleaded my disorder, which really, in\nthe state to which apprehension had reduced me, would scarcely have\npermitted me to stay out the whole sitting.\n\nThe minister, embarrassed by my letter, adjourned the Consistory. In the\ninterval, he of himself, and by his creatures, made a thousand efforts\nto seduce the elders, who, following the dictates of their consciences,\nrather than those they received from him, did not vote according to his\nwishes, or those of the Classe. Whatever power his arguments drawn from\nhis cellar might have over this kind of people, he could not gain one of\nthem, more than the two or three who were already devoted to his will,\nand who were called his 'ames damnees'.--[damned souls]--The officer of\nthe prince, and the Colonel Pury, who, in this affair, acted with great\nzeal, kept the rest to their duty, and when Montmollin wished to proceed\nto excommunication, his Consistory, by a majority of voices, flatly\nrefused to authorize him to do it. Thus reduced to the last expedient,\nthat of stirring up the people against me, he, his colleagues, and\nother persons, set about it openly, and were so successful, that\nnot-withstanding the strong and frequent rescripts of the king, and\nthe orders of the council of state, I was at length obliged to quit the\ncountry, that I might not expose the officer of the king to be himself\nassassinated while he protected me.\n\nThe recollection of the whole of this affair is so confused, that it\nis impossible for me to reduce to or connect the circumstances of it. I\nremember a kind of negotiation had been entered into with the Classe, in\nwhich Montmollin was the mediator. He feigned to believe it was feared I\nshould, by my writings, disturb the peace of the country, in which\ncase, the liberty I had of writing would be blamed. He had given me to\nunderstand that if I consented to lay down my pen, what was past would\nbe forgotten. I had already entered into this engagement with myself,\nand did not hesitate in doing it with the Classe, but conditionally and\nsolely in matters of religion. He found means to have a duplicate of\nthe agreement upon some change necessary to be made in it, the condition\nhaving been rejected by the Classe; I demanded back the writing, which\nwas returned to me, but he kept the duplicate, pretending it was lost.\nAfter this, the people, openly excited by the ministers, laughed at the\nrescripts of the king, and the orders of the council of state, and\nshook off all restraint. I was declaimed against from the pulpit, called\nantichrist, and pursued in the country like a mad wolf. My Armenian\ndress discovered me to the populace; of this I felt the cruel\ninconvenience, but to quit it in such circumstances, appeared to me\nan act of cowardice. I could not prevail upon myself to do it, and I\nquietly walked through the country with my caffetan and fur bonnet in\nthe midst of the hootings of the dregs of the people, and sometimes\nthrough a shower of stones. Several times as I passed before houses, I\nheard those by whom they were inhabited call out: \"Bring me my gun that\nI may fire at him.\" As I did not on this account hasten my pace, my\ncalmness increased their fury, but they never went further than threats,\nat least with respect to firearms.\n\nDuring the fermentation I received from two circumstances the most\nsensible pleasure. The first was my having it in my power to prove\nmy gratitude by means of the lord marshal. The honest part of the\ninhabitants of Neuchatel, full of indignation at the treatment I\nreceived, and the manoeuvres of which I was the victim, held the\nministers in execration, clearly perceiving they were obedient to a\nforeign impulse, and the vile agents of people, who, in making them act,\nkept themselves concealed; they were moreover afraid my case would\nhave dangerous consequences, and be made a precedent for the purpose of\nestablishing a real inquisition.\n\nThe magistrates, and especially M. Meuron, who had succeeded M. d'\nIvernois in the office of attorney-general, made every effort to defend\nme. Colonel Pury, although a private individual, did more and succeeded\nbetter. It was the colonel who found means to make Montmollin submit in\nhis Consistory, by keeping the elders to their duty. He had credit,\nand employed it to stop the sedition; but he had nothing more than the\nauthority of the laws, and the aid of justice and reason, to oppose\nto that of money and wine: the combat was unequal, and in this point\nMontmollin was triumphant. However, thankful for his zeal and cares, I\nwished to have it in my power to make him a return of good offices, and\nin some measure discharge a part of the obligations I was under to him.\nI knew he was very desirous of being named a counsellor of state; but\nhaving displeased the court by his conduct in the affair of the minister\nPetitpierre, he was in disgrace with the prince and governor. I however\nundertook, at all risks, to write to the lord marshal in his favor: I\nwent so far as even to mention the employment of which he was\ndesirous, and my application was so well received that, contrary to the\nexpectations of his most ardent well wishers, it was almost instantly\nconferred upon him by the king. In this manner fate, which has\nconstantly raised me to too great an elevation, or plunged me into an\nabyss of adversity, continued to toss me from one extreme to another,\nand whilst the populace covered me with mud I was able to make a\ncounsellor of state.\n\nThe other pleasing circumstance was a visit I received from Madam de\nVerdelin with her daughter, with whom she had been at the baths of\nBourbonne, whence they came to Motiers and stayed with me two or three\ndays. By her attention and cares, she at length conquered my long\nrepugnancy; and my heart, won by her endearing manner, made her a\nreturn of all the friendship of which she had long given me proofs.\nThis journey made me extremely sensible of her kindness: my situation\nrendered the consolations of friendship highly necessary to support me\nunder my sufferings. I was afraid she would be too much affected by the\ninsults I received from the populace, and could have wished to conceal\nthem from her that her feelings might not be hurt, but this was\nimpossible; and although her presence was some check upon the insolent\npopulace in our walks, she saw enough of their brutality to enable her\nto judge of what passed when I was alone. During the short residence she\nmade at Motiers, I was still attacked in my habitation. One morning\nher chambermaid found my window blocked up with stones, which had been\nthrown at it during the night. A very heavy bench placed in the street\nby the side of the house, and strongly fastened down, was taken up and\nreared against the door in such a manner as, had it not been perceived\nfrom the window, to have knocked down the first person who should\nhave opened the door to go out. Madam de Verdelin was acquainted with\neverything that passed; for, besides what she herself was witness to,\nher confidential servant went into many houses in the village, spoke to\neverybody, and was seen in conversation with Montmollin. She did not,\nhowever, seem to pay the least attention to that which happened to me,\nnor never mentioned Montmollin nor any other person, and answered in a\nfew words to what I said to her of him. Persuaded that a residence in\nEngland would be more agreeable to me than any other, she frequently\nspoke of Mr. Hume who was then at Paris, of his friendship for me, and\nthe desire he had of being of service to me in his own country. It is\ntime I should say something of Hume.\n\nHe had acquired a great reputation in France amongst the Encyclopedists\nby his essays on commerce and politics, and in the last place by his\nhistory of the House of Stuart, the only one of his writings of which\nI had read a part, in the translation of the Abbe Prevot. For want of\nbeing acquainted with his other works, I was persuaded, according to\nwhat I heard of him, that Mr. Hume joined a very republican mind to the\nEnglish Paradoxes in favor of luxury. In this opinion I considered his\nwhole apology of Charles I. as a prodigy of impartiality, and I had\nas great an idea of his virtue as of his genius. The desire of being\nacquainted with this great man, and of obtaining his friendship, had\ngreatly strengthened the inclination I felt to go to England, induced\nby the solicitations of Madam de Boufflers, the intimate friend of Hume.\nAfter my arrival in Switzerland, I received from him, by means of this\nlady, a letter extremely flattering; in which, to the highest encomiums\non my genius, he subjoined a pressing invitation to induce me to go to\nEngland, and the offer of all his interest, and that of his friends, to\nmake my residence there agreeable. I found in the country to which I\nhad retired, the lord marshal, the countryman and friend of Hume, who\nconfirmed my good opinion of him, and from whom I learned a literary\nanecdote, which did him great honor in the opinion of his lordship and\nhad the same effect in mine. Wallace, who had written against Hume upon\nthe subject of the population of the ancients, was absent whilst his\nwork was in the press. Hume took upon himself to examine the proofs, and\nto do the needful to the edition. This manner of acting was according\nto my way of thinking. I had sold at six sous (three pence) a piece,\nthe copies of a song written against myself. I was, therefore, strongly\nprejudiced in favor of Hume, when Madam de Verdelin came and mentioned\nthe lively friendship he expressed for me, and his anxiety to do me the\nhonors of England; such was her expression. She pressed me a good\ndeal to take advantage of this zeal and to write to him. As I had not\nnaturally an inclination to England, and did not intend to go there\nuntil the last extremity, I refused to write or make any promise; but\nI left her at liberty to do whatever she should think necessary to keep\nMr. Hume favorably disposed towards me. When she went from Motiers,\nshe left me in the persuasion, by everything she had said to me of that\nillustrious man, that he was my friend, and she herself still more his.\n\nAfter her departure, Montmollin carried on his manoeuvres with more\nvigor, and the populace threw off all restraint. Yet I still continued\nto walk quietly amidst the hootings of the vulgar; and a taste for\nbotany, which I had begun to contract with Doctor d'Ivernois, making my\nrambling more amusing, I went through the country herbalising, without\nbeing affected by the clamors of this scum of the earth, whose fury\nwas still augmented by my calmness. What affected me most was, seeing\nfamilies of my friends, or of persons who gave themselves that name,\nopenly join the league of my persecutors; such as the D'Ivernois,\nwithout excepting the father and brother of my Isabel le Boy de la Tour,\na relation to the friend in whose house I lodged, and Madam Girardier,\nher sister-in-law.\n\n     [This fatality had begun with my residence at Yverdon; the banneret\n     Roguin dying a year or two after my departure from that city, the\n     old papa Roguin had the candor to inform me with grief, as he said,\n     that in the papers of his relation, proofs had been found of his\n     having been concerned in the conspiracy to expel me from Yverdon and\n     the state of Berne.  This clearly proved the conspiracy not to be,\n     as some people pretended to believe, an affair of hypocrisy; since\n     the banneret, far from being a devotee, carried materialism and\n     incredulity to intolerance and fanaticism.  Besides, nobody at\n     Yverdon had shown me more constant attention, nor had so prodigally\n     bestowed upon me praises and flattery as this banneret.  He\n     faithfully followed the favorite plan of my persecutors.]\n\nThis Peter Boy was such a brute; so stupid, and behaved so uncouthly,\nthat, to prevent my mind from being disturbed, I took the liberty to\nridicule him; and after the manner of the 'Petit Prophete', I wrote a\npamphlet of a few pages, entitled, 'la Vision de Pierre de la Montagne\ndit le Voyant,--[The vision of Peter of the Mountain called the\nSeer.]--in which I found means to be diverting enough on the miracles\nwhich then served as the great pretext for my persecution. Du Peyrou\nhad this scrap printed at Geneva, but its success in the country was but\nmoderate; the Neuchatelois with all their wit, taste but weakly attic\nsalt or pleasantry when these are a little refined.\n\nIn the midst of decrees and persecutions, the Genevese had distinguished\nthemselves by setting up a hue and cry with all their might; and my\nfriend Vernes amongst others, with an heroical generosity, chose that\nmoment precisely to publish against me letters in which he pretended\nto prove I was not a Christian. These letters, written with an air of\nself-sufficiency, were not the better for it, although it was positively\nsaid the celebrated Bonnet had given them some correction: for this man,\nalthough a materialist, has an intolerant orthodoxy the moment I am in\nquestion. There certainly was nothing in this work which could tempt me\nto answer it; but having an opportunity of saying a few words upon it\nin my 'Letters from the Mountain', I inserted in them a short note\nsufficiently expressive of disdain to render Vernes furious. He filled\nGeneva with his furious exclamations, and D'Ivernois wrote me word he\nhad quite lost his senses. Sometime afterwards appeared an anonymous\nsheet, which instead of ink seemed to be written with water of\nPhlegethon. In this letter I was accused of having exposed my children\nin the streets, of taking about with me a soldier's trull, of being worn\nout with debaucheries..., and other fine things of a like nature. It was\nnot difficult for me to discover the author. My first idea on reading\nthis libel, was to reduce to its real value everything the world calls\nfame and reputation amongst men; seeing thus a man who was never in a\nbrothel in his life, and whose greatest defect was in being as timid and\nshy as a virgin, treated as a frequenter of places of that description;\nand in finding myself charged with being......, I, who not only never\nhad the least taint of such disorder, but, according to the faculty, was\nso constructed as to make it almost impossible for me to contract it.\nEverything well considered, I thought I could not better refute this\nlibel than by having it printed in the city in which I longest resided,\nand with this intention I sent it to Duchesne to print it as it was with\nan advertisement in which I named M. Vernes and a few short notes by way\nof eclaircissement. Not satisfied with printing it only, I sent copies\nto several persons, and amongst others one copy to the Prince Louis\nof Wirtemberg, who had made me polite advances and with whom I was in\ncorrespondence. The prince, Du Peyrou, and others, seemed to have their\ndoubts about the author of the libel, and blamed me for having named\nVernes upon so slight a foundation. Their remarks produced in me some\nscruples, and I wrote to Duchesne to suppress the paper. Guy wrote to\nme he had suppressed it: this may or may not be the case; I have been\ndeceived on so many occasions that there would be nothing extraordinary\nin my being so on this, and from the time of which I speak, was so\nenveloped in profound darkness that it was impossible for me to come at\nany kind of truth.\n\nM. Vernes bore the imputation with a moderation more than astonishing in\na man who was supposed not to have deserved it, and after the fury\nwith which he was seized on former occasions. He wrote me two or three\nletters in very guarded terms, with a view, as it appeared to me, to\nendeavor by my answers to discover how far I was certain of his being\nthe author of the paper, and whether or not I had any proofs against\nhim. I wrote him two short answers, severe in the sense, but politely\nexpressed, and with which he was not displeased. To his third letter,\nperceiving he wished to form with me a kind of correspondence, I\nreturned no answer, and he got D'Ivernois to speak to me. Madam Cramer\nwrote to Du Peyrou, telling him she was certain the libel was not by\nVernes. This however, did not make me change my opinion. But as it was\npossible I might be deceived, and as it is certain that if I were, I\nowed Vernes an explicit reparation, I sent him word by D'Ivernois that\nI would make him such a one as he should think proper, provided he\nwould name to me the real author of the libel, or at least prove that he\nhimself was not so. I went further: feeling that, after all, were he\nnot culpable, I had no right to call upon him for proofs of any kind,\nI stated in a memoir of considerable length, the reasons whence I had\ninferred my conclusion, and determined to submit them to the judgment\nof an arbitrator, against whom Vernes could not except. But few people\nwould guess the arbitrator of whom I made choice. I declared at the\nend of the memoir, that if, after having examined it, and made such\ninquiries as should seem necessary, the council pronounced M. Vernes\nnot to be the author of the libel, from that moment I should be fully\npersuaded he was not, and would immediately go and throw myself at his\nfeet, and ask his pardon until I had obtained it. I can say with the\ngreatest truth that my ardent zeal for equity, the uprightness and\ngenerosity of my heart, and my confidence in the love of justice innate\nin every mind never appeared more fully and perceptible than in this\nwise and interesting memoir, in which I took, without hesitation,\nmy most implacable enemies for arbitrators between a calumniator\nand myself. I read to Du Peyrou what I had written: he advised me to\nsuppress it, and I did so. He wished me to wait for the proofs Vernes\npromised, and I am still waiting for them: he thought it best that I\nshould in the meantime be silent, and I held my tongue, and shall do so\nthe rest of my life, censured as I am for having brought against Vernes\na heavy imputation, false and unsupportable by proof, although I am\nstill fully persuaded, nay, as convinced as I am of my existence, that\nhe is the author of the libel. My memoir is in the hands of Du Peyrou.\nShould it ever be published my reasons will be found in it, and the\nheart of Jean Jacques, with which my contemporaries would not be\nacquainted, will I hope be known.\n\nI have now to proceed to my catastrophe at Motiers, and to my departure\nfrom Val de Travers, after a residence of two years and a half, and\nan eight months suffering with unshaken constancy of the most\nunworthy treatment. It is impossible for me clearly to recollect the\ncircumstances of this disagreeable period, but a detail of them will\nbe found in a publication to that effect by Du Peyrou, of which I shall\nhereafter have occasion to speak.\n\nAfter the departure of Madam de Verdelin the fermentation increased,\nand, notwithstanding the reiterated rescripts of the king, the frequent\norders of the council of state, and the cares of the chatelain and\nmagistrates of the place, the people, seriously considering me as\nantichrist, and perceiving all their clamors to be of no effect, seemed\nat length determined to proceed to violence; stones were already thrown\nafter me in the roads, but I was however in general at too great a\ndistance to receive any harm from them. At last, in the night of the\nfair of Motiers, which is in the beginning of September, I was attacked\nin my habitation in such a manner as to endanger the lives of everybody\nin the house.\n\nAt midnight I heard a great noise in the gallery which ran along the\nback part of the house. A shower of stones thrown against the window and\nthe door which opened to the gallery fell into it with so much noise and\nviolence, that my dog, which usually slept there, and had begun to bark,\nceased from fright, and ran into a corner gnawing and scratching the\nplanks to endeavor to make his escape. I immediately rose, and was\npreparing to go from my chamber into the kitchen, when a stone thrown\nby a vigorous arm crossed the latter, after having broken the window,\nforced open the door of my chamber, and fell at my feet, so that had I\nbeen a moment sooner upon the floor I should have had the stone against\nmy stomach. I judged the noise had been made to bring me to the door,\nand the stone thrown to receive me as I went out. I ran into the\nkitchen, where I found Theresa, who also had risen, and was tremblingly\nmaking her way to me as fast as she could. We placed ourselves against\nthe wall out of the direction of the window to avoid the stones,\nand deliberate upon what was best to be done; for going out to call\nassistance was the certain means of getting ourselves knocked on the\nhead. Fortunately the maid-servant of an old man who lodged under me\nwas waked by the noise, and got up and ran to call the chatelain, whose\nhouse was next to mine. He jumped from his bed, put on his robe de\nchambre, and instantly came to me with the guard, which, on account of\nthe fair, went the round that night, and was just at hand. The chatelain\nwas so alarmed at the sight of the effects of what had happened that he\nturned pale and on seeing the stones in the gallery, exclaimed, \"Good\nGod! here is a quarry!\" On examining below stairs, a door of a little\ncourt was found to have been forced, and there was an appearance of\nan attempt having been made to get into the house by the gallery. On\ninquiring the reason why the guard had neither prevented nor perceived\nthe disturbance, it came out that the guards of Motiers had insisted\nupon doing duty that night, although it was the turn of those of another\nvillage.\n\nThe next day the chatelain sent his report to the council of state,\nwhich two days afterwards sent an order to inquire into the affair, to\npromise a reward and secrecy to those who should impeach such as were\nguilty, and in the meantime to place, at the expense of the king, guards\nabout my house, and that of the chatelain, which joined to it. The day\nafter the disturbance, Colonel Pury, the Attorney-General Meuron, the\nChatelain Martinet, the Receiver Guyenet, the Treasurer d'Ivernois and\nhis father, in a word, every person of consequence in the country, came\nto see me, and united their solicitations to persuade me to yield to the\nstorm and leave, at least for a time, a place in which I could no longer\nlive in safety nor with honor. I perceived that even the chatelain was\nfrightened at the fury of the people, and apprehending it might extend\nto himself, would be glad to see me depart as soon as possible, that he\nmight no longer have the trouble of protecting me there, and be able to\nquit the parish, which he did after my departure. I therefore yielded\nto their solicitations, and this with but little pain, for the hatred\nof the people so afflicted my heart that I was no longer able to support\nit.\n\nI had a choice of places to retire to. After Madam de Verdelin returned\nto Paris, she had, in several letters, mentioned a Mr. Walpole, whom she\ncalled my lord, who, having a strong desire to serve me, proposed to me\nan asylum at one of his country houses, of the situation of which she\ngave me the most agreeable description; entering, relative to lodging\nand subsistence, into a detail which proved she and Lord Walpole had\nheld particular consultations upon the project. My lord marshal had\nalways advised me to go to England or Scotland, and in case of my\ndetermining upon the latter, offered me there an asylum. But he offered\nme another at Potsdam, near to his person, and which tempted me more\nthan all the rest.\n\nHe had just communicated to me what the king had said to him about my\ngoing there, which was a kind of invitation to me from that monarch, and\nthe Duchess of Saxe-Gotha depended so much upon my taking the journey\nthat she wrote to me desiring I should go to see her in my way to the\ncourt of Prussia, and stay some time before I proceeded farther; but I\nwas so attached to Switzerland that I could not resolve to quit it\nso long as it was possible for me to live there, and I seized this\nopportunity to execute a project of which I had for several months\nconceived the idea, and of which I have deferred speaking, that I might\nnot interrupt my narrative.\n\nThis project consisted in going to reside in the island of St. Peter, an\nestate belonging to the Hospital of Berne, in the middle of the lake of\nBienne. In a pedestrian pilgrimage I had made the preceding year with Du\nPeyrou we had visited this isle, with which I was so much delighted that\nI had since that time incessantly thought of the means of making it my\nplace of residence. The greatest obstacle to my wishes arose from the\nproperty of the island being vested in the people of Berne, who\nthree years before had driven me from amongst them; and besides the\nmortification of returning to live with people who had given me so\nunfavorable a reception, I had reason to fear they would leave me\nno more at peace in the island than they had done at Yverdon. I had\nconsulted the lord marshal upon the subject, who thinking as I did, that\nthe people of Berne would be glad to see me banished to the island, and\nto keep me there as a hostage for the works I might be tempted to write,\nand sounded their dispositions by means of M. Sturler, his old neighbor\nat Colombier. M. Sturler addressed himself to the chiefs of the state,\nand, according to their answer assured the marshal the Bernois, sorry\nfor their past behavior, wished to see me settled in the island of St.\nPeter, and to leave me there at peace. As an additional precaution,\nbefore I determined to reside there, I desired the Colonel Chaillet\nto make new inquiries. He confirmed what I had already heard, and the\nreceiver of the island having obtained from his superiors permission to\nlodge me in it, I thought I might without danger go to the house, with\nthe tacit consent of the sovereign and the proprietors; for I could not\nexpect the people of Berne would openly acknowledge the injustice they\nhad done me, and thus act contrary to the most inviolable maxim of all\nsovereigns.\n\nThe island of St. Peter, called at Neuchatel the island of La Motte, in\nthe middle of the lake of Bienne, is half a league in circumference; but\nin this little space all the chief productions necessary to subsistence\nare found. The island has fields, meadows, orchards, woods, and\nvineyards, and all these, favored by variegated and mountainous\nsituations, form a distribution of the more agreeable, as the parts, not\nbeing discovered all at once, are seen successively to advantage,\nand make the island appear greater than it really is. A very elevated\nterrace forms the western part of it, and commands Gleresse and\nNeuverville. This terrace is planted with trees which form a long\nalley, interrupted in the middle by a great saloon, in which, during\nthe vintage, the people from the neighboring shores assemble and divert\nthemselves. There is but one house in the whole island, but that is very\nspacious and convenient, inhabited by the receiver, and situated in a\nhollow by which it is sheltered from the winds.\n\nFive or six hundred paces to the south of the island of St. Peter\nis another island, considerably less than the former, wild and\nuncultivated, which appears to have been detached from the greater\nisland by storms: its gravelly soil produces nothing but willows and\npersicaria, but there is in it a high hill well covered with greensward\nand very pleasant. The form of the lake is an almost regular oval. The\nbanks, less rich than those of the lake of Geneva and Neuchatel, form a\nbeautiful decoration, especially towards the western part, which is well\npeopled, and edged with vineyards at the foot of a chain of mountains,\nsomething like those of Cote-Rotie, but which produce not such excellent\nwine. The bailiwick of St. John, Neuveville, Berne, and Bienne, lie in\na line from the south to the north, to the extremity of the lake, the\nwhole interspersed with very agreeable villages.\n\nSuch was the asylum I had prepared for myself, and to which I was\ndetermined to retire after quitting Val de Travers.\n\n     [It may perhaps be necessary to remark that I left there an enemy in\n     M. du Teneaux, mayor of Verrieres, not much esteemed in the country,\n     but who has a brother, said to be an honest man, in the office of M.\n     de St. Florentin.  The mayor had been to see him some time before my\n     adventure.  Little remarks of this kind, though of no consequence,\n     in themselves, may lead to the discovery of many underhand\n     dealings.]\n\nThis choice was so agreeable to my peaceful inclinations, and my\nsolitary and indolent disposition, that I consider it as one of the\npleasing reveries of which I became the most passionately fond. I\nthought I should in that island be more separated from men, more\nsheltered from their outrages, and sooner forgotten by mankind: in a\nword, more abandoned to the delightful pleasures of the inaction of a\ncontemplative life. I could have wished to have been confined in it\nin such a manner as to have had no intercourse with mortals, and I\ncertainly took every measure I could imagine to relieve me from the\nnecessity of troubling my head about them.\n\nThe great question was that of subsistence, and by the dearness of\nprovisions, and the difficulty of carriage, this is expensive in the\nisland; the inhabitants are besides at the mercy of the receiver. This\ndifficulty was removed by an arrangement which Du Peyrou made with me in\nbecoming a substitute to the company which had undertaken and abandoned\nmy general edition. I gave him all the materials necessary, and made\nthe proper arrangement and distribution. To the engagement between us\nI added that of giving him the memoirs of my life, and made him the\ngeneral depositary of all my papers, under the express condition of\nmaking no use of them until after my death, having it at heart quietly\nto end my days without doing anything which should again bring me back\nto the recollection of the public. The life annuity he undertook to pay\nme was sufficient to my subsistence. My lord marshal having recovered\nall his property, had offered me twelve hundred livres (fifty pounds) a\nyear, half of which I accepted. He wished to send me the principal, and\nthis I refused on account of the difficulty of placing it. He then sent\nthe amount to Du Peyrou, in whose hands it remained, and who pays me\nthe annuity according to the terms agreed upon with his lordship. Adding\ntherefore to the result of my agreement with Du Peyrou, the annuity of\nthe marshal, two-thirds of which were reversible to Theresa after my\ndeath, and the annuity of three hundred livres from Duchesne, I was\nassured of a genteel subsistence for myself, and after me for Theresa,\nto whom I left seven hundred livres (twenty-nine pounds) a year, from\nthe annuities paid me by Rey and the lord marshal; I had therefore no\nlonger to fear a want of bread. But it was ordained that honor should\noblige me to reject all these resources which fortune and my labors\nplaced within my reach, and that I should die as poor as I had lived. It\nwill be seen whether or not, without reducing myself to the last degree\nof infamy, I could abide by the engagements which care has always taken\nto render ignominious, by depriving me of every other resource to force\nme to consent to my own dishonor. How was it possible anybody could\ndoubt of the choice I should make in such an alternative? Others have\njudged of my heart by their own.\n\nMy mind at ease relative to subsistence was without care upon every\nother subject. Although I left in the world the field open to my\nenemies, there remained in the noble enthusiasm by which my writings\nwere dictated, and in the constant uniformity of my principles, an\nevidence of the uprightness of my heart which answered to that deducible\nfrom my conduct in favor of my natural disposition. I had no need of any\nother defense against my calumniators. They might under my name describe\nanother man, but it was impossible they should deceive such as were\nunwilling to be imposed upon. I could have given them my whole life to\nanimadvert upon, with a certainty, notwithstanding all my faults and\nweaknesses, and my want of aptitude to support the lightest yoke,\nof their finding me in every situation a just and good man, without\nbitterness, hatred, or jealousy, ready to acknowledge my errors, and\nstill more prompt to forget the injuries I received from others; seeking\nall my happiness in love, friendship, and affection, and in everything\ncarrying my sincerity even to imprudence and the most incredible\ndisinterestedness.\n\nI therefore in some measure took leave of the age in which I lived and\nmy contemporaries, and bade adieu to the world, with an intention to\nconfine myself for the rest of my days to that island; such was my\nresolution, and it was there I hoped to execute the great project of the\nindolent life to which I had until then consecrated the little activity\nwith which Heaven had endowed me. The island was to become to me that of\nPapimanie, that happy country where the inhabitants sleep:\n\n               On n'y fait plus, on n'y fait nulle chose.\n\n               [There they do no more: there they do nothing.]\n\nThis 'no more' was everything for me, for I never much regretted sleep;\nindolence is sufficient to my happiness, and provided I do nothing,\nI had rather dream waking than asleep. Being past the age of romantic\nprojects, and having been more stunned than flattered by the trumpet\nof fame, my only hope was that of living at ease, and constantly at\nleisure. This is the life of the blessed in the world to come, and for\nthe rest of mine here below I made it my supreme happiness.\n\nThey who reproach me with so many contradictions, will not fail here\nto add another to the number. I have observed the indolence of great\ncompanies made them unsupportable to me, and I am now seeking solitude\nfor the sole purpose of abandoning myself to inaction. This however\nis my disposition; if there be in it a contradiction, it proceeds from\nnature and not from me; but there is so little that it is precisely on\nthat account that I am always consistent. The indolence of company is\nburdensome because it is forced. That of solitude is charming because\nit is free, and depends upon the will. In company I suffer cruelly by\ninaction, because this is of necessity. I must there remain nailed to\nmy chair, or stand upright like a picket, without stirring hand or foot,\nnot daring to run, jump, sing, exclaim, nor gesticulate when I please,\nnot allowed even to dream, suffering at the same time the fatigue of\ninaction and all the torment of constraint; obliged to pay attention to\nevery foolish thing uttered, and to all the idle compliments paid,\nand constantly to keep my mind upon the rack that I may not fail to\nintroduce in my turn my jest or my lie. And this is called idleness! It\nis the labor of a galley slave.\n\nThe indolence I love is not that of a lazy fellow who sits with his arms\nacross in total inaction, and thinks no more than he acts, but that of a\nchild which is incessantly in motion doing nothing, and that of a dotard\nwho wanders from his subject. I love to amuse myself with trifles, by\nbeginning a hundred things and never finishing one of them, by going or\ncoming as I take either into my head, by changing my project at every\ninstant, by following a fly through all its windings, in wishing to\noverturn a rock to see what is under it, by undertaking with ardor the\nwork of ten years, and abandoning it without regret at the end of ten\nminutes; finally, in musing from morning until night without order or\ncoherence, and in following in everything the caprice of a moment.\n\nBotany, such as I have always considered it, and of which after my own\nmanner I began to become passionately fond, was precisely an idle study,\nproper to fill up the void of my leisure, without leaving room for the\ndelirium of imagination or the weariness of total inaction. Carelessly\nwandering in the woods and the country, mechanically gathering here a\nflower and there a branch; eating my morsel almost by chance, observing\na thousand and a thousand times the same things, and always with the\nsame interest, because I always forgot them, were to me the means of\npassing an eternity without a weary moment. However elegant, admirable,\nand variegated the structure of plants may be, it does not strike an\nignorant eye sufficiently to fix the attention. The constant analogy,\nwith, at the same time, the prodigious variety which reigns in their\nconformation, gives pleasure to those only who have already some idea of\nthe vegetable system. Others at the sight of these treasures of nature\nfeel nothing more than a stupid and monotonous admiration. They see\nnothing in detail because they know not for what to look, nor do they\nperceive the whole, having no idea of the chain of connection and\ncombinations which overwhelms with its wonders the mind of the observer.\nI was arrived at that happy point of knowledge, and my want of memory\nwas such as constantly to keep me there, that I knew little enough to\nmake the whole new to me, and yet everything that was necessary to make\nme sensible to the beauties of all the parts. The different soils into\nwhich the island, although little, was divided, offered a sufficient\nvariety of plants, for the study and amusement of my whole life. I was\ndetermined not to leave a blade of grass without analyzing it, and I\nbegan already to take measures for making, with an immense collection of\nobservations, the 'Flora Petrinsularis'.\n\nI sent for Theresa, who brought with her my books and effects. We\nboarded with the receiver of the island. His wife had sisters at Nidau,\nwho by turns came to see her, and were company for Theresa. I here\nmade the experiment of the agreeable life which I could have wished\nto continue to the end of my days, and the pleasure I found in it only\nserved to make me feel to a greater degree the bitterness of that by\nwhich it was shortly to be succeeded.\n\nI have ever been passionately fond of water, and the sight of it throws\nme into a delightful reverie, although frequently without a determinate\nobject.\n\nImmediately after I rose from my bed I never failed, if the weather was\nfine, to run to the terrace to respire the fresh and salubrious air of\nthe morning, and glide my eye over the horizon of the lake, bounded\nby banks and mountains, delightful to the view. I know no homage\nmore worthy of the divinity than the silent admiration excited by the\ncontemplation of his works, and which is not externally expressed. I can\neasily comprehend the reason why the inhabitants of great cities, who\nsee nothing but walls, and streets, have but little faith; but not\nwhence it happens that people in the country, and especially such as\nlive in solitude, can possibly be without it. How comes it to pass that\nthese do not a hundred times a day elevate their minds in ecstasy to\nthe Author of the wonders which strike their senses. For my part, it\nis especially at rising, wearied by a want of sleep, that long habit\ninclines me to this elevation which imposes not the fatigue of thinking.\nBut to this effect my eyes must be struck with the ravishing beauties of\nnature. In my chamber I pray less frequently, and not so fervently; but\nat the view of a fine landscape I feel myself moved, but by what I am\nunable to tell. I have somewhere read of a wise bishop who in a visit to\nhis diocese found an old woman whose only prayer consisted in the single\ninterjection \"Oh!\"--\"Good mother,\" said he to her, \"continue to pray\nin this manner; your prayer is better than ours.\" This better prayer is\nmine also.\n\nAfter breakfast, I hastened, with a frown on my brow, to write a few\npitiful letters, longing ardently for the moment after which I should\nhave no more to write. I busied myself for a few minutes about my books\nand papers, to unpack and arrange them, rather than to read what\nthey contained; and this arrangement, which to me became the work of\nPenelope, gave me the pleasure of musing for a while. I then grew weary,\nand quitted my books to spend the three or four hours which remained to\nme of the morning in the study of botany, and especially of the system\nof Linnaeus, of which I became so passionately fond, that, after having\nfelt how useless my attachment to it was, I yet could not entirely shake\nit off. This great observer is, in my opinion, the only one who,\nwith Ludwig, has hitherto considered botany as a naturalist, and a\nphilosopher; but he has too much studied it in herbals and gardens, and\nnot sufficiently in nature herself. For my part, whose garden was always\nthe whole island, the moment I wanted to make or verify an observation,\nI ran into the woods or meadows with my book under my arm, and there\nlaid myself upon the ground near the plant in question, to examine it at\nmy ease as it stood. This method was of great service to me in gaining\na knowledge of vegetables in their natural state, before they had been\ncultivated and changed in their nature by the hands of men. Fagon, first\nphysician to Louis XIV., and who named and perfectly knew all the plants\nin the royal garden, is said to have been so ignorant in the country\nas not to know how to distinguish the same plants. I am precisely the\ncontrary. I know something of the work of nature, but nothing of that of\nthe gardener.\n\nI gave every afternoon totally up to my indolent and careless\ndisposition, and to following without regularity the impulse of the\nmoment. When the weather was calm, I frequently went immediately after\nI rose from dinner, and alone got into the boat. The receiver had taught\nme to row with one oar; I rowed out into the middle of the lake. The\nmoment I withdrew from the bank, I felt a secret joy which almost made\nme leap, and of which it is impossible for me to tell or even comprehend\nthe cause, if it were not a secret congratulation on my being out of\nthe reach of the wicked. I afterwards rowed about the lake, sometimes\napproaching the opposite bank, but never touching at it. I often let\nmy boat float at the mercy of the wind and water, abandoning myself to\nreveries without object, and which were not the less agreeable for their\nstupidity. I sometimes exclaimed, \"O nature! O my mother! I am here\nunder thy guardianship alone; here is no deceitful and cunning mortal to\ninterfere between thee and me.\" In this manner I withdrew half a league\nfrom land; I could have wished the lake had been the ocean. However, to\nplease my poor dog, who was not so fond as I was of such a long stay on\nthe water, I commonly followed one constant course; this was going to\nland at the little island where I walked an hour or two, or laid myself\ndown on the grass on the summit of the hill, there to satiate myself\nwith the pleasure of admiring the lake and its environs, to examine\nand dissect all the herbs within my reach, and, like another Robinson\nCrusoe, built myself an imaginary place of residence in the island. I\nbecame very much attached to this eminence. When I brought Theresa, with\nthe wife of the receiver and her sisters, to walk there, how proud was I\nto be their pilot and guide! We took there rabbits to stock it. This was\nanother source of pleasure to Jean Jacques. These animals rendered\nthe island still more interesting to me. I afterwards went to it more\nfrequently, and with greater pleasure to observe the progress of the new\ninhabitants.\n\nTo these amusements I added one which recalled to my recollection\nthe delightful life I led at the Charmettes, and to which the season\nparticularly invited me. This was assisting in the rustic labors of\ngathering of roots and fruits, of which Theresa and I made it a pleasure\nto partake with the wife of the receiver and his family. I remember a\nBernois, one M. Kirkeberguer, coming to see me, found me perched upon\na tree with a sack fastened to my waist, and already so full of apples\nthat I could not stir from the branch on which I stood. I was not sorry\nto be caught in this and similar situations. I hoped the people of\nBerne, witnesses to the employment of my leisure, would no longer think\nof disturbing my tranquillity but leave me at peace in my solitude. I\nshould have preferred being confined there by their desire: this would\nhave rendered the continuation of my repose more certain.\n\nThis is another declaration upon which I am previously certain of the\nincredulity of many of my readers, who obstinately continue to judge me\nby themselves, although they cannot but have seen, in the course of my\nlife, a thousand internal affections which bore no resemblance to any\nof theirs. But what is still more extraordinary is, that they refuse\nme every sentiment, good or indifferent, which they have not, and are\nconstantly ready to attribute to me such bad ones as cannot enter into\nthe heart of man: in this case they find it easy to set me in opposition\nto nature, and to make of me such a monster as cannot in reality exist.\nNothing absurd appears to them incredible, the moment it has a tendency\nto blacken me, and nothing in the least extraordinary seems to them\npossible, if it tends to do me honor.\n\nBut, notwithstanding what they may think or say, I will still continue\nfaithfully to state what J. J. Rousseau was, did, and thought; without\nexplaining, or justifying, the singularity of his sentiments and ideas,\nor endeavoring to discover whether or not others have thought as he did.\nI became so delighted with the island of St. Peter, and my residence\nthere was so agreeable to me that, by concentrating all my desires\nwithin it, I formed the wish that I might stay there to the end of my\nlife. The visits I had to return in the neighborhood, the journeys I\nshould be under the necessity of making to Neuchatel, Bienne, Yverdon,\nand Nidau, already fatigued my imagination. A day passed out of the\nisland, seemed to me a loss of so much happiness, and to go beyond the\nbounds of the lake was to go out of my element. Past experience had\nbesides rendered me apprehensive. The very satisfaction that I received\nfrom anything whatever was sufficient to make me fear the loss of\nit, and the ardent desire I had to end my days in that island, was\ninseparable from the apprehension of being obliged to leave it. I had\ncontracted a habit of going in the evening to sit upon the sandy shore,\nespecially when the lake was agitated. I felt a singular pleasure in\nseeing the waves break at my feet. I formed of them in my imagination\nthe image of the tumult of the world contrasted with the peace of my\nhabitation; and this pleasing idea sometimes softened me even to tears.\nThe repose I enjoyed with ecstasy was disturbed by nothing but the fear\nof being deprived of it, and this inquietude was accompanied with some\nbitterness. I felt my situation so precarious as not to dare to depend\nupon its continuance. \"Ah! how willingly,\" said I to myself, \"would I\nrenounce the liberty of quitting this place, for which I have no desire,\nfor the assurance of always remaining in it. Instead of being permitted\nto stay here by favor, why am I not detained by force! They who\nsuffer me to remain may in a moment drive me away, and can I hope my\npersecutors, seeing me happy, will leave me here to continue to be so?\nPermitting me to live in the island is but a trifling favor. I could\nwish to be condemned to do it, and constrained to remain here that I may\nnot be obliged to go elsewhere.\" I cast an envious eye upon Micheli du\nCret, who, quiet in the castle of Arbourg, had only to determine to be\nhappy to become so. In fine, by abandoning myself to these reflections,\nand the alarming apprehensions of new storms always ready to break over\nmy head, I wished for them with an incredible ardor, and that instead of\nsuffering me to reside in the island, the Bernois would give it me for\na perpetual prison; and I can assert that had it depended upon me to get\nmyself condemned to this, I would most joyfully have done it, preferring\na thousand times the necessity of passing my life there to the danger of\nbeing driven to another place.\n\nThis fear did not long remain on my mind. When I least expected what was\nto happen, I received a letter from the bailiff of Nidau, within whose\njurisdiction the island of St. Peter was; by his letter he announced to\nme from their excellencies an order to quit the island and their states.\nI thought myself in a dream. Nothing could be less natural, reasonable,\nor foreseen than such an order: for I considered my apprehensions as\nthe result of inquietude in a man whose imagination was disturbed by his\nmisfortunes, and not to proceed from a foresight which could have the\nleast foundation. The measures I had taken to insure myself the tacit\nconsent of the sovereign, the tranquillity with which I had been left to\nmake my establishment, the visits of several people from Berne, and that\nof the bailiff himself, who had shown me such friendship and attention,\nand the rigor of the season in which it was barbarous to expel a man who\nwas sickly and infirm, all these circumstances made me and many people\nbelieve that there was some mistake in the order and that ill-disposed\npeople had purposely chosen the time of the vintage and the vacation of\nthe senate suddenly to do me an injury.\n\nHad I yielded to the first impulse of my indignation, I should\nimmediately have departed. But to what place was I to go? What was\nto become of me at the beginning of the winter, without object,\npreparation, guide or carriage? Not to leave my papers and effects\nat the mercy of the first comer, time was necessary to make proper\narrangements, and it was not stated in the order whether or not this\nwould be granted me. The continuance of misfortune began to weigh down\nmy courage. For the first time in my life I felt my natural haughtiness\nstoop to the yoke of necessity, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of my\nheart, I was obliged to demean myself by asking for a delay. I applied\nto M. de Graffenried, who had sent me the order, for an explanation of\nit. His letter, conceived in the strongest terms of disapprobation of\nthe step that had been taken, assured me it was with the greatest regret\nhe communicated to me the nature of it, and the expressions of grief and\nesteem it contained seemed so many gentle invitations to open to him my\nheart: I did so. I had no doubt but my letter would open the eyes of my\npersecutors, and that if so cruel an order was not revoked, at least\na reasonable delay, perhaps the whole winter, to make the necessary\npreparations for my retreat, and to choose a place of abode, would be\ngranted me.\n\nWhilst I waited for an answer, I reflected upon my situation,\nand deliberated upon the steps I had to take. I perceived so many\ndifficulties on all sides, the vexation I had suffered had so strongly\naffected me, and my health was then in such a bad state, that I was\nquite overcome, and the effect of my discouragement was to deprive me of\nthe little resource which remained in my mind, by which I might, as well\nas it was possible to do it, have withdrawn myself from my melancholy\nsituation. In whatever asylum I should take refuge, it appeared\nimpossible to avoid either of the two means made use of to expel me. One\nof which was to stir up against me the populace by secret manoeuvres;\nand the other to drive me away by open force, without giving a reason\nfor so doing. I could not, therefore, depend upon a safe retreat, unless\nI went in search of it farther than my strength and the season seemed\nlikely to permit. These circumstances again bringing to my recollection\nthe ideas which had lately occurred to me, I wished my persecutors to\ncondemn me to perpetual imprisonment rather than oblige me incessantly\nto wander upon the earth, by successively expelling me from the\nasylums of which I should make choice: and to this effect I made them a\nproposal. Two days after my first letter to M. de Graffenried, I wrote\nhim a second, desiring he would state what I had proposed to their\nexcellencies. The answer from Berne to both was an order, conceived in\nthe most formal and severe terms, to go out of the island, and leave\nevery territory, mediate and immediate of the republic, within the\nspace of twenty-four hours, and never to enter them again under the most\ngrievous penalties.\n\nThis was a terrible moment. I have since that time felt greater anguish,\nbut never have I been more embarrassed. What afflicted me most was being\nforced to abandon the project which had made me desirous to pass the\nwinter in the island. It is now time I should relate the fatal anecdote\nwhich completed my disasters, and involved in my ruin an unfortunate\npeople, whose rising virtues already promised to equal those of Rome and\nSparta, I had spoken of the Corsicans in the 'Social Contract' as a new\npeople, the only nation in Europe not too worn out for legislation,\nand had expressed the great hope there was of such a people, if it were\nfortunate enough to have a wise legislator. My work was read by some of\nthe Corsicans, who were sensible of the honorable manner in which I had\nspoken of them; and the necessity under which they found themselves\nof endeavoring to establish their republic, made their chiefs think of\nasking me for my ideas upon the subject. M. Buttafuoco, of one of the\nfirst families in the country, and captain in France, in the Royal\nItalians, wrote to me to that effect, and sent me several papers for\nwhich I had asked to make myself acquainted with the history of the\nnation and the state of the country. M. Paoli, also, wrote to me several\ntimes, and although I felt such an undertaking to be superior to my\nabilities; I thought I could not refuse to give my assistance to so\ngreat and noble a work, the moment I should have acquired all the\nnecessary information. It was to this effect I answered both these\ngentlemen, and the correspondence lasted until my departure.\n\nPrecisely at the same time, I heard that France was sending troops to\nCorsica, and that she had entered into a treaty with the Genoese. This\ntreaty and sending of troops gave me uneasiness, and, without imagining\nI had any further relation with the business, I thought it impossible\nand the attempt ridiculous, to labor at an undertaking which required\nsuch undisturbed tranquillity as the political institution of a people\nin the moment when perhaps they were upon the point of being subjugated.\nI did not conceal my fears from M. Buttafuoco, who rather relieved\nme from them by the assurance that, were there in the treaty things\ncontrary to the liberty of his country, a good citizen like himself\nwould not remain as he did in the service of France. In fact, his zeal\nfor the legislation of the Corsicans, and his connections with M. Paoli,\ncould not leave a doubt on my mind respecting him; and when I heard\nhe made frequent journeys to Versailles and Fontainebleau, and had\nconversations with M. de Choiseul, all I concluded from the whole was,\nthat with respect to the real intentions of France he had assurances\nwhich he gave me to understand, but concerning which he did not choose\nopenly to explain himself by letter.\n\nThis removed a part of my apprehensions. Yet, as I could not comprehend\nthe meaning of the transportation of troops from France, nor reasonably\nsuppose they were sent to Corsica to protect the liberty of the\ninhabitants, which they of themselves were very well able to defend\nagainst the Genoese, I could neither make myself perfectly easy, nor\nseriously undertake the plan of the proposed legislation, until I had\nsolid proofs that the whole was serious, and that the parties meant not\nto trifle with me. I much wished for an interview with M. Buttafuoco, as\nthat was certainly the best means of coming at the explanation I\nwished. Of this he gave me hopes, and I waited for it with the greatest\nimpatience. I know not whether he really intended me any interview\nor not; but had this even been the case, my misfortunes would have\nprevented me from profiting by it.\n\nThe more I considered the proposed undertaking, and the further I\nadvanced in the examination of the papers I had in my hands, the greater\nI found the necessity of studying, in the country, the people for whom\ninstitutions were to be made, the soil they inhabited, and all the\nrelative circumstances by which it was necessary to appropriate to them\nthat institution. I daily perceived more clearly the impossibility of\nacquiring at a distance all the information necessary to guide me. This\nI wrote to M. Buttafuoco, and he felt as I did. Although I did not form\nthe precise resolution of going to Corsica. I considered a good deal of\nthe means necessary to make that voyage. I mentioned it to M. Dastier,\nwho having formerly served in the island under M. de Maillebois, was\nnecessarily acquainted with it. He used every effort to dissuade me from\nthis intention, and I confess the frightful description he gave me of\nthe Corsicans and their country, considerably abated the desire I had of\ngoing to live amongst them.\n\nBut when the persecutions of Motiers made me think of quitting\nSwitzerland, this desire was again strengthened by the hope of at length\nfinding amongst these islanders the repose refused me in every other\nplace. One thing only alarmed me, which was my unfitness for the active\nlife to which I was going to be condemned, and the aversion I had always\nhad to it. My disposition, proper for meditating at leisure and in\nsolitude, was not so for speaking and acting, and treating of affairs\nwith men. Nature, which had endowed me with the first talent, had\nrefused me the last. Yet I felt that, even without taking a direct and\nactive part in public affairs, I should as soon as I was in Corsica,\nbe under the necessity of yielding to the desires of the people, and\nof frequently conferring with the chiefs. The object even of the voyage\nrequired that, instead of seeking retirement, I should in the heart of\nthe country endeavor to gain the information of which I stood in need.\nIt was certain that I should no longer be master of my own time, and\nthat, in spite of myself, precipitated into the vortex in which I was\nnot born to move, I should there lead a life contrary to my inclination,\nand never appear but to disadvantage. I foresaw that ill-supporting by\nmy presence the opinion my books might have given the Corsicans of my\ncapacity, I should lose my reputation amongst them, and, as much to\ntheir prejudice as my own, be deprived of the confidence they had in me,\nwithout which, however, I could not successfully produce the work they\nexpected from my pen. I am certain that, by thus going out of my sphere,\nI should become useless to the inhabitants, and render myself unhappy.\n\nTormented, beaten by storms from every quarter, and, for several years\npast, fatigued by journeys and persecution, I strongly felt a want of\nthe repose of which my barbarous enemies wantonly deprived me: I sighed\nmore than ever after that delicious indolence, that soft tranquillity of\nbody and mind, which I had so much desired, and to which, now that I had\nrecovered from the chimeras of love and friendship, my heart limited\nits supreme felicity. I viewed with terror the work I was about to\nundertake; the tumultuous life into which I was to enter made me\ntremble, and if the grandeur, beauty, and utility of the object animated\nmy courage, the impossibility of conquering so many difficulties\nentirely deprived me of it.\n\nTwenty years of profound meditation in solitude would have been less\npainful to me than an active life of six months in the midst of men and\npublic affairs, with a certainty of not succeeding in my undertaking.\n\nI thought of an expedient which seemed proper to obviate every\ndifficulty. Pursued by the underhand dealings of my secret persecutors\nto every place in which I took refuge, and seeing no other except\nCorsica where I could in my old days hope for the repose I had until\nthen been everywhere deprived of, I resolved to go there with the\ndirections of M. Buttafuoco as soon as this was possible, but to live\nthere in tranquillity; renouncing, in appearance, everything relative to\nlegislation, and, in some measure, to make my hosts a return for their\nhospitality, to confine myself to writing in the country the history\nof the Corsicans, with a reserve in my own mind of the intention of\nsecretly acquiring the necessary information to become more useful\nto them should I see a probability of success. In this manner, by not\nentering into an engagement, I hoped to be enabled better to meditate\nin secret and more at my ease, a plan which might be useful to their\npurpose, and this without much breaking in upon my dearly beloved\nsolitude, or submitting to a kind of life which I had ever found\ninsupportable.\n\nBut the journey was not, in my situation, a thing so easy to get over.\nAccording to what M. Dastier had told me of Corsica, I could not expect\nto find there the most simple conveniences of life, except such as\nI should take with me; linen, clothes, plate, kitchen furniture, and\nbooks, all were to be conveyed thither. To get there myself with my\ngouvernante, I had the Alps to cross, and in a journey of two hundred\nleagues to drag after me all my baggage; I had also to pass through the\nstates of several sovereigns, and according to the example set to all\nEurope, I had, after what had befallen me, naturally to expect to find\nobstacles in every quarter, and that each sovereign would think he did\nhimself honor by overwhelming me with some new insult, and violating in\nmy person all the rights of persons and humanity. The immense expense,\nfatigue, and risk of such a journey made a previous consideration of\nthem, and weighing every difficulty, the first step necessary. The idea\nof being alone, and, at my age, without resource, far removed from all\nmy acquaintance, and at the mercy of these semi-barbarous and ferocious\npeople, such as M. Dastier had described them to me, was sufficient to\nmake me deliberate before I resolved to expose myself to such dangers.\nI ardently wished for the interview for which M. Buttafuoco had given\nme reason to hope, and I waited the result of it to guide me in my\ndetermination.\n\nWhilst I thus hesitated came on the persecutions of Motiers, which\nobliged me to retire. I was not prepared for a long journey, especially\nto Corsica. I expected to hear from Buttafuoco; I took refuge in the\nisland of St. Peter, whence I was driven at the beginning of winter,\nas I have already stated. The Alps, covered with snow, then rendered my\nemigration impracticable, especially with the promptitude required from\nme. It is true, the extravagant severity of a like order rendered the\nexecution of it almost impossible; for, in the midst of that concentred\nsolitude, surrounded by water, and having but twenty-four hours after\nreceiving the order to prepare for my departure, and find a boat and\ncarriages to get out of the island and the territory, had I had wings,\nI should scarcely have been able to pay obedience to it. This I wrote to\nthe bailiff of Nidau, in answer to his letter, and hastened to take my\ndeparture from a country of iniquity. In this manner was I obliged\nto abandon my favorite project, for which reason, not having in my\noppression been able to prevail upon my persecutors to dispose of me\notherwise, I determined, in consequence of the invitation of my lord\nmarshal, upon a journey to Berlin, leaving Theresa to pass the winter\nin the island of St. Peter, with my books and effects, and depositing my\npapers in the hands of M. du Peyrou. I used so much diligence that the\nnext morning I left the island and arrived at Bienne before noon. An\naccident, which I cannot pass over in silence, had here well nigh put an\nend to my journey.\n\nAs soon as the news or my having received an order to quit my asylum was\ncirculated, I received a great number of visits from the neighborhood,\nand especially from the Bernois, who came with the most detestable\nfalsehood to flatter and soothe me, protesting that my persecutors had\nseized the moment of the vacation of the senate to obtain and send me\nthe order, which, said they, had excited the indignation of the two\nhundred. Some of these comforters came from the city of Bienne, a little\nfree state within that of Berne, and amongst others a young man of\nthe name of Wildremet whose family was of the first rank, and had the\ngreatest credit in that city. Wildremet strongly solicited me in the\nname of his fellow-citizens to choose my retreat amongst them, assuring\nme that they were anxiously desirous of it, and that they would think\nit an honor and their duty to make me forget the persecutions I had\nsuffered; that with them I had nothing to fear from the influence of the\nBernois, that Bienne was a free city, governed by its own laws, and\nthat the citizens were unanimously resolved not to hearken to any\nsolicitation which should be unfavorable to me.\n\nWildremet perceiving all he could say to be ineffectual, brought to his\naid several other persons, as well from Bienne and the environs as from\nBerne; even, and amongst others, the same Kirkeberguer, of whom I have\nspoken, who, after my retreat to Switzerland had endeavored to obtain\nmy esteem, and by his talents and principles had interested me in his\nfavor. But I received much less expected and more weighty solicitations\nfrom M. Barthes, secretary to the embassy from France, who came with\nWildremet to see me, exhorted me to accept his invitation, and surprised\nme by the lively and tender concern he seemed to feel for my situation.\nI did not know M. Barthes; however I perceived in what he said the\nwarmth and zeal of friendship, and that he had it at heart to persuade\nme to fix my residence at Bienne. He made the most pompous eulogium of\nthe city and its inhabitants, with whom he showed himself so intimately\nconnected as to call them several times in my presence his patrons and\nfathers.\n\nThis from Barthes bewildered me in my conjectures. I had always\nsuspected M. de Choisuel to be the secret author of all the persecutions\nI suffered in Switzerland. The conduct of the resident of Geneva, and\nthat of the ambassador at Soleure but too much confirmed my suspicion; I\nperceived the secret influence of France in everything that happened\nto me at Berne, Geneva and Neuchatel, and I did not think I had any\npowerful enemy in that kingdom, except the Duke de Choiseul. What\ntherefore could I think of the visit of Barthes and the tender concern\nhe showed for my welfare? My misfortunes had not yet destroyed the\nconfidence natural to my heart, and I had still to learn from experience\nto discern snares under the appearance of friendship. I sought with\nsurprise the reason of the benevolence of M. Barthes; I was not weak\nenough to believe he had acted from himself; there was in his manner\nsomething ostentatious, an affectation even which declared a concealed\nintention, and I was far from having found in any of these little\nsubaltern agents, that generous intrepidity which, when I was in a\nsimilar employment, had often caused a fermentation in my heart. I had\nformerly known something of the Chevalier Beauteville, at the castle of\nMontmorency; he had shown me marks of esteem; since his appointment to\nthe embassy he had given me proofs of his not having entirely forgotten\nme, accompanied with an invitation to go and see him at Soleure. Though\nI did not accept this invitation, I was extremely sensible of his\ncivility, not having been accustomed to be treated with such kindness\nby people in place. I presume M. de Beauteville, obliged to follow his\ninstructions in what related to the affairs of Geneva, yet pitying\nme under my misfortunes, had by his private cares prepared for me the\nasylum of Bienne, that I might live there in peace under his auspices. I\nwas properly sensible of his attention, but without wishing to profit by\nit and quite determined upon the journey to Berlin, I sighed after the\nmoment in which I was to see my lord marshal, persuaded I should in\nfuture find real repose and lasting happiness nowhere but near his\nperson.\n\nOn my departure from the island, Kirkeberguer accompanied me to Bienne.\nI found Wildremet and other Biennois, who, by the water side, waited\nmy getting out of the boat. We all dined together at the inn, and on my\narrival there my first care was to provide a chaise, being determined\nto set off the next morning. Whilst we were at dinner these gentlemen\nrepeated their solicitations to prevail upon me to stay with them, and\nthis with such warmth and obliging protestations, that notwithstanding\nall my resolutions, my heart, which has never been able to resist\nfriendly attentions, received an impression from theirs; the moment they\nperceived I was shaken, they redoubled their efforts with so much effect\nthat I was at length overcome, and consented to remain at Bienne, at\nleast until the spring.\n\nWildremet immediately set about providing me with a lodging, and\nboasted, as of a fortunate discovery, of a dirty little chamber in the\nback of the house, on the third story, looking into a courtyard, where I\nhad for a view the display of the stinking skins of a dresser of chamois\nleather. My host was a man of a mean appearance, and a good deal of a\nrascal; the next day after I went to his house I heard that he was a\ndebauchee, a gamester, and in bad credit in the neighborhood. He\nhad neither wife, children, nor servants, and shut up in my solitary\nchamber, I was in the midst of one of the most agreeable countries in\nEurope, lodged in a manner to make me die of melancholy in the course of\na few days. What affected me most was, that, notwithstanding what I had\nheard of the anxious wish of the inhabitants to receive me amongst them,\nI had not perceived, as I passed through the streets, anything polite\ntowards me in their manners, or obliging in their looks. I was, however,\ndetermined to remain there; but I learned, saw, and felt, the day after,\nthat there was in the city a terrible fermentation, of which I was the\ncause. Several persons hastened obligingly to inform me that on the\nnext day I was to receive an order conceived in the most severe terms,\nimmediately to quit the state, that is the city. I had nobody in whom\nI could confide; they who had detained me were dispersed. Wildremet had\ndisappeared; I heard no more of Barthes, and it did not appear that his\nrecommendation had brought me into great favor with those whom he had\nstyled his patrons and fathers. One M. de Van Travers, a Bernois, who\nhad an agreeable house not far from the city, offered it to me for my\nasylum, hoping, as he said, that I might there avoid being stoned. The\nadvantage this offer held out was not sufficiently flattering to tempt\nme to prolong my abode with these hospitable people.\n\nYet, having lost three days by the delay, I had greatly exceeded the\ntwenty-four hours the Bernois had given me to quit their states, and\nknowing their severity, I was not without apprehensions as to the manner\nin which they would suffer me to cross them, when the bailiff of Nidau\ncame opportunely and relieved me from my embarrassment. As he had\nhighly disapproved of the violent proceedings of their excellencies, he\nthought, in his generosity, he owed me some public proof of his taking\nno part in them, and had courage to leave his bailiwick to come and\npay me a visit at Bienne. He did me this favor the evening before my\ndeparture, and far from being incognito he affected ceremony, coming in\nfiocchi in his coach with his secretary, and brought me a passport\nin his own name that I might cross the state of Berne at my ease, and\nwithout fear of molestation. I was more flattered by the visit than by\nthe passport, and should have been as sensible of the merit of it, had\nit had for object any other person whatsoever. Nothing makes a greater\nimpression on my heart than a well-timed act of courage in favor of the\nweak unjustly oppressed.\n\nAt length, after having with difficulty procured a chaise, I next\nmorning left this barbarous country, before the arrival of the\ndeputation with which I was to be honored, and even before I had seen\nTheresa, to whom I had written to come to me, when I thought I should\nremain at Bienne, and whom I had scarcely time to countermand by a\nshort letter, informing her of my new disaster. In the third part of my\nmemoirs, if ever I be able to write them, I shall state in what manner,\nthinking to set off for Berlin, I really took my departure for England,\nand the means by which the two ladies who wished to dispose of my\nperson, after having by their manoeuvres driven me from Switzerland,\nwhere I was not sufficiently in their power, at last delivered me into\nthe hands of their friend.\n\nI added what follows on reading my memoirs to M. and Madam, the Countess\nof Egmont, the Prince Pignatelli, the Marchioness of Mesme, and the\nMarquis of Juigne.\n\nI have written the truth: if any person has heard of things contrary\nto those I have just stated, were they a thousand times proved, he has\nheard calumny and falsehood; and if he refuses thoroughly to examine\nand compare them with me whilst I am alive, he is not a friend either\nto justice or truth. For my part, I openly, and without the least fear\ndeclare, that whoever, even without having read my works, shall\nhave examined with his own eyes, my disposition, character, manners,\ninclinations, pleasures, and habits, and pronounce me a dishonest man,\nis himself one who deserves a gibbet.\n\nThus I concluded, and every person was silent; Madam d'Egmont was\nthe only person who seemed affected; she visibly trembled, but soon\nrecovered herself, and was silent like the rest of the company. Such\nwere the fruits of my reading and declaration.\n\n\n\n[NOTE: Here is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the\nfile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making\nan entire meal of them. D.W.]\n\n\nETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n  A feeling heart the foundation of all my misfortunes\n  A religion preached by such missionaries must lead to paradise!\n  A subject not even fit to make a priest of\n  A man, on being questioned, is immediately on his guard\n  Adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained\n  All animals are distrustful of man, and with reason\n  All your evils proceed from yourselves!\n  An author must be independent of success\n  Ardor for learning became so far a madness\n  Aversion to singularity\n  Avoid putting our interests in competition with our duty\n  Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all vices\n  Bilboquet\n  Catholic must content himself with the decisions of others\n  Caution is needless after the evil has happened\n  Cemented by reciprocal esteem\n  Considering this want of decency as an act of courage\n  Conversations were more serviceable than his prescriptions\n  Degree of sensuality had mingled with the smart and shame\n  Die without the aid of physicians\n  Difficult to think nobly when we think for a livelihood\n  Dine at the hour of supper; sup when I should have been asleep\n  Disgusted with the idle trifling of a convent\n  Dissembler, though, in fact, I was only courteous\n  Dying for love without an object\n  Endeavoring to hide my incapacity, I rarely fail to show it\n  Endeavoring to rise too high we are in danger of falling\n  Ever appearing to feel as little for others as herself\n  Finding in every disease symptoms similar to mine\n  First instance of violence and oppression is so deeply engraved\n  First time in my life, of saying, \"I merit my own esteem\"\n  Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice\n  Force me to be happy in the manner they should point out\n  Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment\n  Hastening on to death without having lived\n  Hat, only fit to be carried under his arm\n  Have the pleasure of seeing an ass ride on horseback\n  Have ever preferred suffering to owing\n  Her excessive admiration or dislike of everything\n  Hold fast to aught that I have, and yet covet nothing more\n  Hopes, in which self-love was by no means a loser\n  How many wrongs are effaced by the embraces of a friend!\n  I never much regretted sleep\n  I strove to flatter my idleness\n  I never heard her speak ill of persons who were absent\n  I loved her too well to wish to possess her\n  I felt no dread but that of being detected\n  I was long a child, and am so yet in many particulars\n  I am charged with the care of myself only\n  I only wished to avoid giving offence\n  I did not fear punishment, but I dreaded shame\n  I had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two friends\n  Idea of my not being everything to her\n  Idleness is as much the pest of society as of solitude\n  If you have nothing to do, you must absolutely speak continually\n  In the course of their lives frequently unlike themselves\n  In company I suffer cruelly by inaction\n  In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings\n  Indolence, negligence and delay in little duties to be fulfilled\n  Indolence of company is burdensome because it is forced\n  Injustice of mankind which embitters both life and death\n  Insignificant trash that has obtained the name of education\n  Instead of being delighted with the journey only wished arrival\n  Is it possible to dissimulate with persons whom we love?\n  Jean Bapiste Rousseau\n  Knew how to complain, but not how to act\n  Law that the accuser should be confined at the same time\n  Left to nature the whole care of my own instruction\n  Less degree of repugnance in divulging what is really criminal\n  Letters illustrious in proportion as it was less a trade\n  Loaded with words and redundancies\n  Looking on each day as the last of my life\n  Love of the marvellous is natural to the human heart\n  Make men like himself, instead of taking them as they were\n  Making their knowledge the measure of possibilities\n  Making me sensible of every deficiency\n  Manoeuvres of an author to the care of publishing a good book\n  Men, in general, make God like themselves\n  Men of learning more tenaciously retain their predjudices\n  Mistake wit for sense\n  Moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer a friend\n  Money that we possess is the instrument of liberty\n  Money we lack and strive to obtain is the instrument of slavery\n  More stunned than flattered by the trumpet of fame\n  More folly than candor in the declaration without necessity\n  Multiplying persons and adventures\n  My greatest faults have been omissions\n  Myself the principal object\n  Necessity, the parent of industry, suggested an invention\n  Neither the victim nor witness of any violent emotions\n  No sooner had lost sight of men than I ceased to despise them\n  No longer permitted to let old people remain out of Paris\n  Not so easy to quit her house as to enter it\n  Not knowing how to spend their time, daily breaking in upon me\n  Nothing absurd appears to them incredible\n  Obliged to pay attention to every foolish thing uttered\n  Obtain their wishes, without permitting or promising anything\n  One of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive\n  Only prayer consisted in the single interjection \"Oh!\"\n  Painful to an honest man to resist desires already formed\n  Passed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admire\n  Piety was too sincere to give way to any affectation of it\n  Placing unbounded confidence in myself and others\n  Prescriptions serve to flatter the hopes of the patient\n  Priests ought never to have children--except by married women\n  Proportioned rather to her ideas than abilities\n  Protestants, in general, are better instructed\n  Rather bashful than modest\n  Rather appeared to study with than to instruct me\n  Read the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our own\n  Read description of any malady without thinking it mine\n  Read without studying\n  Remorse wakes amid the storms of adversity\n  Remorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of prosperity\n  Reproach me with so many contradictions\n  Return of spring seemed to me like rising from the grave\n  Rogues know how to save themselves at the expense of the feeble\n  Satisfaction of weeping together\n  Seeking, by fresh offences, a return of the same chastisement\n  Sin consisted only in the scandal\n  Slighting her favors, if within your reach, a unpardonable crime\n  Sometimes encourage hopes they never mean to realize\n  Substituting cunning to knowledge\n  Supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable\n  Taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had imagined\n  That which neither women nor authors ever pardon\n  The malediction of knaves is the glory of an honest man\n  The conscience of the guilty would revenge the innocent\n  There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune\n  There is no clapping of hands before the king\n  This continued desire to control me in all my wishes\n  Though not a fool, I have frequently passed for one\n  To make him my apologies for the offence he had given me\n  True happiness is indescribable, it is only to be felt\n  Trusting too implicitly to their own innocence\n  Tyranny of persons who called themselves my friends\n  Virtuous minds, which vice never attacks openly\n  Voltaire was formed never to be happy\n  We learned to dissemble, to rebel, to lie\n  What facility everything which favors the malignity of man\n  When once we make a secret of anything to the person we love\n  When everyone is busy, you may continue silent\n  Whence comes it that even a child can intimidate a man\n  Where merit consists in belief, and not in virtue\n  Whole universe would be interested in my concerns\n  Whose discourses began by a distribution of millions\n  Wish thus to be revenged of me for their humiliation\n  Without the least scruple, freely disposing of my time\n  Writing for bread would soon have extinguished my genius\n  Yielded him the victory, or rather declined the contest","title":"The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau \u2014 Complete","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":275061}